III

On the farthest of the western shores of Aman, along the endless strand of the Ekkaia and not far from the very Doors of Night, Nienna had come after the shaping of Valinor and there built her home, away from the other residents of the Blessed Realm.  It was a desolate land and thus had always been, not lush with green as the plains and forests, nor towering and majestic as the mountains of the Pelóri, nor as vast and unsleeping as the great seas.  It was a place where the clouds often lowered over the land below, which itself was bleak, giving sustenance to the unimpressive growing things that perched upon the rocky bluffs against the sea, or found ways to root themselves in the sands and broken stones where the surf pounded in ceaseless rhythms of the tide and the wind.  Few of the kelvar made their homes here, for there were many more places in Aman for them to live and thrive with greater ease.  It was a place of deep quiet, interrupted only by the constant voices of wind and sea that battered the shores and stony hills.

Most people looked upon this land and wondered how anyone could choose to make it their home.  Surely, some thought, only a cold and heartless person would make such a choice, for only an unfeeling heart could find anything of worth in grim desolation.  Olórin had thought much the same thing, the first time he had come to Nienna’s house, but later, when he had come in terrible need of isolation, wanting nothing more than to hide his shame and numb the pain he had felt after Aránayel’s cruelty, he had learned much about the Weeper and her home that he had not grasped before.  He had spent considerable time alone during those days when he had resided here at Manwë’s instruction, wandering the seemingly empty lands that were Nienna’s domain; in time, he came to realize why she had let him do so.  There was wisdom in the stillness, understanding to be found in silence away from the clamor of others’ thoughts and feelings.  Like all of his kind, he perceived the presence of his fellow Ainur as a wordless sound, forever pressing against him like a noise that increased with the numbers of others around him, and diminished the farther he went into solitude.

Only once had he ever known total silence, both physically and mentally: during the time after his death in Moria, when he had become untethered from any physical existence and was set adrift outside the circles of time and space.  He had been nowhere, then, and nowhen; he could not perceive anything but himself, not the presence of a world about him, material or immaterial, nor even the passage of time.  It had been the Void in its uttermost sense, and if that had been what Melkor experienced every time he went into that nothingness to seek the Flame Imperishable, then Olórin did not wonder that at length he had been driven to an utter madness that would have destroyed everything, had he been able to achieve his goals.

The quiet of Nienna’s realm was not so disturbing to the Istar, and had not been for a very long time.  He knew why she had come here, and what benefit she derived from such a dwelling place.  Now that he appreciated it, he enjoyed the times he spent here as ones of peace in which he could find  focus for his spirit and greater understanding of all the facets of Arda and those who inhabited it, Ainur and Eruhíni alike.  When he and Helyanwë arrived, using the swift movement of their kind rather than the longer physical journey across the land between the western shores and Lórien, they came to a place that was the accustomed point of arrival, a broad area atop a stone bluff that overlooked the sea on one hand, and looked up to Nienna’s dwellings on the other.

As they gazed upon it, an errant shaft of sunlight played across the dark slates of the large granite and glass structure that was called Nienna’s house. Only among the Valar would such a place be thought of thus; anywhere else in Arda, even among the Maiar and the most noble of the Elves, it would be considered a mansion.  Yet for all its size, it was more simple than most other dwellings of the Valar; its only embellishment was the drama of the world about it, and that needed no enhancement to steal one’s breath away.  The skies above them were thick with leaden clouds, pierced through in places with searing patches of blue and shot with ribbons of white; the spray of the heavy surf that roared against the dark stone bluffs filled the air, both in dampness and in scent.  The wind blew down from the north, along the strand, chill after the pleasant warmth of Lórien, stirring the raiment of the Maiar, driving the clouds ever on, bending low the dry sea grass that here and there sprang up between the rocks.

It was on just such a day that Olórin had come here many years ago, arriving in this very spot.  He remembered how he had felt, then, pitifully young and ignorant and in pain he could not understand.  He had made the journey only because it had afforded him the excuse he desired to flee Ilmarin, and the unbearable circumstances that had caused his pain.  He felt a very human thickness gather in his throat as he recalled the last time he had been in this land, again flying from the halls atop Taniquetil to escape the pain of another unexpected betrayal.  On the first of those days, long ago, Manwë had risen to his servant’s aid, and had bid him remain with Nienna to find the healing he had so desperately needed.  But when Olórin had come here but a few months ago, fleeing Manwë himself, the Elder King had not come in search of him, or asked after him; he had left that task to Ulmo and Nienna.

Was that, Olórin wondered, perhaps a facet of why he was finding it so difficult to fully forgive his lord?  Did he harbor some lingering perception that Manwë had not cared enough?  If so, it was a misperception, and Olórin knew it, for he had deliberately hidden himself from Manwë, and in the days that had followed, the Lord of the Air had done all he could to help find a way to undo the harm he had wrought.  He would have done anything to make right the wrong he had caused — so why could Olórin not find it in him to say the simple words that would end this tension between them?

The sound of a voice nearby reminded him that he was not alone.  “You are thinking too much, Olórin, and that has never boded well,” Helyanwë said, her tone light enough to let him know that she was not pressing for information that was none of her business, but grave enough to make him aware that she was able to sense more than perhaps he intended to project.  “You did not say as much before we made ready to leave your home, but I cannot know you and not know when something is troubling you.  I will not ask what, since that information is yours to keep or to share as you choose, but I will say that I could not help but feel that this journey might have benefit for more than those of the Eldar I seek to help.”

Olórin’s eyes slipped away from his study of Nienna’s house and the play of light upon it to regard his companion with a wry smile.  “I shan’t ask if this conclusion was reached on your own or with the help of others, since I know you need no help to read the hearts of those for whom you care.  A skill you learned well from Lady Nienna, long before I first made your acquaintance.  I do wish to help Lindarinë and his kin as much as I am able, for I owe him greatly, yet there is a personal matter I desire very much to discuss with the Lady, if she will.  But I will postpone my business until after I have done what I can for you, if you wish.”

Helyanwë shook her head, a momentary gleam of sun glittering on the silver beads of her netted hair.  “There is no need for such haste,” she assured him.  “Indeed, I think it would be better if you saw to your own needs first, if you are able, for it would doubtless clear your mind and allow you to focus better upon the matters for which I asked you to come.  And do you truly question whether or not the Lady would speak with you any time you asked?”

He conceded the point and they started the walk along a path set with flags of slate and granite that led from the seaside bluff to the entrance of Nienna’s home.  “No.  Others may call her the Weeper, but I have long been aware that Lady Nienna is not as cold and grim as many think.  Perhaps that was why she was so willing to teach me, because I was willing to see her as she is and not as her reputation paints her.  Pity is something greatly misunderstood, both here and in Endorë.  Pride so often blinds one to its true nature, prompts those who would not be seen as weak to scorn it as an unneeded prop for those not stern enough to weather the storms of life.  I have been rash and impatient and foolish, far too many times, but that manner of pride is not in my nature, nor in Lady Nienna’s.  And yet the Eruhíni are so vulnerable to it...!”  He shook his head, remembering the many people not of his own kind he had met over the years, especially during his most recent sojourn in Middle-earth.

Though she had not participated in that venture, and knew little of the Atani, Helyanwë nonetheless understood.  “It brought doom upon the Noldor, and upon far too many of our own folk.  I have heard what became of your fellow Istari, and although I am saddened to hear that all of them fell away from your mission, the manner in which all but Aiwendil appear to have done so does not surprise me.  Curumo and Alatar in particular knew this kind of pride far too well long before this embassy began, and they learned it from others who demonstrated what they saw to be its more pleasurable aspects.  Melkor was not the only one of the Valar who knew such arrogance, though he was far greater a master of it than anyone else.”

Olórin chuckled softly as he clicked his tongue.  “Such disloyalty does not become you, old friend.  Surely you would not count your own mistress in this....”

She made a delicate sound that was nonetheless clearly a snort.  “Perhaps not, though she will be the first to admit that she has had her own moments of ill-chosen pride.  Others would not be so honest.  Is it a matter of pride that is troubling you?  I will not believe you if you say you have been guilty of such a thing.”

“I would not tend to believe it, either,” the Istar admitted as they reached the broad steps of polished dark marble that led to the main entrance of the great house.  “But perhaps I have been and cannot see it, and thus am the cause of my own worries.  Do not concern yourself overmuch on my account, Helyanwë, please.  This is very much a personal matter, and from what you have told me of the youngsters in your charge, you have more than enough to keep you occupied.”

“But never so much that I cannot also care for a troubled friend.  I will do as you request, of course, but should you change your mind and wish for any help I can give, you have but to ask.”

He smiled as they came to the burnished silver and glass doors that opened with only a thought as they approached.  “Of that I have no doubt.  Yet allow me a chance to deal with this on my own.  I cannot help but feel that having spent two thousand years bearing the burden of care and worry for all of Endorë has left me a bit out of practice when it comes to handling such affairs of my own.  I need the exercise, I think.”

Helyanwë laughed, kindly.  “Perhaps so.  Then I will continue on to see how the young ones are faring.  I did not argue with Lady Nienna when she asked if I would undertake the task of  investigating their origins and family connections, but I do admit that I did not wish to leave them with other caretakers.”

Olórin's eyes glittered even as they passed into the dimmer light beyond the doorway.  “What you are experiencing sounds to me very much like the trait the Eruhíni, especially the mortals, call ‘maternal protectiveness.’  A very interesting phenomenon, Helyanwë, and one I think suits you admirably.  You may wish to discuss it with Melian, someday, as only she of our people has any great and direct experience with it.”

“I may do that, when the twins are properly settled.  For now, they are residing in the little house where the Elves who occasionally come to visit Lady Nienna are quartered.  You will find me there, when you have finished.”  With that and a gracious gesture, she headed off down the corridor that headed north out of the entranceway.

She did not tell Olórin where he might find Nienna herself, and the Istar did not ask; he knew.  Unless she was occupied with matters that demanded her presence elsewhere, the Vala could ever be found in the great hall that was the entire western portion of the house.  There, facing the sea and the Doors of Night, were many wide windows that afforded a clear view of the world beyond, stone terraces that overlooked the towering bluffs and open skies and pounding surf.  Nienna went there not to weep, but to ever contemplate matters of the heart and its ways that brought understanding and wisdom and compassion for all that lived.  There had Olórin learned from her, many times since they had come to Arda, and he could sense her familiar presence in that place with scarcely an effort.

As he went down the corridors that led to the hall, he noticed that as always, the house was quiet — not silent like a tomb, but merely quiet.  The echoes of voices and the distant roar of the sea and wind could be heard, if one paid heed to know them for what they were.  They were the sounds of the living world, and he wondered at them no more than he wondered at the fact that so many of his people chose to live in it in the forms of the Eruhíni, when it was not essential to their being.  He himself had spent many years in Arda without a visible fana, at work studying and helping the Eldar before the emergence of Men.  Yet in this realm of substance and hue and shape, it had always seemed to him to be a way of hiding, moving through it and among its inhabitants, unseen.  Many of the Ainur understood this, and though some preferred to remain without a body visible, most of even the greatest maintained a form able to seen by all, even when they were not among the Eruhíni.  Thus they built themselves mansions and halls and homes, and therein dwelt to share also in that part of incarnate life.

Olórin generally did not reflect upon this, for elsewhere in Aman, incarnate life abounded and their imitation of its form seemed quite natural; but here, in a land many considered desolate, few saw the point of it.  That they also saw only the lonely sadness of the place explained their attitudes, but he had long since seen past such illusions to the beauty beneath.  Others would walk down this same passage, hear the distant echoes of sound and call them mournful; he listened to them and heard but another part of the Great Song that was needed to bridge between the dark notes of a lament to the bright song of rejoicing.  It seemed so simple to him, as the rainbow cannot be without first the rain, that what truly made him wonder was how others who were certainly more intelligent and perceptive than he could not see this.

Of course, he had his own areas of blindness; if he hadn’t, he would not have been here now, seeking the Lady of the house.  In his heart he felt the touch of a wordless but warm welcome, and knew that he was on the right path.  He lengthened his stride to cover the distance more swiftly, and at last came to the nearest entrance to Nienna’s great hall.

The sun had broken through the clouds and now poured through the wide walls and roof of glass like water filling a clear vessel.  The chamber was all aglow with it, and in such radiance, the true colors of Nienna’s home were revealed in all their simple splendor.  The polished stone of the floors gleamed as brightly as the silver of the plain but finely wrought furnishings; the carpets that lay upon them and the hangings of the wall were not elaborate, but their fibers that seemed dark and dull in the shadows showed many vibrant colors in the sunlight.  Tall doors of silver and crystal opened onto a terrace that gave a magnificent view of the sea and sky; before them was Nienna’s chair, carved of stone, washed with silver, and set with cushions of fine woven cloth the blue of midnight.

The Lady herself sat upon it in a gown of the same deep hue, gazing out upon the world as her thoughts and her heart wandered its vastness, ever in search of greater understanding.  She did not stir when Olórin entered, for she knew without seeing that he was there, but when he paid his wordless respects by kneeling before her, the student ever willing and ready to learn, she smiled, her eyes shining, but not with tears.  She spoke no word at first, either aloud or in thought, but bent forward and gently kissed the top of his lowered head.  He looked up and smiled in return as she leaned back in her chair.

“It gladdens my heart to see you again, Olórin,” said she, gesturing for him to find a more comfortable seat.  He did, though he remained on the softly carpeted floor before her, a place from which he had learned much about compassion and wisdom.  “Not so long ago, I had nearly lost all hope for you, and  it brings me great joy to see you restored to health and strength once again.”

“Thanks to Lord Eru,” he agreed.  “I am not yet wholly restored, though I know it is but a matter of time and patience.  Any improvement is a blessing, and each day I find new reasons to be thankful.  Did I remember to thank you, my lady, for rescuing me when I so foolishly exhausted myself into all but nothing, practically upon your doorstep?”

Nienna’s eyes gleamed as a shaft of brighter sunlight pierced the clouds above and fell upon her.  “I cannot recall if you spoke the precise words, but it matters not.  Our friendship is old enough so that none are necessary.  I have long known your heart, whether you wish it or no, and I knew from the moment I lifted you up from the shore that for all you were broken and weak and in despair, you were grateful for my aid.  And I know what brings you here now, even though you have yet to speak of it.”

The Maia laughed, and though the stone and glass of the walls and floors made the sound ring more loudly, it did not seem at all out of place.  “I knew there would be no need for me to say anything at all to you. Indeed, it has never been necessary for me to inform you of such matters; you always seem to know before I can even form the thoughts of what I might wish to say.”

“And does this offend you?”

He shook his head; the same sunlight that shone in Nienna’s eyes glinted off the circle of crystal threads all but lost against the brightness of his pale hair.  “You already know the answer to that as well.  No, my lady, it does not offend me.  Truthfully, it makes the situation easier for me, for it means that I need not find ways to say aloud what I either cannot say or have said too often, to no avail.  Do you have any notion at all why I cannot find it in me to forgive Lord Manwë, even though I very much wish to do so?”

One corner of the Valië’s smile quirked wryly.  “I have many notions as to why this might be so, but only one which I believe to be the truth.  I have watched you from afar these past months, and I have felt your inner struggle with this difficult question.  You are near to the answer, I think, but perhaps too near to see it clearly.”

Olórin grunted softly.  “I suspected as much.  And what might this answer be?”

Nienna favored him with a mildly amused sidelong glance.  “If I told you, you still would not see it, I fear.  I look into your mind and your heart, and I perceive that it is already there, but in pieces you are trying so hard to join together, you do not know that you are attempting to do so in the wrong fashion.  If I said to you, no, do it this way, you would try, but you would fail, for you had not found the truth by yourself, and there is much to be learned in so doing.”

The Istar's smile faded; as he turned his head away, distress settled upon his fair features.  “If you will not help me, then what am I to do?  I cannot continue to stumble blindly, searching for an answer that if it does not come may forever estrange me from Lord Manwë.  I am his servant, and I entered that service gladly and willingly; I do not wish for it to end because I have not learned your lessons of compassion and forgiveness well enough.”

The Lady leaned forward and with one slender hand touched Olórin’s face and turned it back toward her.  When she had caught his eyes with her own, she smiled compassionately.  “You have learned every lesson I ever set you well enough, and more.  Not a one of my own people can make that claim, for they tend to concern themselves with one aspect of our duties here in Arda and not many, as you have done.  You are not blind, dear Olórin, only weary and confused and uncertain after too many long years toiling in the Darkness and amid the poisons of the Enemy.  Did you hear what our Father told your young friend, Frodo, of the healing of his own wounded heart?”

Again, he nodded.  “He told Frodo that he had done much on his own by forgetting his troubles for a time and turning the focus of his mind and heart to the welfare of another.  If what happened to me served no other purpose, then that alone would have more than made it worth whatever cost I paid, to help hasten Frodo’s recovery from all the hurts he took from the Enemy.”

“And if the advice of the One was good for your small friend, it is also good for you.  To find the answers you require, you must turn away from them for a time and occupy yourself with the welfare of others.  In so doing, you will see what now eludes you, and in the end profit not only those whom you will aid, but yourself as well.”

Olórin considered her words for several long moments.  “And I suspect that what Lord Eru said to Frodo was not meant for his ears alone.  Nothing He ever does is mere coincidence, and He could not have failed to see what was doubtless already troubling me, though I knew it not at the time.  But are you guessing what might be, my lady, or do you foretell with greater certainty?”

She chuckled softly.  “You know as well as I that so long as all of Eru Ilúvatar’s children of thought and of flesh have wills of their own, there is no certainty for the future, only speculation.  But some guesses are more educated than others, and founded on a solid basis of knowledge and understanding and fact.  I know you, I know the problem you wish to resolve, I see the root of it, and I see how it may be plucked out — but you must see it for yourself, else like the weed that grows deep roots, you will attempt to remove it in the wrong way, leave behind the most vigorous part, and in time, the weed will come forth again.  What I suggest is what seems to me to be the best way for you to learn what is needed to uproot the whole of the problem, and put an end to the trouble once and for all.  Are you willing to make the attempt?”

The Maia did not hesitate before nodding.  “Of course, my lady.  You have never advised me in any way that was not to my benefit in the end, and I will not begin to doubt you now.  And is your advice now to help Helyanwë find a way to unite the orphaned twins with their cousin?”

“Or whatever way will be to the greatest benefit of all involved.  Do whatever you are able to help them, and their cousin in Alqualondë, and you will certainly be rewarded in ways that are now beyond your perception.  Such was the case after you returned to us from your recent difficult mission in Endorë, was it not?”

He smiled crookedly.  “In the end, yes, but it certainly did not seem so at first.  Lord Eru’s wisdom is as infinite as His humors, and ever He finds new ways to remind us that there is no evil that cannot in time be undone by His will.  Then I will do as you bid, my lady, and set aside my own troubles to see to those of these orphaned children.  I will be glad if there is indeed something I can do to help them, and Lindarinë, for he did much to bring light back into my life.  I would do the same for him and his kin, if I am able.”

“Of that I am certain,” Nienna said as she stood and held out her hands to help the Maia from the floor.  The assistance was not necessary, but the friendly gesture was well-meant, and therefore much appreciated.  “Perhaps someday, I shall ask my brother Námo to consider allowing you into his Halls to discuss matters of patience and wisdom with Fëanor.  He has nursed his grievances and defiance almost as long as you have waited for the chance to give recompense for a debt to one whose life would not have been ruined had Fëanor not led his ill-considered revolt.”

When he was on his feet again, Olórin laughed, the sound as bright as the sunshine.  “My lady, you honor me with your high opinion of my value as a counselor, but I fear this effort would be utterly wasted, unless Fëanor’s heart has greatly changed during my recent sojourn in Endorë.  I greatly admire his skills as a craftsman and the quickness of his mind; this he knows, but there are certain issues about which we have never seen eye-to-eye.  He and I were once acquainted, and he was greatly flattered by my admiration of his work in fashioning the palantíri, but when I did not support him in his desire to regain the silmarils, seeing it clearly for the unhealthy obsession it was, it put an end to what favorable relations there were between us.  I have a reputation for stubbornness, and I know it, but he is far more stubborn than I.  My difficulty in forgiving Lord Manwë is naught but a child’s tantrum compared to his resolute anger toward any who opposed him in the matter of the silmarils.  If you sent me to try to persuade him to change his mind over a matter about which he has remained obstinate for three ages, you will be sending one rock to beat upon another.  It would serve no purpose at all — which I am sure you know quite well indeed.  Never let anyone tell you that you do not have a sense of humor, my lady.  It may not be to the liking of all, but it is uniquely your own.”

She chuckled.  “And I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your illness and weariness well enough to appreciate it, once again.  For indeed I did not mean for you to take my suggestion seriously, as I know too well that Fëanor is unrepentant in his all-consuming obstinacy, and his refusal to admit to any of his own willful wrongdoing.  I grieve that those things he might yet do for the sake of Arda will remain undone, so long as he will not bend his stiff neck — as others have also done, to their own loss, most of all.”

The Maia knew she was referring to Saruman, who, like Fëanor, had fallen to evil out of pride, had refused to repent of the wickedness he had brought upon himself and others, and had rejected forgiveness when it was offered, for to accept would mean to admit his own fault.  He saw also why she had mentioned Fëanor: it caused the Istar to remember that sometimes, betrayal took root in another’s madness, a folly for which no one but they themselves were to blame.

He bowed to her, graciously acknowledging her gentle reminder.  “Thank you, my lady, for your wise counsel, as well as your concern.  By your leave, I will go now and join Helyanwë and your young guests.  I do not know what help I might be able to give, but any that is mine to offer, I will.  My debt to Lindarinë is old indeed, and it is well past time that I found a way to repay it.”