Epilogue

Because only Eru Ilúvatar is perfect, it could not be said that the years which followed were perfection made manifest, but to Frodo's mind, they were as near to it as he could ever imagine. When he had agreed to come to Valinor, it had only been with the thought that here, he might at last find rest and surcease from the darkness that continued to plague his body and spirit. In truth, he had more than half-expected that here he would soon die, but that his end would at least come in a place where his passing would not further trouble the lives of his younger friends and cousins who had already seen too much of sorrow and darkness and evil. He had given up Middle-earth so that they could be happy. He had not expected to find such happiness himself, not in the measure he had been given, nor after facing a near-tragedy that had in the end burned away the remnants of his own suffering, like the last faded leaves of an old autumn tossed onto the trash fire of the following spring.

Bilbo never did change his habit of calling Olórin by the name he had known for him in Middle-earth, but at the very least he finally grew comfortable with his changed appearance. That adjustment was helped along considerably when the old hobbit one day asked the Maia a barrage of questions that had been collecting at the back of his thoughts since the weeks after their arrival, his two most burning questions being why Lord Eru had called him His “littlest one,” and why he alone of all the Maiar had ears rather like those of a hobbit.

Olórin had laughed, amused by such “important” inquiries, but had given the best answers he could. He was “the littlest” to Eru Ilúvatar's mind because he was — apparently — the youngest of all the Ainur, something he had long suspected but had heard confirmed only on the day of that remarkable visitation. And because he had not consciously chosen any aspect of his current appearance — this particular detail of which had not been a part of him before his return from his long mission to Middle-earth in mortal guise — he surmised that it was a manifestation of something Lord Eru had mentioned, the fact that more than just the knowledge of mortal life was now an indelible part of him. Neither matter disturbed the Istar, and that a visible aspect of his connection to humankind was now evident after some small fashion of the hobbits delighted him, for though he had great respect for all the Second-Born, his greatest fondness would ever remain with the halfling folk who were distantly descended of his Song sung before Arda had been made.

Since there was no longer an urgent sense that he must spend as much time as possible with Bilbo before he passed on, Frodo decided to remain in Lórien after his elder cousin returned to Tirion to finally spend some real time in the rooms he had been given in Elrond's house, and where he could delight in meeting and becoming acquainted with some of the greatest of the Elves ever to be born. Though he enjoyed the company of the Elves, and visited his Bilbo often, Frodo was happier in the quiet and beautiful land that was, he now perceived, the inspiration for the region of Middle-earth called the Shire. The other residents of Lórien's hill country had offered to build him a home of his own when he made known his intent to remain there, at least for a time, but so long as Olórin did not object to sharing his house, Frodo decided he would prefer that arrangement. Ványalos had teased and coaxed him with suggestions of constructing a proper hobbit hole, since many of the locals, himself included, were curious to know more about such an unusual dwelling, but Frodo had merely answered that perhaps someday, he and Bilbo could show them how it was done, but for now, he was content. In the little house in the woods, he was not alone, and there he had a sort of family once again, complete with many frequently visiting “relatives.”

For they certainly did not lack for company. Not only was there the omnipresent Ványalos, always ready to provide Frodo with whatever he needed in the way of food and drink and dining companionship, once it had become common knowledge that Olórin was no longer in danger of losing his very existence, the Elves and others of his own people who had been a part of his life before his mission to Middle-earth came to call quite often, sometimes for pleasure, other times as pupils, wishing to learn from him.

Frodo had never seen this particular aspect of his old friend, not quite so clearly expressed. In Middle-earth, his attempts to impart knowledge or wisdom to others had seldom been presented as any kind of true instruction; it had typically been offered as advice, there for the individual to accept or reject as they would. A result of the restrictions that had been imposed upon the Istari, Frodo understood, not to force their wills upon others, but only to persuade. On the days when he deigned to teach those who came to him in search of such things, Frodo always watched and listened, fascinated, and in the process, he learned more things than he had ever imagined about this world he now inhabited, and the relation between it and the mortal world he had left behind.

And as for Olórin himself.... If Frodo had thought he had seen him as he truly was in the few days between his return and the onset of his illness, he had been mistaken. Even then, he had been weighed down and held back and darkened by the hurts from which he had already been suffering. Even Ványalos, with his sharp sense of humor and amusing ways, did not have the sheer joy in life that Olórin possessed, and from having this long opportunity to know him and watch him simply live, Frodo gained a tremendous understanding not only of his old friend, but of how to appreciate his own life as well, both past and present. The Future would take care of itself if they but took care of the Now.

For his own part, Olórin was highly amused by the irony of how his circumstances in Valinorean society had subtly shifted; not that he was held in any greater esteem or reverence because of what had happened, but that he who had for so long been a pupil of the Valar was now their teacher. For no one in all of Aman — indeed, in all of Arda — had the singular comprehension he now possessed of what it meant to be both mortal and immortal, in truth and not merely in abstract theory; no other had lived as an immortal, died as a mortal, and yet come back to resume a mortal life, and thence to immortality once again. As Lord Eru had made it clear that their roles in the future would require a clearer and fuller understanding of humankind, the Valar had come to realize that merely viewing the life of Men from afar was not enough. They had never dwelt among mortals, nor had anyone still possessed of mortality lived for long among them. Overseeing their lives and affairs from the aloof safety of Aman was no better than watching a shadow-play; it allowed them to see appearances that did not provide deeper knowledge of the beings these illusions appeared to be. They could see into the hearts of Men, could perceive their thoughts, but they did not fully grasp all the feelings and motives and frailties they beheld. Some seemed very akin to their own, but others were shockingly foreign to their thought.

They could have asked for such insights from the mortals among them; in fact they did, but they had soon recognized that Frodo and Bilbo could not tell them enough, for they did not think like Ainur, nor had they ever lived such a life. Only Olórin now knew both, and the intimate knowledge he possessed of the differences was invaluable to the Valar as they struggled to prepare for whatever tasks Eru Ilúvatar might have for them in the ages to come. So the humblest of their servants became their teacher, and Olórin was glad that he had long ago availed himself of Nienna's lessons in patience, for without such wisdom, he would swiftly have lost his temper and given up on them as hopeless. Now, he merely took wry amusement from it, and found odd satisfaction in its unexpected irony.

But as Lord Eru had also enjoined him to rest and enjoy the peace of Aman now that his greater tasks were over, such times of instruction came only at the Maia's discretion, and his masters knew better than to go against the will of the One, especially where Olórin was concerned. He and Frodo, and sometimes Bilbo and others of their friends who were more lately come to Valinor, traveled the length and breadth of the Undying Lands, exploring all that it was not out of a sense of restlessness, but to enjoy the wonder and beauty of Arda Unmarred that remained a delight each time it was beheld anew.

Some years later, on another anniversary of the twenty-fifth of March, Frodo and Olórin had celebrated the day by going to the meadow to watch the new foals of the great horses at play in the open fields amid the long grasses, bright with the blossoms of spring. One in particular — a handsome young colt who was the offspring of Shadowfax and a lovely sweet-natured mare who was also of the Mearas, the steed who looked to the Lady Estë as her mistress — commanded their interest, for he held himself both proudly and with the faintest hint of the smug vanity of all youth, aware that he was the center of attention, as was his due. He was not quite so dappled a gray as his dam, but neither did he have the silver mane of his sire; both his mane and tail were already of flowing pure white, like the foam of the sea, and in the fullness of time, he would grow to even greater beauty and intelligence. Estë had given the colt his name, Lossemár, in the Elvish rather than Valarin or Rohirric fashion, and none who saw him as he raced across the meadow doubted that he was as good a beast as his name implied.

As they sat atop a the slope of the hillside between the commons of the local settlement and the easternmost edge of the meadow, Frodo watched not only the colt, but his ever-protective parents, especially his sire. Shadowfax so reminded him of a proud but defensive father as he followed his offspring across the meadow full of lengthening shadows that heralded the nearing sunset, that the sight of him brought a smile to the hobbit's lips. “You don't suppose that Lord Eru included Shadowfax when He said none of us would need to pass beyond this world until we wish to do so, do you?” he asked.

Olórin shook his head, the motion causing the near-dusk light to gleam brightly on the circlet of crystal he had not yet been told to set aside. “As noble and intelligent a beast as he is, Shadowfax does not possess the same kind of spirit Lord Eru gave to His children of Aman and Endorë. He will leave this life when it is his time, yet he will never be fully departed from it. There are not many births here in Aman, for the nature of this place does not often require it, even among the lesser creatures, but their lives are still not as long as even yours might have been, had Lord Eru not granted you His special gift. Shadowfax will live on in Lossemár, and he in his offspring, when the time is ripe. For now, I find it a delight to watch them, since it was rather plain that Shadowfax was quite annoyed with me once I was able to move about freely without him. For a time, I suspected he would never let me near any foal that bore his blood. I shan't ever make that mistake again, seeming to ignore him after all he has done for me! I think I now know how Lord Manwë felt when he discovered the error he had made in disregarding Lord Eru and commanding me to go to Endorë.”

Frodo laughed, remembering the great stallion's seeming fit of pique when for several weeks, Olórin — in his enthusiasm over finally being well and whole again — had done all his more distant traveling without Shadowfax. It had been almost entertaining to watch the stallion deliberately ignore his friend and master in his irritation, as well as the various gestures of apology that he had required of Olórin to get back in his good graces. Ványalos had found no end of jests to make over the situation, but it had quite possibly been those jokes and seeing his master made the butt of one too many that had finally prompted Shadowfax to forgive him. Since then, he had shifted his aloof disregard to Ványalos, his pointed rejection a subtly appropriate revenge against the gregarious and sociable Maia.

As they watched the horses run off to the far side of the meadow, to drink from the stream that ran through it, Frodo recalled the first time he had ever seen Shadowfax, after the war was over. In the encampment on the field of Cormallen, most of the horses had been stabled away from the places where the soldiers and civilians ate and were quartered; thus, it had not been until the day they made ready to ride to Minas Tirith for Aragorn's coronation that Frodo had finally seen the beautiful stallion of whom he had heard so much, especially from Pippin. The young Took had filled Frodo's ears with many a tale of what he remembered as a harrowing ride from Rohan to Gondor, but no opportunity had arisen for Frodo to actually see him until the day of their departure. He hadn't thought any horse could grow so large without appearing somehow monstrous, but for all his great size and strength, Shadowfax had seemed only noble and gentle, not unnatural. Gandalf had offered to have Frodo ride with him, but as Merry and Pippin were to be on ponies rather than such magnificent horses, Frodo had chosen to ride as they did, and not diminish what honor they had earned by seeming to put himself forward, a sentiment with which Sam had fully agreed. Nonetheless, he recalled his first sight of the great stallion quite clearly, and now, knowing that he too had served hard and well during the war, it pleased the hobbit to watch him free and at play with his own kin and family.

Frodo sighed, also remembering Sam's first startled reaction to the sight of the lord of the Mearas. “Do you think Sam will ever choose to come here, Olórin? He was another Ring-bearer — perhaps not for long, but at a very crucial moment. If not for the difficult choice he made near Cirith Ungol, all would have been lost.”

“He certainly has earned it,” the Maia agreed, watching the flight of the horses even as he listened to the approach of others behind them, Ványalos and Bilbo bringing the evening meal while other local residents also gathered to share food and song and the always splendid sight of the coming sunset. “But the choice is up to him, Frodo, and we could not influence him if we wished. If you want my opinion, however, I would say he will definitely come, when he has gained all he desires from life in Middle-earth.”

“And when will that be?” Frodo wondered.

Olórin laughed, a sound of pure merriment that to the halfling was as great a delight to hear as any grand and glorious music ever made. “Even if I knew, you know I wouldn't tell you. There are some things in life that should remain a surprise — especially a thing such as this, which can only lead to happiness. He will come soon enough, and then you can begin a whole new life here, showing and teaching him all you have learned during your time in Aman, as I have done for you.”

The hobbit smiled. “You did, though it won't be an entirely new life, of that I'm sure. Bilbo has been my father in all but the name since I was a boy, Sam was my best friend, especially during the struggle to reach Mordor and Mount Doom, and you have been the brother I never realized I missed having, until I came to know you well. Even Ványalos has begun to feel like a permanent fixture in my life, though I can't quite decide how and where he fits in — perhaps some unusual distant cousin, like Pippin. No, when Sam comes, I see no reason at all why my life should start over. This music hasn't ended, after all; he will simply be adding another voice to the choir.”

The wizard chuckled at the appropriate metaphor, and gracefully rose to go help the other members of their tiny chorus carry the things they had brought for the meal and for their comfort in sharing it. Frodo also joined them to lend a hand with the preparations, and after all had been readied, the now familiar ritual of saying farewell to the day and welcoming the night began once more. He glowed with pleasure at the sound of it, fully able to understand both languages in which it was sung.

O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We now remember, we who dwell
In this fair land of twilit trees
Thy glory o'er the Western Seas.

Ah! One, Who ere the world was wrought
And Song was heard in ancient days,
Brought forth from heart and mind and thought
Thy servants, who now sing Thy praise:

Watch o'er us in this distant land,
Where entered we in darkest night;
Grant us Thy peace; put forth Thy hand
To guide us ever with Thy Light.

The End of the Beginning