VII

Dawn in Aman was one of the most beautiful times of day, even on the desolate western shores which so many thought of as grim and colorless.  Helyanwë had left for Alqualondë well before daybreak, not wishing to face another sad goodbye with the twins, so Olórin had taken it upon himself to see to it that the horses they had chosen the day before were properly readied for the journey.  Several of Nienna’s servants who had been tending the beasts in the absence of their normal keeper were there to assist, and they took direction quite well, so he was able spare a moment from their tasks to watch the sun rise over the distant northern reaches of the Pelóri.  A light mist had embraced the land before the dawn broke; it vanished quickly under the sun’s bright rays, showing the sky as clear blue and cloudless, an unusual state for this part of the West, but not unwelcome for the trip ahead.

Is this your doing, Lord Manwë? the Maia wondered as he noted the abnormally fair weather, which would doubtless add some greater warmth to the chill winds from the north; summer winds carried some softness to the air even in these colder climes.  Olórin had no doubt that his master was aware of events currently transpiring in Nienna’s realm, and it would have been typical of Manwë to do what he might to make the trip more pleasant for those involved.  If it was the Elder King's doing and not merely a fortunate coincidence, he was grateful for it, yet made somewhat ill at ease by it as well.  It reminded him of the personal problems that had made it so easy for him to agree to come to Nienna’s house, and prodded him to realize that the issue was not yet resolved.  He did not think Manwë would have done this solely as a small reflection of an apology to the servant he had grievously wronged, but that he might have sharpened Olórin’s regret over the troubles between them.  Perhaps, he thought as he watched the sun slowly climb into the eastern skies, all that was needed was time for them to sit down and discuss the situation, alone and without the distractions of other troubles and tragedies weighing upon them and pushing them apart. 

After all was said and done, it might be that simple.  For all they had both done and experienced over the years of their residence in Arda, neither of them were so complex at heart that they held hidden motives and buried grudges deep inside.  There was no question that Olórin still respected and loved his master, and he knew for certain that his feelings were returned.  But there had been so little time since the discovery of the truth behind his illness, between the inflicting of the hurt and his healing, so little chance to do more than allow his strength to return and the darkness to lift from his heart and soul.

It could well be that both he and Frodo had been wrong.  There were no unresolved issues within Olórin concerning the betrayal of Saruman; he had spent much of the night meditating upon that very matter, since Aránayel’s mention of the fallen Istar had stirred his thoughts in that regard.  If any emotion lingered on that account, it was pity, the sorrow that Curumo had gone so badly astray, and Olórin had not been able to see the changes in him soon enough to even attempt to help him, had the proud leader of their Order deigned to allow it.  Olórin had never wanted that position, much less to be the bearer of the Valar’s judgment against his predecessor.  He did not shirk such duties when they were required of him, but he never took pleasure of any kind in their execution.  He was still saddened by the knowledge that Saruman had turned against him, but every time he had offered him kindness and forgiveness, he had offered it sincerely, and it had been just as sincerely rejected.  Saruman’s choice was not his fault; he knew it well, and thus had let go of any anger he had felt toward his brother wizard’s deeds in Middle-earth long before he had returned home.  Curumo had paid a terrible price for what he had done, his spirit rejected from Endorë, exiled from Aman, unable to rest anywhere.  And the harm he had done in his search for power and for vengeance had come to naught, the lands he had despoiled restored to even greater beauty, the peoples he had tried to subjugate or eradicate now flourishing and prospering.  There was nothing left unresolved so far as Saruman was concerned, and deep meditation during the night had fully convinced Olórin that it was not the source of his inability to forgive Manwë.

No, if there was any cause for his hesitance, he knew it was something strictly within himself.  There was something he needed to let go from his heart and mind, some lingering shadow that cast doubts between him and his master that should not have been.  After all, if he could manage to arrange a truce between himself and Aránayel after so many years of estrangement and bitterness, surely what lay between him and Manwë could be dispelled as easily as the brisk morning winds blew away the last mists of night.

Reflecting upon the fact that he had somehow managed to come to an agreement, however strained, to keep the peace with Aránayel during their journey to Lórien, Olórin laughed, suddenly feeling hope that the matter of his relationship with Manwë was not beyond repair, and that Lady Nienna had known precisely what she was doing when she had chosen Aránayel for the task ahead.  Those who had been assisting with the horses looked at him, puzzled by his sudden laughter, but he merely smiled and resumed his work.  Wherever this beautiful dawn had its origins, it seemed to him a positive portent for the future.

The horses he had selected from Nienna’s stables were all dappled grays, smaller than Shadowfax and not as strong or intelligent, but sturdy beasts who were well familiar with the uneven lands of western Aman, with good temperaments that would be well suited to a journey with several marginally experienced riders.  He had no doubt that Helyanwë had accurately judged the twins’ skills, but they were still young and even the best Elven riders grew restless and uncomfortable and impatient during long rides at so tender an age.  Aránayel, he had been told, did not enjoy such a mode of transportation at all, considering it a waste of time and a general nuisance; she much preferred the swift travel of their kind, and did not even care for the long walk between Nienna’s house and the Halls of her brother to the north.  Olórin had chosen the most gentle-natured of the beasts for her, to spare both her and the horse any undue trouble, but he would have preferred to send her on ahead, or tell her to wait and come to Lórien only after he and the children had arrived.  He was certain he could manage the journey with the twins without assistance, but neither option was truly feasible.  Frodo had never before met Aránayel, and although many of the Maiar in Lórien knew of her, few were actually acquainted with her.  He did not think it wise to send her on without him, so that he might at least have a chance to forestall any unpleasantries that might arise because of her often haughty and abrasive nature.  Moreover, there was the matter of the children’s tutelage to consider, and though he was certain seven days without it would not cause them to forget all they had learned, he was also aware that this was a part of the test that would determine whether or not Aránayel had earned the right to have her long punishment ended.  And, he supposed, it would do him good to see how well he dealt with her presence after so many years, before he brought her into the house that was currently as much Frodo’s as his own.

He had no more than imagined the potential repercussions of sending Aránayel into the keeping of Frodo and Ványalos before he decided it was a bad idea, all around.  He had learned patience from Nienna, in most things, and one lesson he had learned very well was not to rush to meet the future.  It would come soon enough, and even well prepared for it, one often found one’s self still not quite ready for it when it arrived.  He dismissed such thoughts and focused instead on the immediate task at hand, and the prospect of a pleasant day in which to begin the journey home.

Feeling much lighter in spirit than he had been upon his arrival less than a day ago, he sang softly to himself while he went about his work, a very ancient tune he had known even before he had first entered Arda.  Frodo would doubtless have found it unsettling, since the words that had eventually been fitted to the melody were in Valarin, but there was something unusually reassuring and uplifting about the air, and few of his people did not take pleasure and comfort from it.  It wove in its sounds memories of a time before time, and beauties beyond beauty that were a part of every Ainu who did not reject the light and embrace the darkness.  He had kept his voice low, but before long, he noticed the others singing with him, and chuckled.  This was one part of his life as a Maia he had terribly missed during his life in Endorë, not just the music that was as blood to his people, but the sense of joy and belonging that was woven between them in moments such as this.  All the Ainur were a great family, not of flesh and blood, but in their shared being as the children of Eru’s thought.  More than anything else he had left behind, it was this simple yet profound feeling he had missed most keenly.

“You seem in an unusually good mood this morning, Olórin,” said one of Nienna’s servants who had been helping him fit the riding gear onto the horse that was to be Aránayel’s.  He was tall and slender, dark of eye and hair and distinctly Elven in appearance, though he was not of that kindred.  Many of Nienna’s people adopted forms closely akin to the Eldar, since much of their work was with them, assisting those emerging from the Halls of Waiting, or dealing with their kin.  “I would not have thought it possible, with the prospect of a journey in Aránayel’s company before you.”

Yesterday, the Istar might have agreed with the sentiment; today, he laughed, the sound of it as bright as the morning sun.  “You forget, Séretur, that until yesterday, I had been deliberately steered away from any encounter with her by Lady Nienna and other well-meaning friends, while you have had the pleasure of living and working in her presence for nearly as many years.”

The taller Maia’s expression twisted in a way echoed by the others who heard that remark.  “I would not call it a pleasure, by any stretch of the imagination.  We are not so well acquainted as I know you are with others of the Lady’s servants, but I believe I know you well enough to understand that your reputation for wisdom has been well earned.  And so it astonishes me all the more that you could ever have loved one such as Aránayel.”

The humor remained in Olórin’s voice.  “We all make mistakes, no matter how great our wisdom, and mine was all but non-existent, back then.  What I thought I felt was as unreal as the illusion of warmth Aránayel gives to others when it pleases her to use them.  That I was stupid enough to actually tell her of my fantasies when I had been warned by those wiser than myself is proof enough that I had much to learn, about myself and the rest of creation.  Yet I do not blame Aránayel for it, Séretur, and it would be well if you remembered this.  She has been sent into a kind of exile that is very difficult for one of her nature to bear, for having done nothing more than speak the truth, bitter though it may have been for me to swallow.  For whatever unkindness she inflicted upon me, she has more than paid the penalty, and I hope this journey at last convinces those who have the authority to release her from this life she was not meant to live.”

Séretur snorted softly, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.  “If I did not know better, I would think you were still smitten with her.  You are being more gracious than she deserves, you know.  Her treatment of you long ago was but the beginning of a long history of infractions, of which I’m sure you know little or nothing, having been otherwise occupied in the service of the Valar.  I will do as you ask, of course, if you will accept one morsel of advice: Be wary of her.  She has not often spoken of you since Lady Varda placed greater restrictions upon her freedom, but when she has, it has always been with venomous words.  She will try to hurt you again, if she can, to be avenged for her own mistakes.”

The Istar nodded as they finished preparing the horse.  “Helyanwë has already mentioned this to me, and I have given her my word that I will take care.  And I thank you for your concern, but I think perhaps it will not be needed.  Much as she may despise me, Aránayel hates her life in these remote lands even more.  She has always been gifted in seeing to her own welfare, and she cannot help but know that anything she does against me, directly or indirectly, will not bode well for the freedom she seeks.  If I can survive the journey between here and Lórien, she will have lost any opportunity she might have had to attempt to act against me.  Ever since my illness, my friends there seem intent on watching over me, and even if she somehow managed to slip past my guard, she will not get ‘round theirs so easily.”

“And Lord Irmo not least among them, I suspect.  I am glad to hear it.  Aránayel is too sly for her own good, and many of us had fears that we were setting loose a serpent whose venom had but grown stronger since last she had struck.”

Olórin laughed, clasping Séretur’s shoulder as he came around the horse to make certain the packs had been properly secured.  “From all the concern I have heard on this matter over the past day, I am beginning to think Aránayel must have grown into something far more deadly to me than the poisons of Melkor and Sauron that very nearly ended my life in this world.  Worry not!  I suspect her desire to be free again is greater than her hatred toward me, and even if it is not, I am not without protection.  She will not attempt anything that would harm the children or even prejudice them against her, since word of it would certainly reach the ears of Lady Nienna.  I have never understood persons with acquisitive natures,” he added as he eyed the packs that Aránayel had sent as her luggage.  “Especially among our people.  What possible reason is there for hoarding things when we have little need of tools and other implements, and can refashion what we already have to the needs of the moment?”

One of the other Maiar grunted, the sound threaded with humor.  “You have never been a gatherer, Olórin, and everyone in Aman knows it.  When Eönwë and Melian and others suggested we rebuild your house in preparation for your return, there were those among us who saw no reason for it, since we suspected you would either reject it utterly, or accept it out of politeness and then let it fall to wrack and ruin.  There is no one in all of Arda to whom it is more difficult to offer a gift, be it large or small.  If we had not been told that you would likely be returning with mortals who might wish to remain in your company for a time, we would have thought the effort quite pointless.”

“Whereas Aránayel is completely the opposite,” Séretur continued.  “Andon has a very good point.  You are not preoccupied with possessions, but Aránayel has a fascination with things, and counts them as a measure of her worth.  Did Curumo not have a similar obsession?”

The Istar sighed.  “After a fashion.  That is one of the weaknesses of many of Lord Aulë’s servants, I’m afraid.  His was a mastery of the physical world, and those he drew to him as servants and followers shared in his love of such things.  I have never quite understood why Aránayel did not become one of his people rather than Lord Manwë’s; she would have been better suited to his service, it seems.”

The Maia who had grunted, Andon, now snorted rather loudly.  “She is a hoarder, not a maker.  And how long did you work beside her, without seeing that if she must serve, she would settle for no less a master and mistress than the king and queen of Arda?”

Olórin conceded the point with a good-natured chuckle.  “Not long enough to avoid making a fool of myself, I’m afraid.  Well, it matters little, if at all.  She will do what she will do, and I will make the best of things.  After the last two thousand years in Endorë, commissioned with the task of uniting peoples who would just as soon go to war with each other than come together against an obvious common enemy, I cannot imagine there is anything Aránayel could do during a seven day journey that would seem even mildly intolerable.”

Andon’s nose twitched, but not at the scent of the horses as they led them from the stables to the place where they were to meet the others who were departing.  “Then you do not have as active an imagination as your reputation claims.  I can think of several dozen, and that is without half-trying.  Shall I enlighten you?”

“No need,” he was swiftly assured.  “My imagination is quite alive and well, thank you.  If I were to begin making lists of all the ways in which this coming journey may turn unpleasant, I will certainly find it so, and by my own making.  I am not as naive as I was in my youth, and among the many things I have learned since then is that dwelling upon potential troubles will only make them worse when and if they do arrive.”

“I still suspect you are being more generous than she deserves,” Séretur remarked.  “But not, perhaps, more than is your nature.  Nonetheless, I wish you good fortune with her, Olórin.  She is a bitter person, and it would be easier to remove all Melkor’s poison from Arda than to sweeten her disposition.”

The Istar laughed softly.  “It is not necessary that she be sweet, merely civil.  And that much I believe she will manage, if for no other reason than to be freed from her service here.”

The others did not contest that notion, for they knew it was likely true.  They continued along a path that curved around the eastern side of the guest house, to the place before its southern entrance where they were to meet Aránayel and the twins.  The children were seated on the bottommost step before the doors, playing some game involving a piece of string intricately twisted by their nimble fingers; Aránayel waited at the top near the doors, clearly seeking shelter from the chill morning wind.  From the way she was attired, she was anticipating the onset of winter, not summer.

Olórin was mildly amused by that, though he hid it.  None of their people ever needed feel the discomforts of weather, unless they chose to experience that part of incarnate life, yet Aránayel had always appeared quite sensitive to it.  Charitably, he had once supposed she did so to better understand the world in which they lived; wiser now, he knew she did so as a kind of vanity, to attract sympathy and attention.  It was a habit so old, she likely had forgotten how to shift her perceptions of such things, and would not take kindly any instruction he might have to offer, however gently it was worded.  She would be more apt to complain, and thus provide one of the many ways in which Andon had predicted she might make the journey intolerable.  Well, he had lived with worse during the past two millennia in Middle-earth, and he could certainly live with this for a mere seven days.

As they led the horses to the appointed place, Olórin caught the movement of someone coming toward them from the Great House itself.  He did not need to look to recognize Nienna’s presence; the children noted it a few moments later, and ended their game to rise to meet her.  Even Aránayel reacted with deference, coming down from her sheltered place to join the others who were gathering at the foot of the steps.

Nienna smiled as she and those leading the readied horses arrived at almost the same moment.  She looked up at the sunny skies, then turned her smile to the waiting travelers.  “A most beautiful day to begin a journey.  I think you will enjoy the leagues between here and Lórien, my little friends,” she said to the twins, “and also the land in which my younger brother dwells.  If you have reconsidered your desire to visit Lórien, you will of course be welcome here, but I am sure you will be happier there.  To all things there is a time, and the time has come for you to move away from my house and closer to your own people.”

Melui and Lére exchanged glances; he nodded, and she spoke for both of them.  “We thank you, Lady Nienna, for your kindness and hospitality.  We will never forget it, and someday, if we can, we would like to repay you.”

The Valië’s smile brightened.  “That is not necessary, but should the time come when that is the proper thing to do, then I will welcome it, as I will welcome you.  For now, let your hearts find peace and joy again, and that will be payment enough.”

She held out her hands to the youngsters, and on her open palms they saw matched wristlets made of fine plaited sea grasses tinted a deep blue that held twined amid the strands fourteen small polished stones of a kind common to the western shores beyond her house.  “I know you collected many pebbles from the sea strand when you were taken to visit it, Lére, and that you, Melui, fashioned many lovely weavings from the grasses you found on those long walks.  These are but a small parting gift, a token in remembrance of my home for you to take with you on your journey.  I will not forget either of you, though you be far away, and I hope these will bring to you more pleasant memories of my House, where you will ever be welcome.”

Wide-eyed, for they had not expected any gift from the Lady, they accepted them, as well as her help in fastening them about their wrists.  They were beautiful things, for all their simplicity, and would indeed kindle memories of their more pleasant days in Nienna’s house.  “Thank you, my Lady,” they both said softly, Melui adding, “but we don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“And nothing is needed,” Nienna assured her.  “You have given me the joy of your presence in my home, and the gift of your laughter and song last evening.  I will treasure all of those things, until the end of days, and when the world renewed.”

When she was finished speaking with the twins, Séretur and Andon came and helped them onto their steeds while Nienna turned to Aránayel.  “I give to you a parting gift of words, Aránayel: my hope that when we meet again, it will be in a time and place that will bring you greater happiness than you have known while in my service.  You have learned much, and now the time is come for your final test.  Continue as you have begun, and success will carry you to all which you so sorely crave.”

Aránayel inclined her head in deference, careful not to disturb the lay of her cloak about her neck and shoulders, which would allow the chill morning wind past her defenses.  “Thank you, my lady,” she said, her tone completely proper — almost too much so, to Olórin’s ears, as if she refused to let go of the slightest bit of warmth or real gratitude.  “I shall do my best.”

Nienna, undisturbed by her attitudes, remained cordial, her pale smile undimmed.  “Then I will look to see you again in the autumn, when we gather in Valmar for the festival.”

The tall Valië turned then to Olórin, her smile warmer.  “Your visit was too brief, Olórin, but as you came for the sake of my young guests and not for other purposes, I do not begrudge it.  It was enough for me to see how you are indeed recovering from your long and difficult labors, more than sufficient to be of help to others yet again.  I am glad of it.”

“As am I, my lady,” the Istar answered with a gracious bow.  “I grew accustomed to such activity during my recent time in Endorë, and I will admit I had feared returning to a life without clear purpose.  I know that will not happen now, and I thank you for allowing me to be of service.”

Nienna chuckled.  “Even were there naught left for the rest of us to do in tending Arda, I cannot help but suspect you would somehow find a way to serve.  Lord Eru has some greater purpose for you in His music, I think, though none of us can yet perceive it.  But we will all know soon enough, in the fullness of His time.  You shall ever be welcome in my house, but return now to your own and take with you my greetings to my brother Irmo and his lady, as well as my blessings.”

As he acknowledged her kind words, he heard a sound from the twins, one that could only be described as a hastily smothered giggle.  He noted that they were both grinning when he turned to mount his own steed, as he also noted the peculiar expression on Aránayel’s face.  The coldness in it was only to be expected, but there was a strange hint of envy to it as well.  Undoubtedly because Nienna had asked him to carry greetings to her brother, not Aránayel.  Inwardly, the Istar sighed, but let loose no discernable trace of it.  Aránayel had agreed to a truce, and though he did not expect it to be a comfortable one, he did not believe she had lied.  Séretur aided her onto her horse, and when they were mounted and ready, they set off, heading south and east into the ever-brightening day.

They rode in silence until the great house was in the distance behind them; the twins then giggled openly.  From the glances they were exchanging, Olórin knew they were sharing some kind of private communication, though he noticed that their eyes occasionally flicked toward him.  “I’m pleased to see the two of you in such merry spirits this morning,” he said, his placid tone belying his curiosity.  “Would you care to share the reason with us, and perhaps brighten our day as well?”

Melui’s cheeks suddenly flushed with chagrin, but Lére chuckled.  “I think she likes you, Mithrandir,” he said, as if stating a fact so obvious, even a blind man could have seen it.

The Istar’s brow furrowed with puzzlement, his own eyes looking toward Aránayel for a moment, wondering how the two could have missed her frostiness toward him.  A glance proved that he was not in error; she appeared no more pleased with him or anything in the world than she had before they had left Nienna’s house.  If anything, she seemed marginally more disgruntled, her mood soured by the wind, the cold weather, riding on a horse, and the need to do so in his presence.  He turned back to the boy.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Nienna,” Melui answered, clarifying the mystery, her composure regained.  “We think she likes you.”

“I’m certain she does,” Olórin said, glad that there had been no potentially troublesome misunderstanding concerning Aránayel.  “She is a very compassionate and caring person.  She has taken many people in need into her house, and I was one of them, many years ago, as you were more recently.”

The boy favored him with a glance that judged him quite the densest person in existence.  “Not like that,” he said sententiously.  “Like... well, you know.  The way Mother likes Father.”

Olórin blinked, genuinely surprised by the remark, largely due to the frequency with which such notions had been brought up to him in recent days.  “And why would you think that?  She treats me much the same as she does you and your sister, and her other servants and students.  I am not one of her people, but I have been her pupil for many years, and I return to learn from her when I can.  She knows me well, better than I sometimes know myself, but her feelings for me are not of the kind you imagine.”

“Then why did she ask you to take her greetings to her brother?” Melui wanted to know.  “Whenever Father sent messages to his family in Lothlórien, he never sent them with just anyone, only very special friends.”

“Whom I am sure he loved and trusted, but not in the ways he loved your mother.  Lady Nienna was showing me no special favor by making that request.  I am Lord Irmo’s counselor, and I speak with him often.  I know him and Lady Estë well, likely better than either of you or Aránayel.  It would make the most sense to send messages with me then, would it not?”

Melui nodded, rather reluctantly, but Lére was not so easily convinced.  “Maybe,” he allowed.  “But that doesn’t mean she can’t like you, does it?”

The Istar sighed.  “Perhaps not.  But if Lady Nienna has a special fondness for me because I have been her pupil, does that also mean that Aránayel has such feelings for you because you have been hers?”

It was the boy’s turn to be embarrassed, his face flushing a bright red from his neck to the tips of his ears.  His sister giggled, but was content to let the subject drop.  “Can we sing a song, Mithrandir?” she asked after Lére had scowled at her for being amused by his discomfort.  “We didn’t travel much before we left Middle-earth, but whenever we did, Father would teach us new songs along the way, to shorten the journey, he said.  It’s been a long time since we learned a new song.”

Olórin glanced at Aránayel, not wanting to infringe upon an area which she might consider her purview, being an aspect of the twins’ tutelage.  She shrugged, huddling more deeply into the cloak wrapped about her.  “I am in no mood to sing when I must endure such hardships,” she sniffed.  “Do as you like, it matters not to me.”

Again, Olórin sighed silently, wondering how he could ever have believed there was any love between himself and Aránayel, for her behavior was no different now than it had been all those thousands of years before.  At least she was only being irritable, not openly hostile.  Grateful for that small favor, he turned back to the youngsters.  “Since we have met only recently, I do not know which songs you may have already learned, other than those I heard you sing yesterday.  Are you familiar with any of the Hobbits’ songs?”

Both fair heads shook as one.  “We’ve never met a halfling,” Melui explained, “and I’m not sure Mother or Father ever did, either.  Are their songs terribly long or difficult?”

Olórin laughed.  “Not as a rule.  One of the Hobbits who came with me when I returned from Middle-earth has written some that are quite lengthy, but his songs are the exceptions — and not all of his are long.  There is one I learned from him long ago, well before you were born, that I think would be quite suitable.”

“Can it be played on a pipe?” Lére wondered, looking to make certain his was still safely stowed in the pocket where he had placed it.

“I’m sure it can, though you must know the tune first before you can play it.”

“I learn quickly,” the boy assured him.

Olórin smiled.  “Then no doubt you’ll soon have it mastered.”  As they continued on their course, moving at a steady but gentle pace, following the strand of a small river inland, he sang and the children listened attentively.  Aránayel appeared not to notice them, although her glance would occasionally touch them, as if she was trying to solve some inexplicable riddle to which her companions were not privy.  When they stopped briefly to let the horses drink from the stream and graze for a bit before moving on, Lére brought out his pipe to try the newly learned tune, and its lilting notes sang through the riverside glen, heedless of Aránayel’s inscrutable glare:

The road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then?  I cannot say.