XVIII

Frodo was nearly out of breath by the time he reached the woods surrounding Olórin's house, but an occasional glance at his right hand — which remained whole and restored — kept him moving when he began to think he could run no more. His mind spun with myriad questions, buzzing about like a swarm of angry bees. How had Ványalos done what he did? And why, when there was another person far more in need of such healing, someone who was a very old friend? Had all his puzzling remarks been his way of saying that the answer had been found, and Frodo should come back? But why would he have spoken of it so cryptically? If it had been meant as a jest, it was a very poor one, and Frodo had every intent of scolding the Maia soundly, should he discover this to be the case. He ran on, across the meadow, across the commons, through the woods, and finally to the clearing that opened before Olórin's house. He saw Eönwë and Bilbo on the porch, and headed straight for them.

“Is Ványalos here?” he demanded between gasps for air.

Bilbo took one look at Frodo and immediately went to help him up the steps. “Yes, he's inside with the healers. Sit down, my lad, before you fall down....”

But Frodo shook his head emphatically. “No! Bilbo, you don't understand, I have to talk to him...!”

“He is needed elsewhere at the moment, Master Frodo,” Eönwë said quietly, his fair face filled with worry. “And I think it best if you do not disturb that work.”

“There's been some new trouble,” Bilbo clarified when the herald's words only deepened Frodo's confusion. “Ványalos called the others back a short time ago. It seems that whatever the Valar had been doing to help keep Gandalf from fading away suddenly isn't working, anymore. So Ványalos called them here, then woke me and told me to come and keep an eye out for you, since he didn't feel he dared leave Gandalf long enough to fetch you.”

That provided a reason for why Eönwë had returned, but Bilbo's words merely made matters more puzzling. “That's not possible! He came and talked to me near the meadow, no more than fifteen minutes ago! He made it sound as if everything was going to be all right — and Bilbo, he did this!” Frodo held up the hand that for the last three years had been missing a finger. The elderly hobbit gasped when he saw that it was whole again; even Eönwë made a sound of astonishment.

“Ványalos could not have done that,” the herald said, utterly certain. “Is this some strange illusion?”

“No, it's real,” said Frodo, extending the hand for Eönwë to see more closely. “I thought the same thing, that it was just a trick he'd played with my imagination, but it's solid and healed, not an illusion. If Ványalos could do this, surely he could help Olórin...!”

Eönwë took the proffered hand to examine it more closely; when he touched the part that had been restored, he suddenly let go and gasped. “Ványalos did not do this,” the herald declared, his eyes wide, his tone hushed and reverent. “You have been touched by Lord Eru, Frodo. It was He Who healed you.”

Frodo took back his hand and stared at it for a moment before looking up at Eönwë, shaking his head. “No, I'm sure it was Ványalos....”

The Maia nodded slightly in answer. “I understand your confusion, little one, but I am certain of this. The person who spoke to you may have looked and sounded and even behaved as Ványalos would, but it was a form He assumed that you could comprehend, so that He could speak with you without frightening you. I know Lord Eru's presence, as do all the Ainur. It was He Who touched you, and restored your injured hand.”

For what felt a very long time, Frodo could not speak, so overwhelmed was he by Eönwë's quiet words. When he had managed to absorb enough of them to feel the first glimmers of understanding, he finally found his voice. “But why? Why would He bother with something as trivial as my hand when Olórin needs His help so much more than I? Why didn't He come here, where everyone has been asking Him to come?”

“I do not know,” the herald admitted. “What did He say to you?”

Frodo had to think hard to remember, so much had shock muddled his mind. “Mostly things about why He thought the Valar made the mistake that caused all this, and why they needed to learn from it. I said how cruel I thought all of this was to Olórin, making him suffer so that others could learn from their mistakes, and how none of the pleas for help seemed to have been heard. He said some things I still don't quite understand, about how a prayer can be answered before it's even uttered. Then He took my hand, said something about the circle being unbroken, and then He left. I was confused, I thought He was Ványalos, so I started to go after Him, and that was when I noticed my hand had been healed. When I realized what had happened, I hurried to follow, but He was already gone. I truly thought it was Ványalos, and that he'd come back here the way your people go from place to place when they're in a hurry, so I ran back as fast as I could. Do you understand what He meant, Eönwë? What does it mean, the circle remains unbroken?”

“Many things, perhaps,” Eönwë answered after a moment's thought. “I think this was not a coincidence. Come inside with me, Frodo. Perhaps the ones I serve can better understand the full import of your tale.”

Anxious, Frodo glanced at Bilbo, who waved him on. “Go ahead, my boy, I'm sure they won't bite, certainly not like Gollum did. But I'll come along, too, if you want. I'd like to know what really happened almost as much as you do.”

Eönwë agreed to his oblique request, and led the hobbits into the house. The sensation of power concentrated within its walls was palpable, like walking from the torrid outdoors into the cool of a snug hole under the Hill on a hot summer's day. It seemed strange to Frodo that it should feel so cold inside when the very walls were throbbing with the power in the air. It made him think of ashes in a cold hearth, the pit of a freshly dug grave, the bottom of the river where his parents had died, chill and dark beyond all light and knowledge. Shivering, he reluctantly followed Eönwë across the hall and to the room he had left not so long ago, still clinging to some tatters of hope that all would indeed be well.

Ványalos was standing just outside the open door; he glanced in their direction as they approached. From his expression, he did not think the hobbits should be here, but Frodo could faintly feel the thought that flicked between the two Maiar, a swift explanation of why they had come. The redhead's expression changed rather abruptly, from doubt to awe. When they drew near, he bent to speak with Frodo. “I can assure you that Eönwë is right, you did not speak with me in the glen. I am honored that Lord Eru chose my likeness as one you would readily accept and would not fear, but I have no more notion than you why He chose to do this, especially now. Come, I think Lord Manwë will wish to see how you were blessed more closely. Of all the Valar, he is still the one who best knows the ways of Lord Eru's thought.”

Gently, he laid a hand on the younger hobbit's shoulder to guide him into the room. The sensations Frodo had perceived upon entering the house were much stronger here, where all of the Valar had gathered, in body or in spirit, in a last desperate attempt to save their servant who was swiftly slipping away, fading beyond recall. When Frodo dared to look at the figure on the bed, he was both distressed and not surprised to see that Olórin seemed more transparent than ever, a shadow of his former self that was growing more faint with each passing moment. His eyes were closed, and Frodo could not tell if he was awake or even aware of anyone who was with him; the halfling hoped he was not, for the mere thought of being able to feel yourself not dying, but inexorably being drawn from life as water slides down a drain had to be horrible indeed. Frodo struggled to swallow the thickness clogging his throat and was glad for the excuse to look away when Manwë spoke his name.

The Vala, who seemed understandably distracted, as if he were focusing his mind and his strength on two matters at once — listened to Frodo repeat what had happened while he knelt to carefully examine the hobbit's healed hand. He completed his study as Frodo finished his story. “Do you know what He meant, Lord Manwë?” the troubled halfling asked very softly, as he had told of recent events. “Why would He heal me and not help Olórin instead?”

“I do not know,” Manwë sighed, his exhalation as mournful as the winter wind through barren branches in the dark of night. “We have asked, I assure you, but He has been silent. And though I see in your thoughts what happened as you experienced it, His words are no clearer to me than they are to you. That we Valar needed to know all the ills that came of our decisions, and had to make the effort to repair the damage we caused, is no new revelation. I am surprised that He could speak of us as charitably as He did, after our acts of willful disobedience, but I cannot see how our supplications have long since been answered. We did not even know what harm had come to Olórin until after he had returned to us, and now, nothing we can do seems able to help him. I would sooner believe that Lord Eru had chosen to withdraw any aid He might have been giving to Olórin, for since we left but a few hours ago, he has begun to slip away from us far more quickly than we can offer strength to help him hold on to this life.”

Frodo bit his lower lip, deliberately inflicting the pain to keep back the tears burning in his eyes. “I feared it might be so, before I left the house. He's barely talked at all, these past weeks or months or whatever it has been, yet after all of you had gone, we spoke a good deal. I didn't want to even think it then, but I fear he was saying goodbye, because he knew what was to come very soon. But it makes no sense! If it truly was Lord Eru Who came to talk with me in the glen, what He said seemed to be words of encouragement — but none that I could fully understand.”

Manwë agreed, his nod slow and heavy. “Nor I. I can see how you perceived your conversation with Him, but I cannot see into His mind as well. He reveals it to us only in His time, for His reasons. I do not know this token of which He spoke, nor can I clearly see what was meant by a circle which remains unbroken. There are many circles in this world, not physical marks upon the ground, or bands of gold invested with power; there are circles of friends and family, there are the circles of the world in which Arda is contained, and that has not been broken, save when Lord Eru opens a path for the spirits of Men to leave, bound for a fate we Ainur do not know.”

“Might He have meant that our efforts would not be in vain, for those circles would not open to allow Olórin to leave this world again?” Ványalos wondered.

“Perhaps so,” the Elder King said after briefly pondering the notion. “If Olórin's spirit is fated to remain here with us, even far dwindled and diminished, there will ever be a chance that we might find a way to restore him to wholeness and strength, though he may spend some years faded beyond the ability to interact with those of us who have not suffered this doom. Lord Eru may well have decreed that this would be so, should Olórin succeed in his mission, when He sent him back to Endorë to complete his unfinished tasks. The circle that was broken by his death in Moria was made whole again, and to the best of my knowledge, it has not been breeched since.”

“But what token was given?” Bilbo, who had been hanging back near the door, asked, perplexed. “He did say something about that, didn't He, Frodo?”

His cousin nodded. “Yes, He said the token I seek had already been given.” A thought suddenly sprang to mind. “Do you think perhaps He meant Narya, after all?” he said, turning back to Manwë. “It did help protect him for many years, and it does seem that Lord Eru was the one who moved Círdan to give it to him. Could He have known this problem would come so long ago, and acted even then to forestall it? Olórin didn't begin to have difficulties until he returned to Aman....”

A frown of intense concentration creased the Vala's face. “True, but—“

He was interrupted by a soft but sharp call from Irmo, who was standing on the far side of the bed beside his seated spouse. “Manwë, he is leaving us!”

He needed say no more to return all the king's attention back to the matter of his fading servant. Although he spoke no word as he lent his power and the strength of his will to the struggle to prevent the disaster Irmo could sense was imminent, Frodo had no doubt that Manwë's concern for his fading servant was great. The look of anguish upon the Vala's normally serene features declared more eloquently than any speech his sorrow and regret and intense determination to do all that he could to prevent Olórin's loss. But blended with those expressions was one of inescapable doubt, the fear that all their power combined could not stop the demands of fate from claiming Olórin's very being in payment for his master's mistakes.

Frodo, distraught by the sound of worry in Irmo's voice and the sight of Manwë's face, looked again at his friend upon the bed. Olórin had become so literally transparent between the time of Frodo's arrival and this moment, the hobbit could see Arwen's gem, still clutched in his hand, through the very flesh and bone. Its polished surfaces caught the errant light from the window, mocking the tragedy of what was happening to the person holding it as it, a carven sliver of cold, unliving stone, glittered brightly with light and life. Frodo shut his eyes tightly to hold back the tears, and because he could not bear to see the very moment when Olórin finally dwindled to nothing, like the remains of Saruman's spirit on the wind. The circle of life in Arda might well remain unbroken, but this part of it was coming to an end, as was the history of help given to those in need by Arwen's jewel.

Frodo remembered — bitterly, now, the happiness of the memories now mocking him — the day they had arrived and how joyful Olórin had been to let go of his mortal life to be an unfettered Maia once again. Had he only known that this would be the result, perhaps the wizard would not have been so quick to relinquish mortal existence, for all its troubles. He remembered the quiet talk they had had, sitting on the hillside at the end of the feast, watching the sun rise over the eastern sea, the way its radiance had made bright the white clothes and crystal circlet the Valar had given him....

Frodo's eyes abruptly snapped open as he focused on that memory, then thought back to an earlier part of that same day, when the Valar had gifted him with the clothing, and the—

“Circlet,” he whispered to himself, barely more than a breath. “The circle remains unbroken — this circle remains... oh, good heavens!” With the suddenness of an avalanche, a hundred different connections fell into place in Frodo's mind, and he knew at last what all of them had been failing to see. Frantic, he pushed past Manwë to the head of the bed, to the small table that stood beside it. “Where is it?” he demanded aloud, finding that the surface was bare. He glanced at Bilbo and Ványalos. “The things that used to be here — where are they?”

Ványalos appeared puzzled; Bilbo provided an answer. “Oh, I put them away in the little chest over there, weeks ago, when Lady Nienna first brought Gandalf home. These Big Folk kept bumping about and tipping things over and brushing them off to the floor.” He snorted. “You'd think they'd never had to walk about any home smaller than a huge mansion before, or didn't care if other people's things were broken. Shamefully impolite, if you ask me....”

He might have said the same for his younger cousin's behavior, for rather than stand and listen to the explanation, once he heard where the things had gone, Frodo again pushed past anyone in his way to reach the chest which Bilbo had indicated. There were few things in it, and it did not take long for Frodo to find what he sought: the delicately woven circlet of crystal that had been given to Olórin on the day of his return. He held it for a moment, swallowing thickly, dredging up from his memory the words Manwë had spoken when he had bestowed it. “One last gift, in token of His approval,” he murmured, as one recollection spurred another. “The token you seek has already been given.” Of course, it was simple, too simple for anyone to have seen amid all the upset and confusion.

The halfling turned about to face Ványalos and Bilbo again, since they were the only ones who appeared to be watching him. He held up the circlet; it caught an errant ray of sunlight and gleamed brightly, a ring of cold white fire in his healed hand. “Where did this come from, Ványalos? Who made it?”

The Maia shrugged, uncertain, but Frodo received an answer, from Manwë. “It came from Lord Eru, and to the best of my knowledge, it was He Who wrought it.”

“Then that's what He meant!” Frodo said, trembling with the excitement of having made such a discovery, and the fear that his conclusion might be wrong. “Olórin was fine until he stopped wearing this, but he left it on the table near his bed, and every morning, after he'd spent the night sleeping near it, he'd wake up and seem his old self again. But he couldn't hold onto that strength when he was away from it, and it faded faster and faster each day, because every day, he went farther and farther away, for longer times. And then... then after he went to Ilmarin and let himself get so upset that he deliberately pushed himself far beyond his limits, it was put away, to keep it safe, and... and....” In his agitation, Frodo could say no more.

Manwë turned toward him fully, reaching down to take the glittering thing. “You may indeed have the right of it, Frodo, and there is but one way to know for certain.” Moving swiftly but certainly, for time was of the greatest essence, he turned back toward the bed and moved to the head of it. Estë, understanding what he intended, leaned forward to lift Olórin's all but invisible head so that Manwë could set the circlet upon it.

For a moment, Frodo feared the wizard might already be too insubstantial to wear it; yet it stayed in place. Nothing happened at first, but as Estë gently lowered the Maia's head back to the pillow beneath it, one of the shafts of sunlight filtering through the windows fell fully upon his face and head. It struck the circlet's woven crystal and set it afire, the full light of Anor's flame causing it to blaze with a sudden glory that momentarily blinded all in the room, mortal and immortal alike.

The light was so brilliant, Frodo could still see it even through his tightly closed eyelids; when it began to fade at last, he dared to crack them open, desperate to know if this had been the light signaling a new beginning — or a tragic end. What he saw stole his breath in amazement.

The radiance that had flared from the crystal had shifted into a distinct form, that of Olórin, but unlike him in any way the hobbit had ever beheld. As he had earlier seemed to be as fragile as glass, now he appeared to be made of glass indeed, thin and clear without flaw, but filled with that same white light, only dimmed ever so slightly in its containment. Frodo was suddenly reminded of the phial of Galadriel, a crystal filled with the glow of Eärendil's star — yet this vessel was not cold and inanimate, but lived and breathed and moved. It was the most astounding sight Frodo had ever seen, and in his own wonder, he was completely unaware of the reactions of those about him.

As the light finally began to diminish, Olórin slowly became less transparent and more solid; the radiance flowed through him like blood flowing through veins, bringing life and health and strength to every part of him. Color and substance returned to his body, which swiftly grew whole again, as his mortal shell had been renewed and reborn atop Zirak-zigil. He turned his head to look at Frodo, and the halfling watched his eyes become those he had known so well, clear and bright and shining with life. He smiled at the hobbit — then, as he at last became fully solid once more, he looked away, toward the foot of the bed, and smiled even more broadly.

He sat up, lifted his hands, and reached out to touch other fingers that reached back to return the handclasp, seemingly come out of thin air. Frodo followed Olórin's gaze to see who had elicited this response from the Maia; his breath caught. It was Ványalos — yet it was not. The tall Maia was standing behind Frodo, with Bilbo, and from the sound he made, no one was more surprised to witness this than he.

The second Ványalos favored his double with a smile that was every bit as impish as any the Maia had ever made; He then turned his attention back to Olórin; the affection and pride in His expression brought a mist of tears to more than Frodo's eyes. “You have done well, my littlest one,” He said, His voice the very echo of Ványalos', yet resonant with a depth and breadth of knowledge and experience that went far beyond any other voice, mortal or immortal. “You have faced the greatest perils of life and spirit, and emerged the victor. You have fulfilled the potential of my thought for you, and exceeded it. Live now in joy and peace, for your labors and trials are at an end. There will ever be things for you to do, help that you can give for the sake of others, but for now, your part in the Music you knew is done. Rest well, for you have earned it indeed.” He clasped His own fingers more firmly about the Maia's, smiled brilliantly and warmly, then released his hands and turned to the others.

Frodo suddenly felt that the room had grown much smaller, and in a way it had, for all the Valar were now here, in solid form and not merely in spirit. They and the two Maiar who were in attendance bowed in reverence to the One Who was plainly not Ványalos. Frodo could see it now, even though the appearance was utterly the same; it was something not able to be grasped by ordinary senses, and in his upset at the glen, he had not been able to perceive it.

For the moment, His attention was not on the hobbit, but on Manwë and the other Valar. He sighed, and the sound was that of a disappointed parent about to lecture His wayward children. “This is not the first time I have tried to teach you the lesson of considering the consequences of your choices and actions — all the consequences, not merely the ones that are most desired or most obvious to you. Time and again, you were faced with decisions of far-reaching effect, and time and again, you erred in the same fashion, by not looking beyond the goals you hoped to achieve. If the fate of all Arda was not enough to make you learn this, my governors, then I deemed that a smaller but vastly more personal lesson was required. I advised you against the very choice you made, and who is to blame that you chose to invoke this fate upon a servant well-loved by each of you? Olórin might have been more stubborn, it is true, and refused to take up the burden of this task even after he had been commanded, but his heart has ever been faithful to you, and to my will.

“And so he suffered for your mistakes, first in Middle-earth, and then here. These past months, you could not find the cure for his predicament, despite your diligent search and other endeavors, for you held fast to your pride, and the belief that the solution lay wholly within the scope of your power. Your worry for Olórin was genuine, and your efforts as generous as you were able to make them — which does you credit — but did a one of you pause to consider that others could have seen what you perceived of his condition when he returned to Aman, were at least as concerned as yourselves, and that an action might have already been taken in an attempt to bring him aid? Had Frodo failed to see the answer which you could not, I would have intervened directly, for those who have said Olórin did not deserve such a tragic end in reward for his devoted service spoke truly. But I would not have done so before this lesson was fully learned — and it very nearly came to the bitterest end before you knew and understood all your folly.”

He folded His arms across His chest, His piercing gaze flicking from one Vala to the next in turn, resting last and longest upon Manwë. “In the ages to come, Endorë will be governed by others, those you call the Second-Born, and not yourselves, yet it is my wish that you do not utterly abandon them. Guidance may be asked for, and guidance may be given, yet in far subtler ways than have been employed in the past. Your work in Arda is not yet at its end, and I shall make my will known when I deem the time appropriate. For now, reflect upon all that has happened in this past age, and consider well what might have been had you not disobeyed me, and had I not felt Olórin worthy of my care to heal what he has suffered. Both will take time, and when he is whole once again and I believe you are ready to listen and learn, I will speak with you more plainly about what is to come.”

Not a one of the Valar uttered a word, but all respectfully and humbly acknowledged what they had been told. He Who was not Ványalos then turned to Frodo, and smiled upon him. Though the hobbit started, he had the presence of mind to bow politely, in hobbit-fashion, and smile back. “Thank you, my Lord, for healing my hand and helping Olórin,” he said with appropriate deference. “But I don't understand why you did this.”

He chuckled softly, the sound of His amusement remarkably like that of the Maia whose appearance He had borrowed. “Because if I had not, many others, not only you and the Valar, would have grieved sorely over his loss, and he indeed had not earned such an end. As for your hand, I restored it because I wished you to know that such things are possible — indeed, that within my will, all things are possible. Is the healing of an injured hand more wondrous than the healing of a broken heart, or a shattered spirit? You had thought your maiming to be beyond any healer's skill to repair, yet deemed the healing of your mind and spirit perhaps less difficult. Yet I restored what had been taken from you physically with only a touch, while it has required many days more for that cure which you had thought to be the simpler to be achieved. Know you what day this is, Frodo?”

The hobbit did not, but having seen the world outside again, he was able to make an educated guess. “The twenty-fifth of March?”

The One laughed, well aware that it was indeed a guess. “Just so. And you had no notion of this, felt none of the debilitating pain and heartache and emptiness from which you have suffered on this day, each year since Sméagol in his madness provided the remedy for your own madness by biting off your finger, and destroying the Ring. Yet on this occasion, more dreadful than the day of your wounding on Amon Sul, there was no one to intervene on your behalf, for those who might have been of aid were otherwise occupied.”

“I was too worried about Olórin to think of it, I suppose, like they were,” Frodo admitted.

“Indeed yes, and now you perceive how you have healed yourself in spirit as I have healed your body. It is in the joy they may bring to others that all my children of honest heart find their own greatest joy, and it is in caring for the pain of others that they find the ways to ease their own. If you forever worry at a wound, forever disturbing the dressing and breaking the new skin while it is still fragile, it will never mend. Yet if you tend it properly, then let it be, the wound will in time become whole and sound again, with little extra care. And that time will go by more quickly and with less discomfort if you look beyond your own suffering and turn your thoughts and actions to pity for others who suffer far more than you. You were aware of this in some measure, though you did not ponder it overmuch, for as you say, you had other matters of great concern to keep you occupied.”

“But I wasn't the only one. Everyone was concerned, at least everyone I know of, and they did much more than I could to try to help.” A sweep of his arm indicated the silent but attentive Valar. “Why did you come and speak to me, rather than help one of them realize how to solve the problem?”

From the glitter in His eyes, this question had been expected. “Because you were already nearer to finding it than they — and because if it had been asked of you, you would have given your life to save your friend, with greater knowledge than my governors have of what such a sacrifice means to one of mortal life. You never spoke of it aloud, but that thought has long been on your mind and in your heart, ever since that day in Moria where you first witnessed the full pain and price of such steadfast friendship. The triumph you achieved at the end of your Quest came not in your strength of will to destroy the Ring, which was beyond the ability of any mortal to truly bear. It came long before, and began with what you learned of pity and loyalty and love that is willing to give all for the sake of others. It grew in your continued acts of mercy toward one who had rightly earned harsher judgment, and the fruit it bore came of that seed. For it was indeed Pity that in the end saved both you and all of Middle-earth — and so it is now. You will find that the sores of your old afflictions are no longer so tender; in your distraction of compassion for Olórin, you have given them time enough to allow the poisons to drain away and the wounds to begin healing; ere long, they will trouble you no more. Do you not find this a splendid way to celebrate that victory over the darkness which happened four years ago? Olórin has back his life, as do you, and both will be happy ones. Evil wounded each of you, but it could not triumph, in the end. This I said to Melkor when first he tried to despoil the Song I and his brethren had made, and thus shall it ever be.”

Frodo found that affirmation reassuring, yet for some reason, he could not feel as delighted by it as he felt he ought. He was trying to determine just why he would have such feelings of hesitance when the One dismissed the Valar.

As they paid their respects and then vanished, Eönwë departing with them, He turned back to Olórin. He touched the seemingly fragile circle of crystal set upon the pale head; it shone even more brightly under the hand of the One Who had fashioned it. “Do not remove this until you have been told otherwise, littlest one,” He said with gentle affection, a father speaking to a beloved child who has done much to make him proud. “I fashioned this to be your shield against the darkness that scarred your very spirit while you lived the life of a mortal in poisoned Endorë, but Manwë evidently did not grasp this when I gave it to him to be bestowed upon you. I might have spoken to him more plainly, for I truly did not wish to prolong your suffering, but he and the others had yet to show that they had learned the most vital lesson of their errors. That he did not fully understand when I gave him my gift for you and spoke to him of it was but further proof that he sorely needed this instruction.”

“There is no need for you to apologize for this, my Lord,” Olórin answered, his voice and expression tinged with mingled amazement and delight that he should be treated with such respect and consideration by one so far above him. “I knew in my heart that you had some greater purpose in allowing my condition to remain unhealed, for you certainly were aware of it. If it will indeed make the Valar better counselors and guides of the mortals who have inherited Endorë, then I regret naught that I have endured. It is over now, and I am honored to have been allowed to be of even humble service in such a noble and necessary cause.”

The One smiled softly upon the Maia, eyes shining. “You are ever of service to me, littlest one, and your willingness to give of yourself for the benefit of others does you great honor among all my children, your own people in especial. Which is why I fashioned my gift thus, for such things have long been considered a mark of high grace among all the peoples in Arda, and I wished others to know beyond doubt that you stand as brightly in my favor. As it guards you from the shadow which would sap your strength and wither your very being, so does it heal what evil harmed, and in time, the power of the Secret Fire which is ever drawn to it will banish that shadow forever and restore and repair what you have lost. I could, if you wish, heal you as swiftly as I did Frodo....”

But Olórin shook his head, an emphatic motion that was at once sincere and humble. “No, that is not necessary, my Lord. It would be more convenient, perhaps, but I have long known that the quickest answer is seldom the one which provides the greatest wisdom and opportunity for learning. Frodo, I think, had already learned all he could from what was done to him in the Sammath Naur, and after hearing your words to the Valar, I especially would not choose a path of expediency. And I do not think I could bear to be parted from your gift, now that I know it did indeed come from your hands. But would this end have been any different, had Lord Manwë not commanded me to go, and instead helped me to see why my aid was needed? For I know now that in this, he was not in error, for I know no other of our people who could have brought to that struggle the same traits and abilities which I did, and time proved that such things were sorely needed to achieve Sauron's defeat in the manner that was desired.”

A new smile danced across the familiar face. “It would have been different, in that had he given no such command, he would have been abiding by my will rather than his own. Perils would still have stood before you, for your kind were not meant to live as true mortals do, but had Manwë only spoken of those dangers to you, openly, making plain his heart and his knowledge rather than concealing his fear out of pride, you would have been more clearly warned, and thus could have gone and made better use of your own skills to avoid being injured so deeply, much as you did when you came to Endorë to oppose Melkor. Very likely, you would still have been hurt, for you were to be denied full use of your abilities, but the wounds would not have been so deep, nor the poison so fully absorbed. Your healing would have been a matter much like Frodo's, and the Valar could have helped you as they helped him. It would not have been beyond their skills, and no bitter near-tragedy would have come of it.”

“And would you have let Gandalf die if the Valar hadn't learned their lesson?” Bilbo wondered, finally having recovered from his shock over the whole business well enough to speak.

The gentle smile turned upon him. “No, Bilbo, I would not have allowed that to happen. Had worse come to worst and my governors utterly failed to pass the course of instruction they needed so badly, I would have brought Olórin home to me once again. I would not have told them this, not immediately, for in suffering the loss of one of their servants by their own fault, they would have finally learned what had so long eluded them, and gained a fuller knowledge of the Eruhíni, mortals in particular. But I would not have let Olórin diminish into the same nothingness that was earned by Sauron and Curumo and those who sought only to work their own wills and dominate or destroy all others. I am not so cruel, nor so inflexible, as to permit an evil like this to happen to one who has done naught but good. The fear of such a loss brought so very near was enough to awaken the Valar to the truth. But think you that death is a punishment? It is not, though you have yet to truly understand why it is a gift to all mortals. The incarnate life of innocent Men may be shortened by works of evil, yet it does but bring them to know my gift more swiftly. Some day, you will know why this is so.”

With a start, Frodo realized why he had not been encouraged by knowing more about his own healing. “It is a gift for us mortals, perhaps, but it seems to me that for immortals, it's almost a punishment. We die and leave this world and they do not, so they lose all their mortal friends, if they dare to make any, and never know what truly became of them because they cannot die.”

The One laughed softly. “Never is a word I think I should not have taught to any of my children, for none can truly comprehend it. What you say is true of Arda as it is now, but it will not be so forever. It will change again, it will be renewed, and then shall all of my children, the dead and the living, come to live together in peace. Does it trouble you to know that in time, you will leave behind your friends of the Eldar and the Ainur?”

The younger hobbit shook his head. “No. It troubles me to know that when I leave, they will still be here in a world they cannot leave, and that even if they eventually forget me, for a while, just the fact that I left will hurt them. If death is indeed a gift, why can't they share in it, too, or at least not feel the pain of the parting?”

“For reasons you could not comprehend, even were I to attempt to explain them to you. Yet I understand your concerns, for by accident or by choice, you have lost many in your life for whom you have felt the grief of separation, and are certain you can never meet again. And you would not wish to be a faithless friend to those immortals whom you hold dear, and to whom you owe much, leaving them only a legacy of sorrow. It seems a riddle with no answer, does it not?”

“Much knottier than any of Gollum's puzzlers, that's for certain,” Bilbo agreed with a soft snort. Ványalos, who for once could not have been impudent had he tried, nudged the old hobbit, scolding him for his impertinence.

The One placed a hand atop each of the hobbits' heads and smiled softly. “Yet there is no riddle for which I do not have an answer, and so this gift I offer to you now: I do not release either of you from what is called the Doom of Men, for it is your fate and your birthright as mortals. But henceforth, so long as you dwell in Aman, you shall not know the wear and weariness of the world as would others of your kind, and the time of your leaving shall be wholly of your own choosing, when you are ready to know what lies beyond this life and not when the weight of the world presses you to the decision, as it does with those of humankind who do not meet death untimely. This gift I make not only for your sakes, but for Olórin's as well, for he alone of his people has truly lived as a mortal and survived the experience, and more than just the knowledge of it is now a part of him. It cannot be separated from him, and thus, I will not require him to be separated from those few of his mortal friends who live in this undying land, until he and they are full ready to part.”

His eyes slipped toward the wizard, who was as surprised by this declaration as the hobbits. “You have not spoken of it, Olórin, but I see in your heart how the thought of at last being sundered from the company of all mortals pains you, and there is no need for you to suffer this. For now, you do not wish them to leave, and neither do they wish to go. Is this not an obvious solution to the problem?”

“Perhaps,” the Maia said, his words slowed by his reflection upon the question. “Soon after I returned to Aman, Lord Irmo did express his concern that this very matter might prove to be more difficult to face than I wished to imagine. But I am afraid that like the Valar, I have not all wisdom, and I readily admit that I cannot see how this might turn out badly, in the end. Yet I also believe you would not do anything to deliberately harm a one of your children, so I can only presume that this is indeed a generous gift you offer, and not some punishment in disguise. For you are right. I had begun to reconsider the wisdom of asking these of my mortal friends to come here, for I knew that no matter what healing and peace they might find, at length, they would leave — perforce by madness, or willingly by mortal weariness — and when that time came, I would grieve deeply in the knowledge that I could not follow. This is not a promise of eternity, but it is a gift of precious time, and that is more than I had hoped possible. Thank you, my Lord.”

“You are most welcome, child. Does this plan also meet with your approval, little ones?” He turned back to the hobbits, still smiling warmly.

Frodo was attempting to decide whether or not he had heard correctly; Bilbo was less reticent. “So if I understand you aright, you're saying that Frodo and I can stay here for as long as we like, not worrying about getting old or sick or driven mad with boredom or fatigue, and give up this life only when and if we have a mind to?”

The One chuckled at the elder hobbit's forthright manner. “That is precisely what I am saying, and I say this also for any others of your Fellowship who suffered in their service to the defeat of Sauron and his minions, and who might come hither in later days. If those whose fates are not already tightly bound to the foundation of Endorë's future should choose of their own free wills to seek relief from their burdens in this haven, and out of love for the friends who reside here, then I shall allow them to share in this choice. I cannot say if such will ever happen, but this I promise to do, out of my love for all of you, who have served so very well indeed.”

“Cannot say, or will not say?” Frodo wondered, amazed a moment later by his own temerity in asking such a thing.

But Eru Who was not Ványalos merely laughed, a refreshing and joyful sound like the first sweet rains after a long and hard drought. He smiled upon them all, and vanished.

Bilbo sniffed. “Well, that was an answer that didn't need to be heard to be understood. But heavens, if anyone had told me this morning all the things I'd see before the day was over, I'd never have believed them! You are all right now, Gandalf, aren't you?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” the wizard assured him as he shifted position to leave the bed. There was no hesitance or weakness in his movement or his voice, which was a notable change from only a few brief minutes ago. “And I daresay not a one of us could have anticipated this. Lord Eru saved me once before; I had no reason to believe I was worthy of being rescued a second time.”

“And why not?” Frodo demanded, still trembling a bit from all that had happened so quickly. “He was concerned for you even before you truly began your work in Middle-earth. He was the one Who put the notion in Círdan's head to give you Narya, after all.”

“And He has given me so much more,” the Maia sighed, brushing his fingers upon the circlet, then laughing ruefully. “I suspect He created His gift in this fashion quite deliberately, so as to make drawing attention to it unavoidable. I shan't ever understand how humility can be considered so highly praiseworthy, yet then be constantly subverted by the very people who supposedly value it!”

Bilbo half-laughed, half-snorted. “Ah, you must be feeling better, Gandalf, you're already getting testy, and with Eru Ilúvatar Himself!”

The wizard made a face of pure exasperation, but laughed brightly nonetheless. To Frodo, that was better than all the reassurances in the world, for it was a sound he had missed very much indeed during the darkness of the past months. In a surfeit of relief, he enthusiastically embraced his old friend. “I'm glad you're back, Olórin,” he said, rather more fiercely than he had intended.

The laughter remained in Olórin's voice, strong and clear. “I was never away, my dear Frodo, and so long as I have any say in the matter, I shall never come close to doing so ever again. Now, then,” he added, turning his glance to his silent neighbor as he released his smaller friend, “have you nothing at all to say, Ványalos? I have never seen you stand for so long without making a sound when no one has commanded you to hold your tongue. Or do you not find it intriguing that of all the people in Arda, Lord Eru chose to appear as you?”

The red-haired Maia opened his mouth slightly and began to speak, but only a small and inarticulate sound emerged, followed by a noise of exquisitely extreme dismay as he flopped to the floor in an apparent faint. The others laughed at his comically exaggerated display of distress, and at long last, to Frodo, all seemed right in this wonderful new world.