II

Before late afternoon, the clouds had rolled in, a beautiful panoply of grays and whites and near-blacks that reminded Frodo of the spring storms and glowering late autumn skies in the Shire — appropriate, he thought, for the place in Aman that reflected that part of Middle-earth.  The rain began about an hour or so before sunset, while he and Olórin were preparing the evening meal.  It began gently, but at times would come down more heavily, and the changing rhythms of it were a pleasant music Frodo only now realized he had missed.  When Ványalos arrived to help them, since most evenings he shared the meal with his neighbors, the Hobbit was surprised to notice that he was not the least bit damp, until he remembered how the Ainur could move about from place to place with the ease of a thought, so long as they needed only to move themselves.  When all was ready, and they somehow knew that the time of sunset was upon them, the two Maiar sang the benediction Frodo still had not quite learned, though he did join them in the parts with which he was sufficiently familiar.  It was pleasant to hear only the two of them for a change, since neither were often inclined to sing alone during the evenings they shared with others who lived nearby.  Both of them had the exquisite voices of their people — Ványalos’ an agreeably mellow low tenor half an octave above Olórin’s more resonant baritone — and Frodo was glad for this unexpected opportunity to enjoy listening to them.

As ever, Ványalos came with tales to tell, about his activities during the day, things he had heard or learned, rumors that had come to his ears.  He had the makings of a terrible gossip, Frodo had long since realized, but also the remarkable discretion to know when to stop just short of it.  Today, his news was mostly about visitors who had arrived in Lórien’s hill country that afternoon, a small group of Elves and Maiar who had come from various places in Eldamar with business in Lórien, and had chosen to travel together.  None of the names he mentioned were familiar to Frodo, but one Ványalos felt should be of interest to Olórin.

“Correct me, please, if I am mistaken,” the redhead said to his shorter and much fairer friend and neighbor, “but during all the times you spent under the tutelage of Lady Nienna, you did make the acquaintance of one of her servants, Helyanwë, did you not?”

The Istar smiled softly, nodding as he finished refilling all three teacups from the pot that was now empty.  “Helyanwë was one of the first of Lady Nienna’s people I met when I went to the Lady’s house on an errand for Lord Manwë after... well, I’m sure you know when, because you also know very well that Helyanwë and I are friends.  As I recall, after I first came to Lórien and you became aware of my friendship with her, you and several of your cohorts in mischief went out of your way to repeatedly suggest that I attempt to develop a relationship of a different kind with her, to help hasten the recovery of my broken heart.”

He snorted, a sound of perfectly humorous derision.  “Such utter absurdity.  I may have misjudged both Aránayel’s feelings as well as my own in my foolish ignorance, but I knew as well as you do that while our people can have many deep and lasting friendships, each of us has but one true mate of the heart, if indeed we have any at all.  Aránayel was not mine, nor was Helyanwë.  She, and many others, gave me support and guidance when I sorely needed it, and since then, our tasks for those we serve have brought us to work together again, at times.  I know you are perfectly aware of this, Ványalos.  Are you preparing to tell some inappropriately sordid — and completely untrue — tale to amuse Frodo and embarrass me?”

The taller Maia clicked his tongue and wrinkled his nose in chiding.  “Certainly not!  I would never do such a thing to you, pityandil....”

This time, Frodo snorted, amused but not fooled by the display of feigned innocence.  “You already have, on at least six separate occasions I can recall,” the hobbit pointed out.  “If I didn’t know that you are indeed Olórin’s friend, I would suspect you of being his sworn enemy, after some of the outrageous stories you’ve told — or perhaps I should call them lies, instead.”

Had he been a child — or more childish rather than childlike — Ványalos might very well have stuck out his tongue at the halfling.  “I have never in my life told a lie,” he said indignantly.  “Exaggerations, perhaps, and embellishments to improve upon an otherwise dull tale and give the listener greater pleasure, but not lies.  But I do grant, Olórin,” he added, relenting, “that this particular attempt to lift your spirits was an ill-chosen one.  You spoke well of Helyanwë, with some affection, and I admit that I misinterpreted it as interest of another sort.  Even if I had not, the timing of such a thing would have been poor, and I should not have pressed the matter as I did.”

About to drink from his teacup, the Istar set it upon the table instead, leaned back in his chair, and stared at his neighbor, dark eyes wide with disbelief.  “In all the thousands of years since that incident, I have never once heard you utter such a sincere apology for it.  Is something wrong, old friend?  I cannot imagine you have been saving this without considering when it might best be used to your advantage.”

The redhead smiled crookedly.  “Now, you are being unfair.  I have never been that mercenary!  The reason I mention it now is quite simple, and not at all a matter of manipulation: Helyanwë is among those who arrived from Eldamar today.  She and her company had just reached the commons while I was there on my daily errands.  Apparently, someone mentioned to her that I was your friend and neighbor, and had been much involved with the attempts to aid you during your recent difficulties.  She asked if you were sufficiently recovered from your injuries to entertain guests you have not seen in many a year.  Since to the best of my knowledge, you have always been on good terms with her, I told her I could not see why you would object.  I knew Eäron intended to ask you if some of the local folk could gather here after the evening meal, because of the coming rain, and I did not think you would say no. I informed her of this, and she felt it would be an excellent time to visit.  She did ask if I might make mention of this to you, however, so that if you felt otherwise, you could contact her beforehand and forestall any potential unpleasantry.  She is indeed a lovely person, and I regret not having made her acquaintance much sooner.  I hope I did not misspeak in extending her this invitation.”

“Not at all,” he was instantly assured.  “I think it is well past time for Frodo to meet a few of my friends of the Maiar who are not rogues like you.  Had I know she was in Lórien, I would have invited her myself.  Did she say what brought her here?”

Ványalos shook his head as he swallowed his last mouthful of his meal, as ever savoring each morsel.  All of the Ainur Frodo had met and broken bread with enjoyed sharing this part of the life of the Eruhíni, but none took quite so much pleasure in it as Ványalos.  Sometimes, the halfling could not help but feel that when He had fashioned the Hobbits, Eru Ilúvatar had also borrowed a few notes from whatever song Ványalos had sung in the Ainulindalë, for he was quite certain it must have at least in part concerned such mundane delights.  “She did not mention it, and I did not ask.  Whatever prompted her to approach me, I felt it to be a private matter and not my business unless you or she choose to make it so.”

He flushed slightly, a rare thing among the Ainur, and even rarer for the generally audacious Ványalos.  “I did not wish for her to think I was prying, not after what I did long ago.  I have no doubt my ill-considered pressure of you reached her ears, and having now met her face to face, I understand why you were offended.  I am sorry, Olórin, if I shamed or hurt either of you.”

The Istar’s eyes glittered as he reclaimed his cup and took a sip of the warm and fragrant tea.  “Since apologies so heartfelt are rare gifts from you, I shall accept this one, but I suspect Helyanwë was not offended.  Amused, perhaps, because she has had her share of scalawags with which to contend, but not shamed.  Had she been, I’m quite sure she would have greeted you with stern words and a chill that could freeze what passes for blood in a Balrog’s veins, rather than a polite inquiry about my welfare.  I shall enjoy seeing her again, and I will be interested in discovering why she has come so far from Nienna’s halls — and via Eldamar, at that.”

**********

Upon a dark midsummer’s eve there came a maiden fair,
All gowned in blue with golden sheen and blossoms in her hair.
Around the bright and festive fires, aglow with silver light,
Beneath the starry summer skies she danced throughout the night.

Her hair about her shoulders fell in locks of precious gold,
Her face shone like an Elven maid in song and lore of old.
Her step fell light upon the grass, as gentle as a breeze;
Her laughter glittered in her eyes like starlight on the seas.

And as she danced, she sang a song so marvelous to hear
That all who hearkened to its notes recalled it through the year.
It warmed them in the autumn chill, gave comfort in the rain,
And when the snows of winter flew it brought the spring again.

Yet when that soft enchanted eve did fade before the dawn,
Those who had seen the maiden looked about, and found her gone.
But ever after, on the wind the echoes of her tune
Were heard until she came and danced beneath midsummer’s moon. 

Although Frodo had a fair singing voice, he had felt very little desire to participate in such activities ever since that dreadful night in Bree when he had allowed himself to get carried away, almost to the loss of all Middle-earth.  Since his arrival in Valinor and the security of knowing that no such mishap could be repeated — and that many of the local residents knew nothing of what he had foolishly done at the Prancing Pony — he had been less disturbed by that memory and more self-conscious due to the extraordinarily beautiful voices of the Elves and the Ainur among whom he lived.  But those who had not been to Endorë in many a long year were hungry for new songs and tales, and their interest in anything Frodo had to offer was keen.  He was still reluctant to participate overmuch, but neither did he wholly refuse, as he had at first.  With so many guests about this night, he was too busy to do much more than listen, but as some of the Elves also celebrated midsummer and that time was drawing near, he was easily persuaded to share with them one of the briefest Hobbit songs pertaining to it.

Complying with such requests was less discomfiting, he had come to realize, because he was never required to perform entirely alone.  During his long stay in Middle-earth as Gandalf, Olórin had become familiar with every song written by the Hobbits since they moved into the land they named the Shire.  Sometimes he would sing with Frodo, if he felt so moved, sometimes he did not, but he knew accompaniment for them all, and was able to render them more than passably well on the great harp he had been given by the one of the Telerin Elves many years ago.  Frodo loved the sound of it, for it was fuller and richer in tone than any of the harps he had heard played in Middle-earth, even in such Elven lands as Rivendell and Lothlórien.  It seemed to the halfling as if the instrument had a living voice that was somehow an extension of the Maia who owned it and was able to call forth such beautiful sound from its strings.  He never tired of listening to Olórin play it, whether it was during evening gatherings or when he did so for his own pleasure.  Hearing it always woke in the Hobbit a desire to learn such a delightful skill, at least as well as he, a mere mortal, was able.  He had not mentioned that wish aloud, since he doubted he had even half the ability of an Elf, much less one of the Ainur, but someday, perhaps, he would.

For now, at the request of one of their guests — the Elven weaver Mirimë, who lived along the river that skirted the meadow to the west of this small community — he sang the short song he had first heard many years ago, on the midsummer after he had come to live with Bilbo at Bag End.  His uncle knew many songs most other hobbits had forgotten, and had written quite a number of his own.  Frodo more than half-suspected this was one of Bilbo’s efforts, but one he had never fully finished, since it seemed more brief than his usual songs and poems.  Olórin agreed, although he had no actual proof that Bilbo was in fact the source of the song.  He only knew that he, too, had first heard this from his old friend and not elsewhere in the Shire, and that it had come to light not long after Bilbo’s adventure with the Dwarves.

“I suspect his head was so full of all he had seen during his travels, he had to find some way to record it all before he forgot it,” the Istar speculated after Frodo had finished the song and received the adulation of their guests, especially of Mirimë, who had asked who had written it.  Frodo had turned to Olórin for confirmation of what he had deduced, which the Maia had supported.  “No such thing ever happened in the Shire, of course — not during the years of Bilbo’s life, at least — but he saw and heard a good deal during his stays in Rivendell, and even in Mirkwood and Thranduil’s halls.  I sometimes think he felt disappointed that the Hobbits had none of what he would call ‘magic’ about them, and dearly wished to bring some of what he admired about the Elves to the Shire.  By the time he returned home from the trip to Erebor, he had heard the tales of Lúthien and Melian, and had seen some of the fairest of the Fair Folk still residing in Middle-earth.  When I first heard this song, I could hear the echoes of those tales and Bilbo’s own experiences in it.  He never did claim it was his own, of course, but in a manner of speaking, he has left his mark all over it.”

The weaver — a tall and willowy Elf woman with glossy black hair and pale sea-green eyes — nodded her understanding.   “It is a charming song, whoever wrote it.  We have heard tales of your people here in Lórien for many years, Master Frodo, but none of my folk who have sailed West brought with them any of your music.  I could not believe that it had no merit of its own to make those who have heard it disdain it so — to speak the truth, I have often thought those who came with the tales forgot everything else because they were too concerned about their coming voyage to pay more than half a mind to those they were leaving behind.”

Frodo smiled and bowed to the lady as he accepted the goblet of wine Ványalos offered him.  “It’s good to know that we Hobbits have not been entirely overlooked by those in the West, nor completely forgotten by the Elves who left Middle-earth, but I would not think so harshly of them.  As a rule, my people had little to do with any of the Big Folk, and if anyone could be accused of disdain, I’m afraid it would be the Hobbits.  Many of us wanted nothing to do with outsiders, and those like my uncle who came to know the Elves and Dwarves and Men — and Wizards,” he added, inclining his head to Olórin to let him know his part in the history of the Shire was not being overlooked, “were usually considered odd, not quite respectable by Hobbit standards.  I could scarcely blame any of the Fair Folk who passed through the Shire if they did not choose to carry with them any memories of a people who wanted naught to do with them.”

“Yet here you are, Master Baggins,” another of the Elves, Failon, remarked, smiling.  He was unusually tall even among the local Elves, a Noldo almost of a height with Ványalos, dark-eyed, dark-haired, but with a cheerfully sunny personality.  He was noted in the region for two things: his baking talents, which were excellent, even by Hobbit standards, and his skill with the flute, which rivaled that of the local Maiar who favored such instruments. Ványalos had introduced him to Frodo not long after the halfling had first come to Lórien, and their mutual enjoyment of cooking arts had led them to become friends as well. “Some have said that you and your uncle came only because Olórin insisted, but it seems to me that you are quite at home here, in your own right.  You speak our language well for someone who was not raised among the Eldar, and you know many of our customs.  I should not say that you, at least, have wanted little to do with us.”

Frodo laughed after taking a deep draught of the red wine he had been given.  “No, I was always fascinated by tales of the Elves, even before I went to live with Bilbo.  And if I had had any inkling that the person we all knew as Gandalf was so much more than a wandering old Man, I would have pressed him for far more than the tales we were sometimes able to jolly him into telling!  I do miss the Shire, but because of the people I left behind, not the land itself — not anymore.  I found it here, all over again, and I think in time, I will find new friends as well — not to replace the old, of course, but to add to the joy I am finding again in life.”

Failon snorted, but with amusement.  “And that you might have begun to find sooner if Olórin had not waited so long to invite more than one or two guests to this house we built for him.”

The Istar, who had been adjusting one of the harp strings, deliberately struck a very dissonant chord that he knew would make the Elven baker, who was seated nearest him, wince.  From beside the softly glowing central hearth, one of the other guests clicked her tongue.  She was a small woman, delicate-boned and slender but with a visible inner strength, like the taut strings of the harp.  Though her gown was of unassuming dark blue and soft grays, her hair shimmered like moon-washed mithril, caught up in a net of fine dark threads set with silver beads that shone almost as bright as her large gray eyes.  She had been introduced to Frodo as Helyanwë, Olórin’s friend of old who was in the service of Nienna.  Her appearance had made the hobbit wonder how she had come by her name — which, as he recalled, was the High Elven word for rainbow — but the moment he heard her speak her greeting to him, he understood.  The many beautiful colors her name implied came not of her outer aspects, but of her voice and her personality, both of which were as lovely and radiant and as full of the promise of fair days after harsh storms as the rainbow itself.  He quickly knew why she served Nienna the Weeper, and why she and Olórin were friends.  She was a reflection of the hope that sustains and lightens the hearts of those who have suffered long and bitterly, and he shared that hope in full measure.

She turned now to the defense of their host.  “Come now, Failon, you are not being fair.  You came to Aman in the first Crossing, and have been here ever since.  You have never been ill or injured a single day in your entire life, so do show some compassion toward those who have.  Olórin has spent much time away from home on business of the Valar, and if he was especially wearied by his last long journey on their behalf, then he has earned all the peace and rest he wishes.  Even Lord Eru has said as much.  Are you presuming to argue with Him?”

The baker made a soft grumbly sound; Olórin nodded to his supporter.  “Thank you, Helyanwë, you have always been one of the most sensible and gracious of our people.  But I fear Failon has recently spent too much of his time loitering about in the company of Ványalos, so I do not wonder at his impertinence.”

Ványalos sniffed with mild indignation as he hesitated to offer his host the cup he had prepared for him.  “Impertinent I may be, pityandil,” he rebutted, “but it is not a habit I encourage in anyone but myself, and if Failon were my pupil in this, then I would consider him a negligent student, at best.  But it seems to me that the coincidence of the rains changing their pattern to come on the evening of the same day as visitors arrive from other parts of Aman is perhaps not a coincidence, after all.  It is well past time you took back some of the more pleasant parts of the life you knew before you went on that perilous mission to Endorë.”

Olórin acknowledged the truth of that observation, and was given his wine cup in reward.  While the others took the moment to also refresh themselves, the Istar left his harp and joined Helyanwë beside the hearth.  The warmth of it was not needed, for this part of Aman seldom grew very cold, but the low fire held at bay the cool dampness of the rainy night.  “Is this what brings you to Lórien?” he wondered as he settled into the vacant seat nearest hers.  “Lady Nienna was greatly concerned for my welfare during the months of my illness, and I know she continues to watch from afar — through her brother Irmo, if not directly.  Did she send you so that she might have a detailed report to hear from one of her own people?”

Helyanwë laughed as she tucked back an errant strand of her silver hair that had escaped its proper place in the decorative net.  “I have no doubt that she would be pleased by it, but coming here was my choice, not the Lady’s instruction.  You are likely not aware of it, since you have had much more vital matters to concern you since your return to Aman, but I and others have had unusual charges in our care, in recent years.  There were many of the Eldar who fled Middle-earth when it became clear that war with Sauron was drawing nigh once again, and some of those who had suffered through the last such conflict had no desire to be present for another.”

Olórin nodded heavily.  “I know that feeling all too well, I’m afraid.  Had it not been my duty to stand with the Eruhíni and help them oppose him, I might have chosen to flee to the West as well.  I was not there during the battles of the Second Age, but I still remember those of the First far too clearly, and my fear of Sauron’s power came of his deeds I had seen when he was still Melkor’s lieutenant.   Well did he earn the name Gorthaur the Cruel!  But it was responsibility and my duty to the Valar and Lord Eru that kept me to my task, not courage.”

“And your love of Lord Eru’s Children,” she reminded him gently.  “That has ever been your strongest motivation for giving aid to those in Endorë, and I know you well enough to know your heart in this.  Courage has many forms and many guises, my dear Olórin, and most often, it stands behind the humble mask of what is done for the sake of love.  But I have not come to discomfit you with commentary upon that which all your friends and neighbors know for themselves.  Rather, there is a matter concerning several of the Eldar in which I suspect you may be able to provide great assistance.  My journey to Eldamar took me to the city of Alqualondë, in search of an Elven sailmaker by the name of Lindarinë.  I did not know it when I left Nienna’s house, but I have since discovered that you and he have been friends since well before the time of the Revolt.”

“We are,” the Istar acknowledged, “though we have not been as close in the years since his release from Mandos.  He was one of the most joyful persons I knew among the Eldar before those tragic events, and though he has returned to incarnate life, the memories of that time have so dimmed his spirit, he has not been able to find a reason to return to the life of joy he once knew.”

“Until now, that may have been very true,” Helyanwë agreed.  “But not long ago, we found that perhaps there is a reason for him to live again.”  When Olórin regarded her with puzzlement, she explained.  “As I said, almost four years ago, by the count of time in Endorë, when the conflict with Sauron began to erupt into open war, many of the Firstborn came hither to escape what they thought might well prove to be the triumph of the Shadow over Middle-earth.  As you doubtless know, Círdan and his shipwrights were busy indeed, preparing vessels to carry those who wished to pass into the West.”

“Not only Círdan,” Olórin said with a sigh.  “Some who knew such craft still lived in Dol Amroth, and they were also hard pressed to use their skills to build ships, or to teach their craft to those who wished to sail West and were unwilling to wait.  Most fled to Mithlond and joined Círdan and his people when the Southrons first stirred and began to press the borders of Gondor some years ago, but a few held out until the war opened in earnest along the southern borders.  They then either fled to safer regions or took ship themselves.  I had heard that several planned to return to the lands that had been their home, should the war end in favor of those who stood against the Shadow, but I do not know if they did.”

“Nor do I, but I do know that some of these lesser shipwrights removed themselves to small settlements along the western shores of Endorë, near the same gulf where the havens lie.  They were not unscrupulous, nor did they deliberately look to profit from the fear of others, but some were unwisely moved by the terror of those who came looking to escape to the West.  If Círdan and his folk did not have a ship ready for their crossing, these others were willing to craft smaller vessels to allow them to leave sooner.”

The Istar’s dark eyes widened, so extremely that they caught the light of the flickering fire and for a moment burned a brilliant blue; the threads of the circlet gleamed bright in answer, as if responding to the thoughts searing through his mind.  “I had not heard of this,” he said, “not from Círdan or Elrond or anyone who might have been privy to such information.”

“Mayhap because it was not common knowledge,” Helyanwë assured him, laying a hand on his arm to calm him before he could become needlessly disturbed by the news.  “Círdan, I have discovered only recently, did know something of this, but it did not go beyond his jurisdiction.  Such incidents were not frequent, and when it became known that they were occurring at all, he made certain they did not continue.  He considered this a private matter, to remain and be dealt with by his own people, and I believe his judgment was correct.  The craftsmen who acquiesced to the pleas of those desperate to depart were not taking advantage of them to increase their wealth; they were genuinely moved to compassion by the anguish of those who begged for their help.  They hurried the building of ships that could go into the West, and did not know the results of their haste.  Only three such vessels set out before Círdan intervened.  All three made the crossing, but not without incident.  Two barely reached the easternmost shore of Tol Eressëa; they landed hard, away from any port, but with no loss of life.”

She sighed, her gray eyes dulled with sadness.  “The third and last was not so blessed.  It foundered in the crossing and would not have come as far as it did if not for the intercession of Uinen, who saw it, lost and desperate, and came to its aid so that it might reach the waters of Aman.  But when he saw what she had done, Ossë her spouse grew angry, as is too often his wont; he felt she had acted improperly, and raised up the waters of the Shadowy Seas, so that the ship she had rescued foundered and was wrecked against the most desolate and rocky shoals of the Enchanted Isles.  All on board were drowned, but for two young Elf children, who were saved by Ulmo himself when he heard the cries for help of those aboard the ruined ship.  Even he came too late to save them all, but the young ones he took safely to Tirion, where great Elven healers lived and could succor them.  They were fair children, even among the offspring of the Eldar, golden-haired and dark-eyed, not babes, though not yet even half-grown, perhaps six or seven years as the mortals count them.  None in Tirion recognized them, and the terror through which they had lived — foundering at sea and like as not witnessing the loss of their parents and close kin — had stolen away their voices.  They would not speak, or could not, and had closed their minds to any who might commune with them in that fashion.”

“I have seen such things before,” Olórin said, his tone heavy with compassion for the orphaned children.  “More often among mortals than among the Eldar, but from time to time, one of the Eruhíni who has suffered a terrible and sudden loss will shut themselves off from others in this way.  Some recover their voices in time, others do not.  Children seem more apt to do so, but only when the fear has passed and they are able to feel safe again.  If they are not known to any of the Eldar here in Aman, it may be long before they can find such security.”

Helyanwë agreed.  “Which is why they were brought to the house of my mistress.  Lord Irmo and Lady Estë both agreed that the hurt which had stolen their voices was not a physical injury, nor one of the mind that he could heal through his skills.  It needed the compassion of his sister Nienna instead, and so they were brought to live in her house.  I have been much involved in their lives since they were found, and it has been time well spent, for it has at last borne fruit.  Only a few weeks ago, they began to speak again, with those of us who have been as family and teachers to them, and we finally learned their names:  the boy is Lére, and the girl is his twin sister Melui.”

This time, an audible gasp escaped the Istar.  “I know of them!  Indeed, I have met them, when they still resided in Middle-earth.  Their mother, Lassea, is one of the Teleri of Mithlond, and has lived in the region of Lindon all her life.  Her spouse, Runel, was one of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien, a boat crafter who came to learn from Círdan, as he was the most skilled of the Eldar in such things.  He fell in love with both Lassea and the Sea, but agreed to stay in Middle-earth until such time as she was ready to cross and perhaps rejoin her parents and other kin who had gone to the West long ago, by choice or by death.  They had wanted children for many years, yet they came to them later than is typical for the offspring of the Eldar.  Lassea took this as a sign that the time for their departure to the West was drawing near, yet when I last saw them, perhaps five years ago, I saw no indication that she was in such haste to leave Endorë that she would risk the lives of her very precious children in anything less than a ship from Círdan’s own hands.”

The silver-haired Maia sighed softly.  “Perhaps, but it would seem that she did just that.  The children, of course, cannot tell us what their parents had meant to do or how they reached the decision about their departure from Middle-earth, but Círdan himself knew more — a great deal more.  Not only does he recognize the twins, but he knows the full tale behind this tragedy.  During the time of the Great Crossing, there were twin brothers among the Teleri who waited for the second crossing, Nolvo and Rávo.  The elder of the two, Nolvo, stayed as part of the group Ulmo had asked to remain behind; Rávo and his spouse went on to Aman at the urging of his brother, who desired that the first  generation of at least one of their families be born in the Blessed Realm.  There was no bitterness at their parting, for Rávo was going to a land of great bliss, and for Nolvo to be asked to remain in Endorë by the Lord of the Seas himself was a great honor.  Toward the end of the First Age, Nolvo took a wife, Inwitári, and they had but one child, Lassea.  During the Great Battle that destroyed and changed Beleriand and much of western Middle-earth, Inwitári was captured by the minions of the Enemy and killed.  Nolvo, still faithful to his promise to remain in Endorë, raised his daughter on his own, and himself was slain during the Third Age in the battle with the Witch King of Angmar.  Thereafter Círdan saw to Lassea’s welfare, though she was full grown and had been well-prepared by her father to live and thrive on her own.  As you said, when her twin children were born after so many years spent childless, she took it as a sign that it would soon be time for her to leave Middle-earth.  When she heard news that the Nine were abroad and Sauron was once again stirring, she felt certain the moment had arrived, and convinced her husband of such.

“They and others of their acquaintance were impatient to leave and unwilling to wait for Círdan to prepare a ship for them, for they had all been in Middle-earth during the war of the Last Alliance, and they were terrified of seeing another, even more dreadful conflict.  Because of what had taken the lives of both her parents, Lassea in particular wanted her children to never know the horrors of such a struggle, so she and others found one of the shipwrights from Dol Amroth who was willing to prepare a vessel for them as quickly as possible.  But as always, haste proved its own undoing, even a haste wrought of love.  Círdan warned them against this, but Lassea would not heed him.”

Olórin had been listening attentively, not interrupting, but when Helyanwë paused, he spoke, giving voice to connections that had entered his mind.  “Lindarinë is Telerin, and if I am not mistaken, his father’s name was Rávo.  If this is the same person of whom you speak, then here there is tragedy heaped upon tragedy.  I know this family, and there is a reason why Lindarinë has so few kin, and none as close as might be.  When Fëanor and his followers came to Alqualondë and used force to take what they had been refused, both Rávo and his wife actively and willfully fought against them.  They slew in anger and hate, not in defense of themselves or others as many of the Teleri did, and I know that Lord Manwë will not permit them to leave Mandos, for they remain as unrepentant of what they did as is Fëanor.  It is a very large part of why Lindarinë can find no joy in life.  He returned in the hope that ere long, his kin would again be with him, but none of them who died that day have yet come forth, either because Manwë forbids it, or because they will not leave so long as others cannot also return.”

Helyanwë let loose a deep breath, full of pity.  “And much the same is true of Lassea’s parents.  Her father, Nolvo, took many lives in battle more cruelly than was necessary because he so hated the orcs who had killed his wife.  Yet he slew far more than mere orcs, taking the lives of many men who had fallen to the darkness or were its unwilling slaves.  He will not admit that any of what he had done was wrong and is worthy of regret, and thus Lord Manwë will not allow Lord Námo to release him.  So long as he remains in Mandos, his wife will not come forth, for she refuses to leave without him.  So Lindarinë remains alone, with only some very distant cousins as family.  He has no wife, no child to give him comfort.  These children of Lassea are his near cousins, and once that had been discovered, I was sent to Alqualondë to see if he might take them into his house and care for them, until their parents win their own release from the Halls of Waiting.  It would do all of them good, I deem, for the children wish very much to have kin of their own kind to guide and watch over them, and I believe it would help Lindarinë find the healing for his own heart as well.  Both he and the twins need family to effect their cure, but he does not believe himself fit for such a task.”

The Istar grumbled softly.  “He is wrong.  Long ago, he was able to help me through my own darkness, and with others found ways to lead me back into the light of life again.  He could do the same for these children, if he would only let go of his bitterness and grief long enough to see it.”

Helyanwë smiled, her eyes glittering.  “I knew you would say this, Olórin my friend, which is why I came here when I realized I could not open his eyes, or his heart to these children.  But I did not come to ask you to go to Alqualondë and attempt to persuade or force Lindarinë to do what he refuses to do, nor to remind him that it is his duty as their last living kin to look after these young ones.  I came to ask if you would consider coming with me to Nienna’s house, to see the children and help determine if they might indeed be the remedy Lindarinë needs, and he theirs.  You are the greatest of all Nienna’s pupils, though you are not of her people, and you are acquainted with all three who are sorely in need of help.  Knowing Lindarinë as you already do, perhaps if you have a chance to see the twins as they are now, you might also see the way to do what is best for all of them.  Thus far, it has eluded those of us who have been charged with the task, and your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” another voice chimed in, reminding Olórin that they were far from alone.  They had an audience, in fact, as the others had been listening to Helyanwë as if she were telling a tale of bygone days.  Frodo had been the one who had spoken, and when the Istar looked up at him with a profoundly skeptical expression, he continued.   “Well, it is, if you think about it.  It seems as if there are quite a number of people in need of help at the moment, people who helped you in the past, and this would be returning the favor, wouldn’t it?”

The hobbit gave him such a pointed look as he spoke, Olórin wondered for a moment what more he might be implying.  It took only a moment more for him to understand.  Others had aided him in the past when he was in sore need of it, and perhaps the person who might best be able to help him determine why he was now having such difficulties in his relations with Manwë was Nienna, who understood more of the complex workings of the heart than any other of the Valar.  “It might at that,” he agreed as he digested these thoughts, nodding slightly as he held Frodo’s eye to let the halfling know that he had grasped his tacit meaning.  “But it is a fair distance from Lórien to Nienna’s house on the western shores, at best some seven days of travel if one goes by land.  I do not know if this would be a good time for such a long journey.”

A frown of worry darkened Frodo’s expression.  “Why not?  Are you feeling ill again?”  He hardly thought such could be possible, not after Eru Himself had intervened to help the Maia before he had dwindled to nothing.

He, and others, were glad to see Olórin shake his head, without hesitation.  “No, of course not.  I am not so foolish as to disregard Lord Eru’s advice concerning the use of His gift, especially not after He gave it to me to help heal the harm that had been caused when other advice of His was ignored.  I’m fine, but this trouble is mine alone, and I would not have you waste even a day of your time here in Aman on a journey you may not wish to make.”

The halfling dismissed that concern with a casual gesture.  “The time is mine to spend as I will,” he reminded his friend, “and since Bilbo and I were told we need not leave this life until we decide we are ready, I will have as much time here as I wish.  But I do understand that you might not want me tagging along.  Is there some reason why I cannot simply stay here while you go?  I'm not a child, in spite of my size, and I’ve grown quite comfortable here — at least since you were made well again.  I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to get to know the other people who live hereabouts without feeling as if I am nothing more than your shadow.”

Olórin’s eyes narrowed as he glanced first at the hobbit, then beyond him to their guests, who were listening to their conversation, either openly or with politely veiled interest.  “Have you felt this way even since you first came to Lórien?  That I have been overprotective?  If so, I apologize, for I never intended to cause you  discomfort....”

Frodo again waved the matter aside.  “And you didn’t.  What I felt were my own misconceptions, not your mistreatment.  Everyone has been quite kind to me, yourself included — and I have very much appreciated it,” he added, looking about to smile at the guests who were watching him.  “But I haven’t been alone for more than a few hours since before I left Middle-earth, and I should like a chance to see how well I fit in here without thinking that someone else must always be responsible for smoothing the path for me, so to speak.  It’s not as if I’m in danger, after all, and even if something were to come up in your absence, I’m certain any of your people would happily summon you if there was need.”

“Indeed we would,” Ványalos agreed with an emphatic nod that set his long braid of red hair dancing across his back.  “I do not think Frodo needs anyone to look after him, Olórin, but if you are concerned that he might become lonely or bored, we will see to it that he does not.  Indeed, I believe there are others who would like an opportunity to improve their acquaintance with him. Few of our people here in Lórien have had the experience of interacting with mortals more than briefly, and this is the first opportunity for some to do so, since Lord Eru granted Frodo and his uncle the grace to live and travel safely in Aman. I would gladly see to it that they take care not to intrude on his solitude when he wishes and requires it.”

One of the taller Maiar, Eäron, snorted.  “So you would appoint yourself his caretaker instead, Ványalos?  Did you not just now say that he needs none?”

Laughter skittered about the room at the way Ványalos both flushed and glared at the sea lord’s servant.  Eäron’s own spouse, Lantara, nudged him for making such a brazen remark, though she too was smiling.  But Frodo came to his neighbor’s aid.  “I do not, Eäron, but neither do I mind the companionship.  Ványalos was the first new friend I found here in Lórien, and if he cares for my well-being, then I am blessed by having such a friend.  And you do not know Hobbits, if you believe that we do not have ways for ridding ourselves of guests who have overstayed their welcome!”

“That is quite true,” Olórin agreed, far more familiar with the ways of the Endorë’s Little People than all the others in the room combined.  “Any folk who enjoy the giving and taking of hospitality as much as the Hobbits need to develop skills for ousting those who would linger long after even their notions of propriety say the time has come to go home.  Small though they might be, the Hobbits have many methods for evicting unwanted guests which even you might find surprisingly effective, Eäron.  He can deal with Ványalos — or with any of you, for that matter, if needs be.”

The Istar sighed, his decision made.  “Very well, then, Frodo, since you have no objections — and indeed it seems you would enjoy some time out of my company — I shall go with Helyanwë.  I do not know how much I will be able to help, but it does indeed seem that there are many matters which could find the beginnings of their resolutions in the house of Nienna.”