VIII

By the hour before sunset, they had moved well inland, still following the dwindling river, but as yet well removed from the nearest settlement.  The weather was warmer than it had been along the damp and stony seashore, though a chill lingered in the air that spoke of coming night and the summer season that had yet to arrive in these desolate parts of Aman.  There was also a hint of moisture on the breeze that had nothing to do with the river or the sea.  Olórin knew it for what it was, a sign of rains that would arrive with the sunset, and so they stopped to prepare for the coming night.

Aránayel had been told by others that they would likely spend the first two nights of their journey making camp in the wilds, both because their course would not take them into more inhabited regions, and because the children, though Elven, still needed rest and refreshment for their young bodies.  She was not pleased by these necessities, and wanted no part of erecting the small shelter that had been provided for their use; fortunately, the twins were both fascinated by it, and were more than willing to assist the Istar.  Olórin made no comment about Aránayel’s attitude, nor that she settled herself to wait for them to finish without lifting a finger.  When the tent had been erected and the twins had gone off to collect some fallen wood for a fire, he at last turned to his fellow Maia and spoke softly.

“I know that these chores are neither within your experience or your liking,” he said as impartially as possible, “but there are things about Eruhíni children which you may not realize.  Even those of the Eldar are small and seemingly weak and inexperienced at this tender age, but they see and hear more than we often are aware.  They also are not inclined to forget easily, and what they know, they may repeat to others if it seems proper to them.  I will not judge your behavior on this mission, Aránayel, and even were you to treat me badly, I would say nothing of it so as not to influence the choices of those who are to decide your fate.  But Lére and Melui have no truce with you, nor any particular desire to see that you are freed from your long punishment.  Neither I nor you can control what they might say if they are asked their opinion concerning how you acted on this journey.  I have not been their tutor as you have been, but I have seen enough if our brief time together to sense that they have a clear preference for elders who treat them with kindness, if not actual affection.  If you do nothing at all, and too often speak only to teach or to express discomfort or displeasure, they may have uncomplimentary things to say about you, in the end.”

She sniffed, clutching at the throat of her cloak to close it against the rising wind.  “And do you know them well enough to be so certain what they will say?”

He shook his head, pushing aside strands of his pale white-gold hair that the same gust of wind had blown into his eyes; his long fingers twisted the strands together and tucked them more securely behind one ear.  “Of course not.  But I was acquainted with many children in Endorë.  Even though I could not spend as much time with them as I wished, I came to understand some of their more remarkable habits.  If these two were not so observant, would they have noticed enough to remark upon the gracious manner in which Lady Nienna treats me?  I was in her house for but a day, and the twins and I spent little time together in the Lady’s presence.  They did not perceive the nature of our relationship correctly, but they did indeed note that we have one, and that it is not quite the same as her relation with most others of our people.  Would you risk them mistaking your actions, or lack of them, for something they are not?”

Aránayel’s lovely brow creased for several moments before she made a sound of resignation.  “No.  You have made your point — but rather too late, I think.  Why did you not mention this to me before the work of preparing our camp was completed?  To deliberately prejudice them against me?”

“No,” he answered simply.  “Because they would have heard that conversation as well, and likely misjudged it.  But this need not work in your disfavor.  Though you and I do not require food to sustain us, they do, and the preparation of the evening meal has not begun, nor is it difficult.  Among the Eruhíni, I have noted that the offering of food is often viewed as a gesture of great kindness.  I must see that the horses are readied for the night, and if you would care to prepare the meal for the children, it can easily be done in the comfort of our shelter, out of the wind where it is warmer.”

Again, there was a pause before the auburn-haired Maia responded, but this time, there was less bitter displeasure in her tone.  “And you do not think this skill beyond me?”

“Why should I?” he asked honestly.  “Many of our people merely assume the visible forms of the Eruhíni without taking upon themselves any of the limitations or discomforts of incarnate existence.  I would have expected you to be one such person, yet I admit that I have known little of your life since our ways parted.  I know what it is to feel the bite of cold and the weariness of long journeys, as well as the pleasure of a meal after long labor; it was a necessary part of my life these past two millennia in Endorë, and I can see clearly that you are not feigning your own discomfort.  Such feelings are inconvenient, it is true, but they are also a very important part of life in Arda.  For whatever reasons you first fell into these habits, they do you credit now.  They have better prepared you to show compassion toward our young charges.”

Aránayel studied the Istar closely, searching for any hint of condescension or mockery; finding none, she accepted his assessment, though warily.  “Perhaps so,” was all she would allow.  “Have the supplies been moved into the shelter?”

“Whatever was needed for the night.  I will see to it that the rest is removed when I attend to the horses.”

“Take care with my things,” she said primly.  “I do not want them ruined by mishandling.”

She moved on into the tent without waiting for a reply, a queen expecting her orders to be obeyed without question.  Secretly, Olórin had to admit he was glad to see her go.  He did not bear any ill will toward Aránayel, but the cold demeanor she had displayed ever since their departure convinced him that those who wondered how he had ever imagined he loved her were more observant than he had been in his youth.  He was amazed to see how blind he had truly been.  Even so, he did not regret this enlightenment, for in ways, it was apt to make their journey less uncomfortable.  He no longer held any doubts whatsoever about his feelings toward her, but had she changed during the intervening years, he might have found this enforced companionship more difficult and confusing.  He knew now that at best, he could expect Aránayel to cooperate when it was in her own self-interest, and he would not hope for more than that from her.

While the Istar went to unsaddle the horses and remove the packs they still carried, he heard Aránayel at work preparing the meal.  The sounds were not particularly encouraging.  If he had not felt pity for her situation, so woefully prepared for anything of this sort, he might have found her dilemma over such simple matters amusing.  Though she had worked long in the service of Nienna and Námo, her duties had apparently seldom involved these mundane aspects of incarnate life.  In some ways, Olórin supposed this was just as well, for she certainly would have viewed such work as drudgery and yet more unjust punishment heaped upon her.  Even so, from what he had witnessed during the farewell meal the night before, she enjoyed partaking of food and drink more than just for the sake of hospitality.  She remained as ever a bundle of contradictions and vanity, desiring the pleasure of certain things but not wishing to make any effort to attain them.  For her sake, he hoped that she was capable of managing this without producing food the twins might find unpalatable, for she would certainly be offended if her work received anything but praise.

The pair returned perhaps half an hour after they had gone, arriving just as Olórin finished attending the horses and seeing to it that they had adequate shelter between the tent and a copse of trees along the riverbank.  He had spoken to them to make certain they did not wander farther than was needed to graze or drink from the cool waters during the night, thanking once again the circumstances that had led him to become so well acquainted with the speech of their kind.  He was in the process of making sure the tack and other packs were also sheltered from the coming rain when the twins approached him.

“There wasn’t much wood to be found, Mithrandir,” Lére said as he displayed his armload of dry twigs and bits of fallen branches as evidence.  “I shouldn’t want to hurt any of the trees to find more.”

“It won’t be necessary,” he was assured, with a smile of approval for their efforts.  “The shelter Lady Nienna provided will allow us to have a fire within, so long as it is small and we take care with it. It will be needed only for your comfort and light, after the rains have come.  When you are older, you will not find so great a need for these things, but while you are still young and growing, such comforts are welcome even among the Elves, if you wish to sleep well.”

“We know,” Melui said, shivering slightly.  “On nights when it was very windy around Lady Nienna’s house, it would get very cold in our rooms, and Helyanwë always made certain there was a fire on the hearth to keep us warm while we slept.”  Sadness cast a shadow across her face like the clouds now masking the sun.  “I miss her already, Mithrandir.  Why couldn’t she have come with us instead?  I know she wanted to.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed, his voice deliberately low, “for she is quite fond of you.  But Lady Nienna would not have sent her on the errand to Alqualondë unless her presence was needed there.  And in many ways, Aránayel’s presence is needed here.”

Lére’s nose wrinkled at the very thought.  “I can’t see why.  She’s not a bad teacher, but she’s not a very nice person.  She never sings, and she hardly ever smiles or laughs.  I don’t think she likes us at all, and I know she doesn’t like you.”

One of Olórin’s pale brows cocked curiously.  “Oh?  And how do you know this?”

The boy shrugged.  “From listening.  We heard about the ship that was coming from Middle-earth, bringing some very important people, long before it arrived.  Helyanwë was always very polite around us, but before our voices came back, some of the others acted as if we couldn’t hear because we couldn’t speak.  One day, someone mentioned that you would be coming home on that ship, though we didn’t know it was you they meant; we didn’t know your real name.  Aránayel seemed almost angry about it, and she said many unkind things about you before Lady Nienna came into the room and she stopped.  I heard other things later, all quite mean.  When Helyanwë realized that we’d heard Aránayel talking this way, she took us aside and told us not to pay any attention to it.  It wasn’t true, she said, just a lot of angry and bitter talk because something bad had happened between you and Aránayel a very long time ago.  Once we could speak again, Aránayel was careful not to say anything when we were near, but I think I heard more than enough.”

“I should say so,” the Maia said.  He sighed as he finished securing the protective cover over the tack and other packs, settling back on his heels to look up at the twins.  “I’m sorry you had to hear of it at all, for I know the kinds of things Aránayel has said of me.  But try to understand that I bear her no ill will for the unpleasantries that happened between us, or her bitterness over her punishment.  I truly believe she was given more harsh a sentence than she deserved, and how well she fares on this journey and in Lórien may well decide whether or not she will be freed from her exile.  She and I have agreed to try to let the past remain the past, and not influence our actions now.  She is doing her best, I think, and if we can help her to feel that her efforts are not in vain, then she may improve more quickly.”

Melui appeared doubtful.  “Do you really think that would help?  Lére’s right, she’s done well enough as our tutor, but I don’t think I like her very much.  She’s always so cold and unpleasant....”

Olórin smiled wanly.  “And during these past years, since the shipwreck, have you always felt cheerful and kind toward those around you?”

She considered the question for almost a minute before shaking her head.  “No, I wasn’t always, but that was because I was very upset and frightened.  We lost everyone we knew when the ship was wrecked.  We felt very alone and out of place, because we didn’t really belong here.”

“The same can be said of Aránayel.  You were taken from your home and the people you had known since you were born, and cast adrift in a strange place.  In Nienna’s house, you were given help and kindness, but her people are not your people.  So it was with Aránayel.  When Lord Manwë sent her from his service and into that of Lady Nienna and Lord Námo, she was cast adrift in a lonely place where she did not belong.  The need to be among many people who are more sociable is part of Aránayel’s nature, what she has been since the moment she was brought into being.  And she has been made to endure this loneliness for thousands of years.  Do you think you could be forced to live under such circumstances for so long, and not feel bitter toward the whole world, especially those who bore some responsibility for your unhappy circumstances?”

It took but a few moments before both twins shook their heads.  “I don’t think I would like it at all,” Lére admitted.  “If you want us to try to be nicer to her, Mithrandir, we will.  We didn’t know these things you just told us.”

“Mother was a bit like that, you know,” his sister added in a softly confidential tone.  “I think that’s why we never went to visit Father’s kin in Lothlórien.  She liked all the friends she had in Mithlond,  and she was afraid she wouldn’t be accepted that way any place else, especially not in Lothlórien.  She heard from others that it was... different, not like the other Elf cities in Middle-earth.   Colder, she thought, but not like the weather.  I heard her say so to one of our neighbors when I was very little, and she thought I was asleep.”

“Lothlórien was indeed unique,” Olórin confirmed, “but if its people seemed different, it was largely because they lived so close to places where the Enemy had strongholds.  In times of peace, it was beautiful and warm and a very pleasant place to be, but by the time the two of you came into the world, it had become a fortress against the Shadow.  I think she would have been welcome there, but knowing both the people of the Golden Wood and those of Mithlond, I can understand why your mother would have had such fears.  You see, then, why Aránayel is not a happy person.  She was made to live in a place where she felt different and outcast for far longer a time than your father and mother were acquainted.  I believe she has learned things during her exile that will help her become a better person, but so long as she is made to live where she feels lonely, she will not be able to make proper use of those skills.  We can help her by overlooking her bitterness and doing what we are able to make her feel that she is not unwelcome among us.  Do you think you can do this — carefully, so that she will not mistake kindness for mockery?”

Lére nodded first.  “One of Mother’s friends was often cross and grumpy, but we always tried to be nice to her, so as not to upset Mother.  I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d want us to do that with Aránayel, since she’s said so many nasty things about you, but if you’d told us this before we left Lady Nienna’s house, we would have done it straightaway.”

The Maia smiled.  “Well, you haven’t been impolite to her, so now is soon enough, so long as you remember that she will take it badly if she has any reason to believe you are doing this to make sport of her.”

“We would never do that,” Melui said, quite seriously.  “Father told us to always be polite to Mother’s friend, but one time, we made too much of a fuss over her, and she knew we were pretending to like her.  She was very upset, and got angry at Mother because she thought Mother had told us to do this because she really didn’t like her.  Afterward, we realized that we’d treated her badly, and upset Mother, too.  We never did it again, and we won’t do it now, Mithrandir.  We like you, and we wouldn’t want to hurt you by hurting Aránayel.  We’ll be careful.”

Olórin’s smile brightened.  “I have known so few children of the Eldar in recent years, I had nearly forgotten how wise you can be at so young an age.  I have no doubt at all that you will do your best, but take care that she does not learn that I asked this favor of you.  She would also look upon that with displeasure, which could make the remainder of our time together most uncomfortable.”

As he stood, brushing dust and bits of grass from his knees, he was glad that they had spoken quietly, and that he had been able to hear the sounds of Aránayel at work in the tent some yards away from where the horses were sheltered, clearly disinterested in anything but her current task.  “Let us see how your dinner is coming, and if Aránayel would appreciate your help in preparing it,” he suggested, collecting the gathered wood from the twins as the first drops of rain began to fall.  “I know she will not permit it from me, but perhaps from you, she may take it as a sign that you are growing to accept her, which might sweeten her disposition all around.”

**********

Surprisingly enough, Aránayel was indeed willing to accept assistance from the twins.  She was not far from finished with the meal preparations when they joined her, and thus she did not look upon their offer as an attempt to step in and do what she could not.  She seemed fairly pleased with herself and her success, and was happy to display her handiwork for their praise and approval.  Olórin noted with relief that the twins were indeed quite skilled at being polite and deferential without falling into condescension; he himself could not tell if their praise was fully real or partly feigned, for Aránayel had done well, no matter that the task was a simple one.  He was inclined to believe their behavior was largely sincere, and so much the better.

While they finished readying the meal, he saw to it that the place in which they would sit was properly arranged, the ground cloths spread and any offending stones or twigs that might lie beneath them removed.  Near the center of the tent, he set the stones for the fire that would keep the space inside warm and dry through the night.  The rain was now falling in earnest; gusts of wind whistled about their shelter from time to time.  He set the gathered wood into the ring of stones, and when it was arranged just so, the twigs and branches set above a layer of dry leaves and smaller sticks, he held his hands above it and spoke softly.  Flame caught on the leaves and spread rapidly to the larger kindling, then licked up to embrace the firewood itself.  Under his command, it burned only so quickly, enough to give warmth and light, yet not consume all its meager fuel before the night was spent.  Melui and Lére watched, fascinated, as they and Aránayel brought the meal.

“Father said you know more about fire than anyone else in Middle-earth,” Lére said, still staring until his sister nudged him back to work.  They set the things they carried on the cloth before settling themselves on the ground as well.  “Do you, Mithrandir?”

“In some ways, perhaps,” the Istar replied, accepting the plate Melui offered him with a gracious smile.  “I know much of how it can be used for beneficial purposes, but Sauron was far more familiar with its destructive ends.  I am quite glad that he will no longer trouble the people of Endorë, so perhaps they might learn again how such things can be used for good rather than for evil.  But I was not to remain to teach them.  The customs of Lady Nienna’s house are somewhat different from those in Lórien,” he added, deliberately changing the subject, as the thought of what he had not been able to accomplish in Middle-earth saddened him.  “Both peoples give thanks before they break bread at the evening meal, but in Lórien, the manner is not the same.  Since you will likely be guests in Lord Irmo’s land for some time, would you like to begin to learn its ways before you arrive?”

Both children nodded enthusiastically, and when they were all settled — Aránayel seated atop the bundle of bedding they would use later in the evening, disliking the thought of sitting so near the chilly ground — Olórin sang the songs with which the inhabitants of Lórien, both Eldar and Ainu, gave thanks at the close of day.  The twins listened closely, enchanted by the songs and delighted to know the words of the Elvish hymn, though they did not yet know the unusual tune.  Aránayel also listened but did not participate, for in Nienna’s house such thanks were spoken rather than sung, and the words offered were not quite the same.  Olórin pointedly focused his attention on the twins, so as not to discomfit his fellow Maia, but he could feel her eyes upon him all the while he sang.  He could not tell if she watched with approval or disdain, but as she made no comment when he was finished, he knew at least that he had not accidentally angered her.

It was also clear to him that the children’s praise of their meal was not feigned or exaggerated; Aránayel had done well, and to have it noticed definitely pleased her.  She did not make any great effort to join in their conversation — which was largely the children questioning the Istar about the part of Aman that was his home — but neither did she make ill-tempered remarks or attempt to change the subject.  She was gathering information, Olórin realized at length, attempting to learn as much as she could about the country to which they were headed and its people without asking any direct questions that might make her appear ignorant.  For her sake as well as the twins’, he answered the latter as thoroughly as he could.

When they finished their meal, the children hurried to collect the utensils from their elders.  “You were kind enough to prepare everything,” Lére explained to Aránayel, “and we did press you to tell us tales of your home, Mithrandir.  We can take care of this.  It’s only fair, after all.”

Neither of the Maiar argued with them.  Aránayel, however, cast a puzzled frown at the Istar.  “Why do they call you that?” she asked while the twins wiped the dishes clean and returned them to the pack in which they had been stored.  “Has no one told them your proper name?”

Olórin laughed, hastening to explain his mirth before she could think he was laughing at her.  “Do any of us truly have proper names?  Those we bear here in Aman were given to us by the Eldar long ago; what spoken names we used before then tended to be descriptions of our purposes and powers, not names in the way the Quendi made them.  Mithrandir was the name the Elves of Middle-earth gave to me when I first arrived there as one of the Istari, and it is the name Melui and Lére first knew for me.  To be honest, at the moment, I am more used to hearing it than Olórin, since no one in Endorë knew me by that name.  Mithrandir and Gandalf were the names I heard most often over the past two thousand years, and I see no reason to reject them now.  It seems suitable enough, even now, as I appear to be destined to continue wandering, for a time.”

“But you don’t look at all like you did in Middle-earth,” Lére said, returning to the center of the tent now that their tasks were done.  “You were very gray there, and very old, for a Man.  Though if you’re a Maia like Helyanwë and Aránayel and the others, I suppose you’re really much older than we thought you were.”

Olórin chuckled.  “Yes, I’m afraid so, though I hope I wear my age better, here in the West.”

Melui eyed him critically.  “You look younger than Father, I think, even though you must be much older.  But you aren’t quite like the other Ainur we’ve met.  Most of them look like our people, or like the humans, or sometimes like not much of anything at all.  If your ears are like the halflings’, does that mean the rest of you looks the way they do?”

Aránayel made a sound that said she felt this line of inquiry to be inappropriate, but Olórin laughed once again, kindly.  “No, I’m afraid not.  I grant that I’m not terribly tall, as my people are wont to be, but the Hobbits are much smaller than I, and generally quite a bit rounder.  You’ll see what I mean when we reach Lórien.  At the moment, I am sharing my house with one of the two Hobbits who came across the Sea with me.  And I suspect he will be pleased to have a few people about who are his size rather than mine.”

“I didn’t know halflings sailed West, like the Elves,” Lére noted, settling near the fire in a comfortable sprawl.  “I haven’t seen anyone that small since we arrived, except for a few children at the festivals in Valmar.”

“Elven families here in Aman tend to be small, these days,” Olórin confirmed, “and you have not traveled much in Eldamar.  But Hobbits ordinarily do not come to the West.  The two who accompanied me are extraordinary, and since they gave so much of their own lives to help defeat Sauron, the Valar agreed to allow them to come here, to rest and be healed.”

“Then they must be very special,” Melui agreed, rather distractedly.  She was standing near the fire, not far from where Olórin was still seated upon the ground.  She had continued to study him while he spoke about halflings.  “I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” she said, pointing to the narrow fillet of crystal about his head.  “It’s lovely.  May I see it?”  She reached out as if to take it from his head, and the Istar involuntarily recoiled from her touch.

Seeing the dismay in the child’s face, he hastened to clarify his unexpected behavior.  “I’m sorry, Melui, I didn’t mean to startle you.  I was told by Lord Eru not to remove it until He Himself instructed me to do so.  I think no harm would come of it if I did so for only a moment, but I do not wish to disobey Him in even the smallest way.”

Lére’s eyes widened.  “Eru Ilúvatar?” he said, amazed.  “He gave it to you?  Why?”

More than just the twins were interested in hearing his answer; Aránayel appeared keen to know it, though she hid it more cleverly.  Olórin smiled, wistfully.  “For many reasons, I suspect, but one in particular.  Your people do not become ill as the mortals do, but have either of you ever been injured?”

Both golden heads nodded as one.  “Oh, yes,” Melui said.  “We were both hurt in the shipwreck — not as badly as Mother and Father and the others, but it was many days before we recovered.  My leg and my arm were broken, and I think Lére was bruised all over.  It was perfectly dreadful, because it hurt so much and we were both so scared.”

“And with good reason.  You remember how I was in Middle-earth; I was still a Maia in spirit, but I was required to live in the body of a mortal.  I did not die or fall ill as they do, but I was able to be injured, in ways that neither they nor your people could be hurt.  When I returned to Aman, after all my tasks were done, I was already quite injured and weakened, but I did not know it, because living as a mortal had dimmed my memories and made me forget much of the life I had known before I was sent as one of the Istari.  My condition was not at all my fault, and Lord Eru apparently had wished that I never know how badly I had been hurt, so He gave this to Lord Manwë to give to me shortly after I surrendered my mortal body and returned to my life as a Maia.  Lord Eru made it to be a means by which I would be strengthened and slowly healed, so subtly that I would never notice the depth of my weakness.  But Lord Manwë had not understood this when he gave it to me; he only knew that it was Lord Eru’s gift, a token of His approval for a job well done.  I had no notion that I was meant to wear it for a long time, so when I returned to my home in Lórien, I resumed what I thought would be my ordinary life — and a thing such as this, beautiful as it is, was not suitable as everyday wear for one of my station, or so I thought.  So I took it off and put it away, and became weaker with each passing day, until I very nearly faded to nothing.  It was the cleverness of the Hobbit with whom I now share my home and the grace of Lord Eru that saved me.  Without their help, I would have dwindled to all but nothing, and lost all power and presence in this world.”

Both of the children paled.  “You mean, you couldn’t even have been saved like Lord Ulmo saved us?” Lére asked, incredulous and more than a bit horrified.  “No one would have helped you?”

“Oh, no,” they were instantly assured, “they did try, all the Valar, but what was wrong with me was something they had never seen before, and had no idea how to help, or heal.  Lord Eru would not have let me fade into nothingness — He said as much when He spoke to us about what had happened — but if the answer had not been found in time, I would have been forced to leave Arda, and all that I love here.  In the end, all was well, and the Valar learned a valuable lesson from it.”

Aránayel made a softly impolite sound.  “And this does not trouble you, that you were made the pawn in some wretched game so that the Valar might learn what they should have learned more than three ages ago?”

Olórin closed his eyes for a moment, sighing softly before replying.  “We are all pawns of one sort or another, Aránayel, whether we wish it or not.  We of the Maiar serve the Valar here in Arda, and all of us serve Lord Eru in our own fashions.  There is no disgrace in doing what we were created to do.  I wish with all my heart that the Valar had learned the lessons of looking beyond their immediate goals to what might result from their actions in some more distant future, for if they had done so long ago, many more people than I might have been spared a great deal of suffering.  What was not done by them when Melkor first began to wreak havoc with the formation of the world hurt every creature born thereafter, for his works could not be undone, nor the poisons of evil removed from the world.  We call Aman the last remnant of Arda Unmarred, but it is not wholly without blemish.  Blood has been spilled here, evil has been wrought here, and even the Undying Lands bear the mark of Melkor’s malice.  I do indeed wish the Valar had realized the dangers he presented when they might have dealt with him without posing a risk to the inhabitants and lands of Endorë.  Lord Eru was right when He said that they should have taken care of Melkor’s threat much sooner, and trusted Him to make certain no lasting harm would come to Arda because of their struggle.  Had they done so, the Eldar could have remained in Middle-earth, and it would never have been so deeply saturated by evil that it cannot be removed until the world is remade.  Melui and Lére would not have lost their parents and friends in an unfortunate shipwreck, for there would have been no War to drive them from their homes — indeed, there would have been no need at all for them to sail West, for all the Eldar would have remained in Endorë, as Lord Eru had intended from the first.  They would not have been secluded here, nor would those such as Fëanor have ever found need to revolt against the Valar, chafing under restrictions that would not have been.  So yes, Aránayel, it troubles me that the Valar did not learn these things until my own existence in Arda was threatened, but not because I am angry that their short-sightedness brought me harm.  It troubles me because of all the people who have suffered and died, and will yet suffer and die, because their blindness made of Arda something it should not have been.”

Aránayel favored him with a sidelong glance, her eyes glittering in the firelight.  At length, she sniffed.  “You are more forgiving than I would have been, but that has always been your way.”  From her timbre, it was not really a compliment.  “I heard the tales of what happened to you, early this spring.  It was obvious something had stirred up the Valar when Nienna was not seen in her house for many weeks.  I don’t care to imagine what such an affliction must feel like, but it seems to me that Lord Eru does not think very highly of you if He used such a feeble means to effect your cure.”

Olórin shrugged.  “I do not know precisely what He thinks of me, but He did offer to set matters right in an instant.  It was I who refused the favor.”

One auburn brow lifted.  “Why?  You spent two millennia in a fettered existence by the command of the Valar, who were told not to command anyone to take on that burden.  Why continue to live this way when it’s not necessary?”

“Because in a way, it is.  Every time I speak with any of the Valar and see their glance touch upon Lord Eru’s gift, I know they are remembering all the things they have done wrong, and all they have yet to learn.  And for myself, every day that I know His gift is there, I remember what it felt like to be so terribly weak and helpless.  It not only gives me greater compassion for those less fortunate than I, it also helps me to better appreciate all that I have and all that I am.  And it also reminds me to be more patient, for most things worth having do not come swiftly.  Is that truly so terrible?”

His eyes were fixed on Aránayel as he asked his question; the light of the softly flickering fire cast a sheen like strangely golden moonlight over their normally vivid blue.  The darker Maia’s own eyes narrowed, but not from anger or irritation.  She clearly did not know how to answer.  Fortunately, she was spared the need when Melui spoke instead.

“I shouldn’t think so,” the girl said, her own queries more than answered.  “I think it would be very nice to know that Lord Ilúvatar cares for you enough to not want you to ever know that you were hurt, even if things didn’t quite turn out as He’d planned.  Thank you for telling us about this, Mithrandir.  We’d both wondered why Lady Nienna had been gone for so long late in the winter, and no one ever thought to explain it to us.”

“Helyanwë would’ve,” Lére opined around an expansive yawn.  “If we hadn’t gotten back our voices at the same time Lady Nienna returned.  We spent so many days talking to everyone and telling them about ourselves after that, I don’t suppose they were much interested in anything else.”

“Perhaps so,” Olórin agreed.  “And now that you have heard that tale, and many others, I think it’s time for both of you to sleep.  Travel can be very tiring, especially when you have done very little of it.  It has been less than a year for me since I last made a long journey in this fashion, and already I feel dreadfully out of practice.”

Aránayel surrendered her ersatz couch so that the children could collect their bedding, her face still a picture of almost-concealed puzzlement.  Olórin left the ground cloths in place so that they would provide another layer of protection from the damp grass and cold earth; he was checking the fire to make certain it would last through the night when Aránayel made a sharply unpleasant sound.  “Were my bedclothes left behind?” she asked, noticing only now that the things she had been using as a seat belonged to the children.  “I do not see them or the pack in which I sent them.”

Before her temper could rise more than it had, Olórin tendered an answer.  “I suspect it is with the others outside, secured under cover with the riding gear.  I had no idea what was in your luggage, and since you made no mention of which things you wanted brought inside after we finished setting up the tent, I presumed you would find your rest in ways other than sleep.”

She sniffed, as if catching a whiff of a repulsive odor.  “I prefer to take my rest in comfort, not on hard ground or in cold rain.  I came prepared, since I expected you would not.  But I am not stepping out into that wretched storm to collect what should have been brought here in the first place.”

The Istar closed his eyes for an instant rather than succumb to a whim to make a far more eloquent expression of exasperation in front of the twins, who were pretending not to listen.  The rain was coming down heavily and the wind occasionally blew in stiff gusts, but by no means could the weather have been described as a storm.  He carefully refrained from sighing.  “Since the fault was apparently mine, I shall go fetch your things for you.”

Lére made a very soft sound that Olórin knew was his way of saying that he felt Aránayel should fetch her own things, since any blame was truly hers.  But he gave no further reaction, and Aránayel did not notice the boy’s brief expression of displeasure, being too busy giving her fellow Maia instructions as to which items should be brought inside.  When Olórin went to get them, he spared Lére a brief but pointed glance, warning him that sounds as well as words could prod the ill-tempered woman into anger.  The boy accepted the reminder as just, then settled down to help his sister with their bedding as Olórin slipped out of the tent, quickly, so as not to let either the chill wind or the rain inside.

Although it was quite dark beyond the light of their small fire, Olórin was not troubled by it, nor by the wind and rain.  For people to whom incarnate life was merely a temporary convenience rather than a necessity, senses such as sight were able to reach far beyond the ordinary vision of flesh and blood.  Even in the guise of a human during his recent mission in Middle-earth, his sight had been keener than that of ordinary Men, though not always as sharp as that of the Elves.  Here, even the Firstborn were blind by comparison, and he had no trouble at all making his way to the place where he had secured the rest of their gear.  The weather was a mild nuisance, nothing more, for even if he had not recently experienced two thousand years of living far less comfortably, he had never really minded the mercurial moods of the weather, finding in them different harmonies of the Great Music with which they had begun so long ago.  The horses, he noted, had found themselves a sheltered place on the lee side of a stand of hawthorn shrubs between the tent and the river, not far from the place where he had secured the tack and their remaining packs beneath a sturdy cloth designed to provide protection from the rain.

He soon found, however, that their steeds’ choice of that particular place had produced one drawback: one of the beasts had accidentally dislodged one of the pegs he had used to secure the cloth.  An entire corner of the securing rope had come loose, and the wind had pulled back a large section of the cloth, allowing the rain to fall unimpeded upon the gear that lay exposed.  Naturally, the packs with Aránayel’s things were at the top of that open area, off the muddy ground, but most vulnerable to the drenching rains.

Olórin groaned, not blaming either himself or the horses or even the weather for this turn of fortune, although he knew perfectly well how Aránayel would take it.  He removed the items she had requested and then covered the remaining gear as quickly and securely as possible.  As predicted, when he returned to the shelter, Aránayel was livid.

“Only a fool would leave his gear out in the elements when he knows a storm is coming,” she snapped as soon as she opened the leather satchel and found that the cloth inside had been thoroughly soaked.  She divided her furious glances equally between the waterlogged bedding and the equally waterlogged Istar, her expression showing considerably greater concern for the state of the cloth.  “I told you to take care with my things, and so you put them where they would be trampled by horses and ruined by the rain?”

Many years ago, Olórin would have been upset by her ire and perhaps blamed himself for it, but as others had observed over the past few days, he was no longer the naive youth he had been in that distant past.  “I did nothing of the sort,” he answered bluntly.  “I took as much care as was possible with all of our gear, and I most certainly did not leave it exposed to the elements, or where the horses would be apt to tread upon it if they sought shelter from the rain.  That they went where they did was mere coincidence, and by no means did they trample and ruin anything.  They dislodged one of the fastenings for the covering cloth completely by accident; what was exposed by the wind is merely wet, not ruined.”

Her smoldering glare was wholly for him, this time.  “And do you expect me to rest wrapped in blankets that are soaking wet?”

Olórin was generally a patient person, more so than his visible demeanor sometimes belied, but the one thing that could try his patience most quickly was foolishness, and Aránayel was giving a virtuoso performance.  “I expect that you would want to set a better example than this!” he snapped back, his voice low for the sake of the children, but nonetheless as intense as the fire reflected in his eyes.  “You may enjoy your pretentious manners, and your affectations of helplessness might win you a kind of attention that pleases you, but if you believe for a moment that I should feel great pity for these hardships you imagine you are suffering, you are sorely mistaken.  I spent the last two thousand years living as a mortal, Aránayel — not pretending to do so, but actually existing from moment to moment and day to day as they do, in a body of true flesh with all the pains and cares and troubles that are a part of their normal life.  I was so far diminished from what I truly am that I could only dimly remember what I had been here in Aman.  I lived without a home or a permanent shelter of any kind, committed to a seemingly endless task that would not permit me to settle anywhere for more than a few months, at best.  I was denied the use of all but the simplest of the abilities our people take for granted here in Aman, and I did not have the luxury of feigning to feel the discomfort of cold and rain and snow and hunger and weariness and injury, simply to invite the pity of others.  Any moment you wish, you are free to ignore such things, because an incarnate life is something you have assumed by choice.  If you have been foolish enough to revel in it to the point that you have forgotten how to use those powers with which you were gifted in your beginning, then I pity you for that, but not for this.

"Do not speak to me of such distress until you have spent ten times ten thousand nights sleeping upon the bracken in the wilds because you own no bed and literally have not the strength to take another step.  Do not complain to me of mere dampness until you have tried to sleep soaked to the bone in rain so cold it turns to ice upon your skin, because you did not have even the protection of a cloth roof above your head, nor the fuel to make a fire.  You know naught of what it feels like to have worn the soles of your feet as thin as tissue from endless days of walking, to have blisters and sores and bruises and wounds inflicted upon your body which you cannot dispel with a thought, nor have you lived with your flesh burned from the sun and wind, or known the pain of true hunger and thirst.  You have never felt what it is like to carry in you a heart and spirit weighed down from thousands of years of seeing the full depth of the harm the Enemy visited upon Endorë and all who live there.  When you have experienced all these things, and have at the last made some ordinary effort to repair this great tragedy that has befallen you tonight, then I will be interested in hearing your complaints — but not before!”

He had not planned to give so impassioned a response, but having said it, he did not regret it.  Not only was the look of shock and incredulity on Aránayel’s face worth it, he had realized that his patience with her selfishness was laudable only up to a point.  He would encourage the twins to show her kindness, and do so himself, but he would no longer stand by silent and allow her to take out her petty annoyance on him when he had done nothing wrong and the problem was not the disaster she was making of it.  Forbearance was commendable, but not if it allowed an innocent to be undermined at heart by the selfish posturing of another.

As Aránayel struggled to frame a response — an unusually difficult matter for one so typically glib, for she was greatly angered and genuinely taken aback by his unexpectedly thorough and heated reply — Olórin grasped one corner of the water-heavy cloth over which Aránayel was fretting, lifted it up, and spoke several words under his breath.  In answer, warmth rose from the ground below them, drawn from some place far below the surface where the blood of the world pulsed thick and hot.  It blew like a searing wind across the desert, dry and so intense, the air rippled with it, even as it moved about them in a small but swift whirlwind.  It touched all that was wet with rain and drew the dampness from it, sending it back down deep into the earth where it would return to the waters from which the world above drew nourishment.  The Istar closed his eyes as he concentrated on his task; the movement of the air wrung the moisture from his own clothes and hair, drawing the folds of cloth more tightly about him and splaying his pale hair into a cloud of fine strands about his head.  With his eyes shut, he did not notice the crystal of the circlet begin to glow and grow ever brighter as he worked, but as the others watched, they were forced to look away from the sudden brilliance lest they be blinded.

As abruptly as both heat and light flared, they faded.  The air ceased to move, the warmth dissipated, the light dimmed.  Only the crackle and flicker of the low fire remained; no trace of the rain-soaked wetness lingered.  Olórin returned the now dry cloth in his hand to Aránayel as he brushed aside the hair that had fallen across his face and into his eyes.  He said nothing more to her, did not even take note of the way in which she stared at him.  He turned to the twins, made certain they were properly settled in their bedrolls, then said goodnight to them and left the tent.

The rain was still falling heavily outside the canvas shelter, but Olórin preferred the company of the weather and the horses to that of his fellow Maia.  He found a place amid the brush beneath the trees near the river bank, not far from where the four steeds were huddled, but sufficiently distant so that he would not disturb them during the remainder of the night.  The rain did not fall so thickly among the sapling hawthorn branches, and their still-young thorns were less prickly than Aránayel’s temper.

Sighing, Olórin looked up toward the clouds high above, not minding the fall of rain upon his face.  He wondered not when the inclement weather would pass, but how he could defeat a Balrog, face the danger of Sauron’s dungeons in Dol Guldur, spend over five hundred years quietly working against the darkness of Melkor, confront so many deadly perils that he had long since lost count of them, and yet be unable to deal with Aránayel.  She was a riddle beyond his ability to solve.  He prayed instead that he could somehow find the strength to survive the remainder of their journey to Lórien, and weather whatever new storms of her making might lie ahead.