XI

As their guests arrived at mid-day after a long morning of travel, refreshment had been prepared for them, which the Lord and Lady of Lórien shared with them as their way of greeting, especially to the young Elves.  Olórin and Ványalos had joined the other travelers just as they arrived in the hall where Irmo and Estë waited to receive them.  As their servant, Ványalos took upon himself the task of presenting Melui and Lére, who were already known to the two Valar, as well as Aránayel.  The female Maia came very close to taking offense at his presumption, but Ványalos was quite lavishly gracious, after his usual manner, and startled Aránayel by mentioning the fact that she was no stranger to these halls, having come to the Lady Estë in the service of  Lady Varda, many years before.  Even Olórin was mildly surprised by that part of his commentary, as it was unexpected, for he had not mentioned this to Ványalos, but he also knew that his neighbor had served Irmo and Estë since their first entrance into Arda, and had a memory for things others would consider inconsequential.  He may never have seen Aránayel before this day, but as Irmo’s favored messenger, he was aware of all who came and went to Irmo’s house, especially other messengers.  If she had been here before, Ványalos would know of it and remember, whether or not he had ever set eyes on her.

Moreover, he had a true gift for sensing the moods of others and how to make the best of bad situations.  Before Aránayel’s ire had more than begun to rise, Ványalos’ adroit reminder of her past visits to Lady Estë prompted an unexpectedly warm response from the Valië, which swiftly quelled Aránayel’s burgeoning upset.  Olórin was grateful to him, not just for averting her anger and sparing him the need to perform the courtesy, but also for turning her interest elsewhere, for the time being.

When it was time for them to move on, Aránayel continued to show at least some minor interest in conversing with the red-haired Maia, which, the Istar perceived, was his part of the greater plot he intended to work upon during the remainder of their journey to the hill country.  Once outside the mansion, Olórin whistled for the horses; Lére’s face creased with thought as he watched them run up from the grassy sward at the water’s edge.  “If Ványalos is coming with us,” he reflected aloud, “should Melui and I share one horse?  There are five of us now, and only four of them.  We’ve ridden together before, you know.”

“I’m certain you have,” Olórin replied as they waited for the horses to join them.  “But I’m also certain those occasions were with gear that was meant to accommodate two riders, not one.  It was a generous thought, but I think such an offer will not be necessary.  We brought four mounts for the sake of the things that needed to be carried with us from Nienna’s house.  It will not trouble me to walk the remaining distance.  I have done so many times be—“

A rather solid nudge from behind curtailed his remark and nearly knocked him off his feet.  He stumbled forward in surprise, managing nonetheless to keep his balance; when he pivoted to see who had so rudely interrupted, he was nudged again, more gently.  He laughed.

“Shadowfax!  Did you come with Ványalos, and were hiding all this time?”

A ponderous sigh escaped the Maia in question, even as the grey horse shook his head.  “I fear not,” Ványalos said with considerable regret.  “It would seem that during your absence, I made one too many jests about the errors you made that irritated your equine friend, and he has turned his scorn to me as well.  I had wondered if he had yet forgiven you, but it seems I now have my answer.”

There was little doubt of that, as Shadowfax did indeed appear quite happy to see his master again.  The children watched in wonder as Olórin, still laughing, accepted his gentle demonstrations of welcome.  “Is he your horse, Mithrandir?” Melui asked from where she already sat astride her own steed, quite amazed by the size and noble bearing of the creature.  “He’s beautiful!  Has he been waiting here in Aman all these years, while you were in Middle-earth?”

“No, of course not, he was born there, just like you,” the Istar said, softly stroking the stallion’s proud head when he was finally finished offering his greetings.  “He was the greatest of all the horses in the kingdom of Rohan, the greatest to have been sired since Oromë first brought his ancestors to the plains of Middle-earth.  Théoden King made a gift of him to me for the help I gave to him and all of Rohan during the recent wars, though Shadowfax and I were friends before that time, and have been ever since.  It is difficult for me to think of owning a friend.”

“It is said that Lord Oromë greatly covets this beast, or so I have heard in the idle talk of his servants in Nienna’s house,” Aránayel noted, her expression a subtle blend of surprise and envy.  “How is it he remains attached to you?  Have you not heard of Oromë’s desire and offered the beast to him freely, or do you wish to keep him for yourself in Oromë’s despite?”

The sound Olórin made was remarkably similar to the one Shadowfax made in the same moment.  “As difficult as it is for me to think of owning Shadowfax, it is far more difficult for me to even consider forcing him to go where he does not wish to go.  He remains with me by his own choice, not by my command.  Should he choose to leave me and become a servant of Lord Oromë, I will not hinder him, unless I believe the choice was imposed upon him and not a decision made of his own free will.  And take care how you speak of him in his presence, Aránayel.  Shadowfax understands full well our speech, not only a few commands as ordinary horses perceive it.  Is that not so, my old friend?”

There was no doubt that the answering sound and motion was a very strong affirmative.  The silver horse’s dark eyes seemed to hold a glint of suspicion as he turned his head to regard Aránayel.  She frowned to be the focus of such a baleful glare, and might have been stung to make some defensive remark had Ványalos not chosen that moment to speak, and break the uneasy mood.

“Alas, he does indeed,” the redhead said quite mournfully as he gave Lére a leg up onto his own mount.  “And because I was foolish enough to forget this, I also forgot to choose my words more carefully in his presence while you were gone.  I am not as experienced a rider as you, but I know that neither am I so poor that I cannot stay upon the back of whatever steed deigns to carry me.  I had intended to ride here with Shadowfax this morning, but he overheard my parting words with Frodo, and carried me only far enough so that there could be no doubt in my mind that I had been deliberately thrown off because he no longer wished to carry me.  My words were in jest,” he added hastily when the stallion snorted loudly, “but I admit I have earned the rebuke.  I confess I have been less kind than was seemly, Olórin, taking too much amusement from the manner in which you inadvertently offended him by seeming to forget him once you were no longer forbidden to travel as our people are able.  Neither of us meant to give offense, but we both went too far before we understood our mistakes.”

Olórin regarded Shadowfax with a measuring glance.  “Hmm, then do I also need fear being tossed to the side of the road like a spoiled apple, to be taught my lesson in humility?”

Aware that his worry was feigned, Shadowfax shook his head, imperiously butting his master with his nose as he sidled up alongside him.  Olórin recognized this as a sign of the horse’s agreement to bear him, and chuckled softly as he followed orders.  Once settled upon the stallion's back, he reached forward to scratch lightly between the horse’s ears, an affectionate gesture Shadowfax had long enjoyed.   “Then let us go, my friend, but not too swiftly.  Your cousins who were kind enough to carry us from the north are strong and sturdy, but they have brought us a long distance these past seven days, and there is no need to hurry to our journey’s end.  Come, show our guests the fairest path between here and our home.  They are new to Lórien, and will appreciate a knowledgeable guide.”

During the months of Olórin’s illness, Shadowfax had had many opportunities to become acquainted with every trail and byway between the heart of Lórien and his master’s home in the hill country, as the Maia had been forbidden to use any extraordinary means of travel, and he and Frodo had often been summoned to Murmuran so that the Dream Master and his wife could aid both of them with their healing.  There was one path for which both the horse and his rider had a particular fondness, and he now led the others upon it, so that they might enjoy it, too.

As they rode at an easy pace, Olórin listened to Ványalos tell Aránayel and the twins of all they passed and everything they saw, regaling them with such tales of awe and amusement, even Aránayel’s laughter was occasionally heard.  The Istar was grateful, both to Ványalos for his attempts to engage her interest, and to Shadowfax for forgiving him and thus allowing such exchanges to occur.  He closed his eyes and felt the clean wind of their movement stream over his face and through his hair, taking with it some of the tension he had not been able to fully dismiss since he had first laid eyes on Aránayel in Nienna’s house.  Now, if only Frodo were as well-prepared to deal with her and any unpleasantries which might evolve while she was in Lórien, he felt certain all would soon be well.

  **********

Frodo, on the other hand, had his doubts as to whether or not such a thing would be possible while Aránayel remained in Lórien.  When Ványalos had given him the news that Olórin would be returning with guests, the hobbit had been delighted, a feeling which had faded quickly when he was told who to expect.  He remembered Olórin's admonishment, given when they had first discussed that part of his past, to keep an open mind about the Maia woman even though the tales he had heard of her were not at all evocative of pity.  What further enlightenment Ványalos and their other neighbors were able to provide had not been encouraging.  That they and the other Maiar who knew Olórin had conspired for thousands of years to make certain he remained ignorant of Aránayel’s other misdeeds toward him had startled the hobbit, though he couldn’t decide if he was more surprised by their actions or the simple fact that they had succeeded in keeping the Istar in the dark.  Fortunately, they had time to prepare as best they might, and when additional news had come to them from Ornedil, their best course of action became much clearer.  Frodo regretted that there was no way in which they could implement all of their plans before the guests arrived, but knowing that things had been set in motion was a comfort to him.

Pausing for a moment from his chores in the kitchen, he peered out the windows which looked west, and saw the shadows between the rays of sunlight lengthening as the afternoon grew late.  Sunset was not due for several hours, but the first clouds that would bring the evening rain had begun to stream in on the winds from the west, dimming the skies from blue to gray.  The others would arrive soon, if all had gone as planned.  As he returned to finish preparing a late tea for the travelers, Frodo realized that he was listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, and why.  It had been a long time since he had settled down upon a quiet evening in the Shire, wondering if he might have an unexpected visitor, one who so often came in the gray shadows of dusk.  He was far removed from that time and place, but the old habit was still there.  For many years, he had paused to listen most every evening, hoping to catch the soft sound of those footfalls on the path that wound its way up the Hill.  Gandalf had visited Bag End quite regularly after Bilbo had left the Shire, and he always departed with the assurance that he would return when he could.  Frodo had grown used to his visits before they had stopped for nine years.  He had just about given up hope that the wizard would ever return when he suddenly appeared again, bringing with him grim news about the Ring.

Frodo sighed as he thought back to that particular day.  From time to time, he had thought that perhaps he would have preferred to never see Gandalf again rather than hear the news he had brought that night, and live through all that had followed.  He had once been certain he could have given up anything if it would have spared him the ordeal of his journey to Mordor, the dreadful injuries he had sustained, and all he had lost because of the wounds of body and spirit that could not be healed in Middle-earth.  Even now, there were days when he thought of Sam and Rose, of little Elanor, of Merry and Pippin and all the dear friends he had left behind, and wondered if there might not have been some other way.  Aman was beautiful, its people kind, and the hills of Lórien so like the Shire, he more than half-expected to walk around a corner someday and find hobbits in the marketplace, or a merry old inn full of laughter and song.  Before Bilbo had gone back to Tirion to settle into his place in Elrond’s house, those fantasies had crept upon him more often than he liked, which was why he had encouraged Olórin to go off on the errand with Helyanwë.  He needed to know how comfortable he could be here on his own, so that he would understand whether or not these pangs of homesickness would diminish once he had a chance to make a place for himself without Bilbo or Olórin always there.

He had doubted that a week would be time enough to take such a measure, until just now.  Naturally, he looked forward to his friend’s return, but seven days ago, when the first news of how and when that would happen had reached him, he had been mildly irritated, believing that surely this was not time enough for him to achieve any semblance of personal settling in to his life here in Lórien.  But when he found himself listening for any sounds of Olórin’s return, he had suddenly felt not as if he were in a strange house in a foreign land, trying to find ways to feel at home.  He had felt at home, completely and utterly, as comfortable as he ever had in the kitchen at Bag End, preparing himself a spot of tea to tide himself over until supper on a rainy evening.  And his mind did not conjure up memories of those bygone days when he had welcomed a weary gray wizard into his home.  He knew precisely what and who he was expecting, and he anticipated it with pleasure, not discomfort.  It felt like the days of his youth, when he had welcomed Bilbo back from one of his long tramps about the Shire, a feeling that had always brought Frodo both joy and contentment.  Bilbo would be here in Aman for a long time, of that he was certain, and whenever they wished to visit each other, arrangements would be made.

But somehow, Frodo knew that Bilbo was likely to come to Lórien more often than he would go to Tirion, for the old hobbit recognized the treasure they had both been given in finding a part of the West that so closely resembled the land of their birth.  And for Frodo, there was a unique and special joy in having the privilege of sharing his life here with an old friend who had at last been set free of the shackles of human existence to live the life to which he had been born, a life of which the hobbit had truly known all but nothing, prior to their landing on the white shores of eastern Valinor.  From Frodo’s point of view, it was as if coming to Aman had somehow allowed time to turn back, so that he could have the miraculous chance to know Olórin as he had been in his youth only after first having known him in his old age.  Like so many things in the West, it was both strange and wondrous, and very precious.

He had not, however, expected that he would come face to face with this specific and unpleasant part of Olórin’s youth quite so soon after his initial discovery of its existence.  Yet even that had had a positive aspect to it: it had given him a reason to speak at length with many more of the residents in this part of the hill country than he might have sought out had he been given no reason to visit them during this past week.  When Ványalos told him of the guests who were to return with Olórin, Frodo had not hesitated to ask both him and others what they knew of Aránayel when they gathered to share the evening meal at the tall Maia’s home.  No one had rebuked him for prying, nor had they refused to answer his questions, and over the following days, in which they helped him prepare for the anticipated guests, Frodo developed his own friendly relations with more than a few of their neighbors.  They told him of many things besides Aránayel, and were curious to know him better in return, an exchange to which the hobbit gladly agreed.

Strange, he mused, how often things that seemed unfortunate or unpleasant could in the end bring about results of quite the opposite nature.  He hoped that such would continue to hold true, until this visit was over and Aránayel returned to... wherever she called home.  Until that moment, it had not occurred to Frodo that he knew of no particular name for Nienna’s house, or the land in which it was located.  For that matter, he was not certain he knew if such names existed for most of the homes of the Valar.  Murmuran he knew, as well as Mandos and Ilmarin; Ulmo made his home in the depths of the Encircling Sea, and the Valar also had mansions in the great city of Valmar, but he had no idea if those halls had names of their own, or any of the others in which the Valar dwelt throughout Aman.  It was another question to add to the already long list of questions he had been accumulating during the months since his arrival in the West.  Not for the first time, he was grateful for Lord Eru’s grace, which would allow him and Bilbo to remain in Aman, untroubled by the weariness of the world until they were ready to move on, for he was quite certain it would take many years before the questions he already had could be adequately answered.

The rattling of the kettle he had set above the kitchen fire interrupted his reverie and told him the water was ready to brew tea.  As he poured it into the ceramic pot he had already prepared, he tried to recall what Mirimë had told him of beverages often preferred by Elven children.  He had just begun to consider the options he was able to remember when a noise from outside the house caught his attention.  The sudden thunder of horses’ hoofs alerted him to the arrival of those he was expecting, a mildly surprising sound, since he hadn’t thought they would be in so great a rush.  Setting aside the kettle and leaving the tea to steep, he hurried to the front of the house and the clearing before it, where riders were best able to approach.  His surprise deepened when he stepped out onto the porch and saw only a single rider.  Shadowfax was drawing to a halt; still on his back, Olórin appeared torn between amusement and annoyance, laughing even as he ran his fingers through his seriously disarrayed hair, which had bits of leaves and twigs tangled in it, the circlet set upon it skewed slightly to one side.  There was not another horse to be seen or heard.

“Where are the others?” Frodo asked, startled by this unexpected and hasty arrival.

Shadowfax made an odd sound half-echoed by his master as he slipped down from the horse’s back, landing lightly on the grass and packed earth of the clearing.  “Still several miles behind us, I should think,” the Istar replied.  “We had just come to the place where the stream that runs beside the western meadow branches off from the river to the east, when Shadowfax took it into his head to race the others the rest of the way.  Never mind that this great brute knew full well he could outrun all but the swiftest of Lord Oromë’s steeds, and those we borrowed from Lady Nienna were just come from a week’s journey and know nothing of this region.  Not that he appears to remember it as well as he ought, given that he nearly tore my head off, jumping the hedge on the far side of the woods without leaving quite enough room for my hair to clear the vines growing above it.  And it’s good to be back again, thank you for asking.”

The hobbit blushed, but smiled.  “I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me, Olórin, and I beg your pardon.  I am glad you’re home.  If I have an excuse at all for my poor manners, it’s only that I’m surprised to see you arrive alone.  It’s not what I expected.”

“Nor I, so I forgive you your momentary lapse.  I had fully intended to come with the others, although I do admit I had thought it might be advantageous to arrive slightly ahead of them, to speak with you in private.”  The Maia’s eyes darkened and narrowed as they slipped toward Shadowfax, who had moved to drink from the small stream that ran near the house.  “Did you overhear my discussion with Ványalos, before he and I went in to meet Lord Irmo and Lady Estë?”

The silver horse raised his head enough to clearly nod his confirmation.  Olórin sniffed.  “That explains it, then.  I hadn’t realized it until this morning, but Aránayel has acquired some notions I have not had a chance to correct, and which might have uncomfortable results for all of us, yourself included.”  Quickly, he told Frodo the things he had told Ványalos a short time ago.  Frodo listened politely without interrupting, but his eyes grew steadily wider with all he heard.  When Olórin was finished, it took but a moment for him to react.

“And if she’s already laid plans to oust your other guests before they’ve even arrived, what plans does she have laid for me?  Is she thinking of sending me off to live with Bilbo in Tirion, or shipping me back to Middle-earth?”

The Maia sighed and winced as he tugged a particularly tangled clump of twigs and leaves from his hair, tearing out a largish knot of the hair itself in the process.  “I thought precisely the same thing when I realized what she was planning.  You needn’t worry on that account.  I assure you, if she so much as breathes a word of such a notion, she’ll find herself back where she came from before she finishes the sentence.  Lady Nienna may have sent her for some greater purpose, but I cannot believe it would involve allowing my friends to be hurt or insulted without reason.  I believe she seeks concrete proof that Aránayel has at last fulfilled the terms of her punishment, and if she would attempt such a thing, I suspect it would be more than adequate evidence that she has not.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Frodo agreed.  “There isn’t any chance, is there, that you might have accidentally given Aránayel the impression that you did still want such a relationship with her?”

Olórin shook his head emphatically, both in firm rejection of such a possibility, and to shake the last of the leafy debris from his hair.  “I’ve looked back over everything I have done and said since we met again, and if I did such a thing unintentionally, I cannot see how.  Ványalos told me that you had been warned that she might bear watching after her arrival here, but he did not mention the precise nature of Ornedil’s warning.”

“Undoubtedly because his warning wasn’t terribly precise.  I didn’t hear his exact message, of course, but Ványalos told me Ornedil had seen and heard things from Aránayel during the evening you spent in Lady Yavanna’s house that led him to believe she intended to cause some kind of mischief, should things not go to her liking during her time in Lórien.  We discussed it as best we could, and consulted anyone who was more familiar with her, and finally decided that the best way to deal with any trouble she might cause would be by preventing it. We—“

The Istar held up one hand, stilling Frodo’s explanation as he straightened the crooked circlet with the other hand.  “Ványalos spoke of this to me, and he felt that it would be better if I knew as little of your plans as possible, so that Aránayel could not lay the blame upon me, should she be angered by whatever comes of it.  You needn’t say more.  I believe I know all that is necessary.  I have been more concerned that you feel adequately forewarned.  She has... a strong personality, and can be fierce in dealing with those she considers her enemies.  In my youth, I was too blind and foolish to see it, but by simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could easily win that distinction.”

Frodo wrinkled his nose, not at Olórin’s words, but at the memories they stirred.  “One that I’ve lived with before, if you recall.  I did nothing more than allow Bilbo to show me kindness by adopting me after my parents were killed, and I immediately won the scorn of the Sackville-Bagginses.  Bilbo did try to protect me from their cruelty as much as he could, but he could only do so much.  I’ve given this some thought while you were away, and I’ve decided that if I take the same kinds of precautions around Aránayel as I would have around Lobelia, I should be able to deal with her.”  He laughed ruefully.  “It’s much the same situation, after all.  Lobelia wanted me out of Bag End so she could have it for herself, and it sounds as if Aránayel has much the same intent — though Lobelia wanted Bilbo out, too, and from what you just told me, it seems that Aránayel would rather you stayed.”

The Maia shuddered at the very thought.  “Yes, and given a choice, I would have preferred enforced company with Lobelia.”  He exhaled, the sound of his released breath halfway between a moan and a sigh. “There is no question that any love I might once have imagined I held for Aránayel is well and truly gone, but neither can I hate her or be angry with her for what happened so long ago.  Yet in making it clear to her that I held her blameless for my past errors, it would appear that I have erred once again.  In her mind, I believe she sees kindness and pity as either signs of weakness or opportunities for manipulation — manipulation of a sort I would prefer not to contemplate.”

It took but a moment for the hobbit to see his point.  “Do you think she might actually attempt to...”  He cleared his throat, then spoke more quietly, just in case his words might be considered inappropriate or rude.  “...seduce you?”  It rather embarrassed him to realize that back in the Shire, such a thought would not have even occurred to him, but there was no denying that the person Olórin was here in his homeland was astonishingly unlike the weary and careworn old man he had appeared to be in Middle-earth.  From Frodo’s observations, among those still faithful to the Valar and Eru, there was no such thing as an ugly Maia, and in expressing his simplicity, Olórin’s fana held a quiet but nonetheless striking grace.

Olórin grimaced.  “Ordinarily, I would say no.  Our people are not like the Eruhíni.  While our fanar can be precisely like your bodies in form and in basic functions, none of the things you require to sustain or enhance your physical life are needed by us.  We are capable of experiencing most things that are natural to one born in flesh, but our reactions to them are quite different on very fundamental levels.  That is why it was necessary for Melian to take on a body of flesh when she wished to bear Elwë a child.  It could not be done otherwise, for we do not have children among ourselves, even when we remain in our self-incarnate forms.  Among the Ainur, spouses relate to one another in ways that are quite unlike those of the Eruhíni; a desire for offspring is normally not a part of this love.  A greater tie to physical existence is required to kindle it, and then the spouse must be chosen from among the beings Lord Eru created as naturally incarnate, or....”

He shook his head, curtailing his unintended lecture.  “Well, that is a tale for another time, I think.  Suffice it to say that I now have a much better understanding of what both the Eldar and the Atani experience in their incarnate lives since I spent so many years in the body of one of the Second-born.  What it means to be male or female is not the same for us as it is for you.  All of Eru’s living beings, I think, wish to have family in our own fashions, but the desires that arise from the need to give birth to children are unique to the creatures born of Arda and quite beyond the reckoning of any Ainu who has not lived in true flesh.  Aránayel has never experienced such a life, of that I am certain.”

Frodo saw his point.  “Then there’s no chance that she would even think of attempting such... coercion,” he said, relieved.

That feeling faded a moment later when the Maia made an indecisive gesture.  “I would not expect that such a means of ingratiation would readily occur to her.  But I may be mistaken; I have misjudged her before, to my regret.  She has spent many years working among the Elves who are freed from the Halls of Waiting and their kin; she has witnessed their ways far more closely than she could have in her service to Lord Manwë and Lady Varda.  She may have some curiosity about those customs and habits which are not ours; she might think that I would share such an interest because of the many years I have just recently spent in the flesh of a mortal, and because of my acknowledged love for all the Eruhíni.  Also, she has also developed an... attachment, if you will, to certain things of the physical world, her fana apparently not the least among them.  If she grasps no other aspect of humane existence, she knows vanity quite well indeed.  My suspicion is that she would not demean herself by using such blandishments upon me, but if she has witnessed such behavior among the newly released Elves who have been reunited with their spouses and loved ones....”

Frodo winced, sympathetic.  “What will you do if she does try?”

Olórin shrugged.  In the distance, he could hear the approach of the other horses, though they were yet too far for Frodo to catch the sound.  “Deal with it when and if it happens.  My hope is that it will not, which is why I am grateful to Ornedil for warning you that Aránayel may attempt to cause trouble, and that you and Ványalos have already taken steps to prevent it.  Whatever measures you have begun, if they at all involve keeping close watch over her, I doubt she will ever find an opportunity for this particular kind of mischief.  I intend to avoid being alone with her, so long as she remains in Lórien.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, of course, if you wish.  I must admit that I hadn’t even considered this possibility, until just now.  I know your people aren’t like mine, but I often forget how very different we are.  When you speak about siblings and spouses among the Valar and your own people, I cannot imagine them without thinking in terms of how such things are among my own kind.  I don’t believe I will ever quite understand how there can be brothers and sisters and husbands and wives, yet no mothers and fathers or children.  All of you have the same parent, yet you are not all related.  It’s quite incomprehensible to me.”

The Maia smiled wryly.  “I understand, better than you may know.  In my own way, I was just as baffled by those differences when I came to Middle-earth two thousand years ago, but I have learned.  Perhaps that is why I have come to look upon the Hobbits as my family, especially you and Bilbo.  I had no kin by birth, and none by blood, but some I have found in spirit, in you and your people.  That is more precious to me than the kinship I had once imagined I might share with Aránayel.  Which is why I will not let her spoil the happiness and peace you are finally coming to know here in Lórien.  Too many of the months since your arrival have been spent in dealing with my troubles.  I have no wish for you to suffer one moment more because of my errors and inadequacies.”

Frodo harrumphed softly.  “I don’t consider helping a friend to be suffering, much less one who is more family than mere friend.  But....”  He glanced at that friend, who was watching Shadowfax nibbling on the grass near the stream.  His earlier thoughts concerning the obvious changes in the Istar bubbled up in the hobbit’s mind, and to his chagrin,  a sudden laugh escaped him.  When Olórin gave him a sharp glance that was painfully near to taking insult, Frodo did his best to suppress his unseemly mirth.  “Forgive me, I don’t mean to imply that I consider what Aránayel has done, and might yet do, to be humorous.  But....”

He paused, then began again.  “Look at it this way, if you will.  I can easily understand why this whole situation concerns you deeply, because Aránayel has done you considerable harm in the past.  But I’ve only known you as you are now for... eight or nine months, isn’t it?  I grew accustomed to your changed appearance much more quickly than I would have expected, but even so, it did take some getting used to.  Yet before then, I knew you as a very old man for all my life, more than fifty years.  I beg your pardon if my reaction seems rude, but I cannot help but think that back in Middle-earth, I couldn’t have even begun to imagine that something of this sort would ever worry you.  Realizing that it does...!”

Olórin had no trouble grasping the explanation behind this unseemly laughter.  His offended expression turned to a rueful, crooked smile.  “I suppose from that perspective, you’re quite right, and the whole notion is utterly absurd.  To be frank, I never would have expected to find myself in such a predicament, either.  I have loved a great many people in my life with a deep and earnest passion, but I have never desired anyone as the Eruhíni do, not even when I lived as one of you.  What I wanted of Aránayel all those centuries ago was not the attention of a lover, even as ourkind knows them; I wanted to experience the sort of deep love of heart and spirit I saw between my lord and his lady.  In my ignorance, I did delude myself into doing something I should not have done, because only recently have I grown enough to understand that this particular path is one not meant for me, not in this world.  It does not make me bitter; indeed, the clarity of that enlightenment has been an immense relief.”

He sighed softly.  “But that is why I am so greatly troubled by the direction in which Aránayel’s attentions appear to be progressing.  She doesn’t truly understand me; she knows only what I was in my foolish youth, and now sees how she could turn what she believes I might still desire to her advantage.  If she reacted with such powerful rage when all I did was speak to her of love, how do you think she will react if now, when the tables are turned, I reject her?  Do you imagine she will believe such a refusal can be aught but a long delayed and completely deliberate revenge?”

Frodo shook his head, his laughter gone.  “No, I suspect that’s precisely what she’ll do.  And truly, I do see why such advances might be particularly uncomfortable and distasteful to you, especially now.  After Bilbo left the Shire and I inherited all he had left behind, I reaped an unwanted bounty of feminine admirers, looking to marry into a life of comfort.  Some of them were complete strangers, others lasses I hadn’t spoken to in years, still others young women who wouldn’t have given me time of day when I was in my tweens and Bilbo was the master of Bag End.  A few had been quite unkind, then, repeating Lobelia’s nonsense about me not being a true Baggins at all, unworthy to be the heir to Bilbo’s so-called fortune – until it was my fortune, and they wanted it for themselves.  It doesn’t surprise me at all that Aránayel might change her tune toward you, if she saw something in it for herself, and that she would be quite offended by rejection.  To be wanted for something you have or are that others wish to possess — be it wealth or beauty or power or influence — is quite demeaning.  I despised it for myself, and I fully understand why it troubles you now.”

Olórin leaned against the balustrade near the place where Frodo stood upon the porch, his breath whistling through his teeth as he exhaled, pondering long-buried memories.  “I’d forgotten your troubles with the young ladies of Hobbiton after Bilbo’s departure — but then, whenever I visited you during those years, the matter of the Ring nagged at me more and more, and I seldom saw anyone but you or whatever friends and neighbors you allowed into your home while I was there.  If I regret anything about that time, it was how estranged I became from the rest of the Shire.  It felt much like becoming an unwanted outsider to my own family.”

The hobbit smiled wanly.  “Perhaps it was for the best, in the end.  Even if I had not needed to come here for my own well-being, you would not have been allowed to stay in Middle-earth, would you?”

The fair head shook.  “No.  Aiwendil and some others of my kind remain because they have lost their memories of Aman, and believe themselves to be a part of Endorë.  To stay, I would have had to become like them, and much as I love Middle-earth, I missed my home and my life here, and wanted to return to both.  I admit that there was a goodly measure of selfishness in my actions when I asked the Valar if you and Bilbo might be permitted to sail with us.  Even though the request was for your well-being and happiness, not mine, I did feel less torn when the time came to depart, knowing that the best part of what I had known in Endorë would be coming with me, if only briefly.  I am relieved that I was never faced with a need to persuade you to come.  That you chose of your own free will eases my heart considerably, especially since I know that your decision left you bereft of a part of your life that you hold most dear.  Now, I can only hope you will not regret your choice so soon, because of Aránayel.”

Frodo chuckled, almost deviously.  “Oh, I don’t think so.  Given all you’ve told me, I think what we’ve planned to thwart her will turn out better than we could have expected.  Although we’ll have to find ways for you to survive a day or so, until everything falls into place.  Do you think you can manage that?”

Olórin made a face of good-natured exasperation, standing straight again as the sounds of the other travelers approaching finally became clearly audible to both of them.  “I will manage for as long as is necessary, if it will prevent Aránayel from nurturing these... disturbing schemes any more than she already has.  Speaking of nurturing, that reminds me: Lady Yavanna sent a gift for you, and she made me promise to make certain it came into your hands directly upon our arrival.”

Frodo blinked, startled, as Shadowfax ambled back to the front of the house.  The stallion's entire posture radiated a sense that it was about time the others joined them.  “A gift for me?  Why?  I spoke with her for a time during the welcoming feast in Valmar, and she was a very kind and pleasant person, not at all terrible or frightening, but I’ve seen very little of her since.  We discussed gardens and growing things, and she seemed rather pleased that Hobbits have such a fondness for both, though we spoke of nothing more important than that.”

“It was significant to her.  She was aware that your people loved the plant life of Endorë, but she had never before met a Hobbit, and apparently, your conversation in Valmar delighted her greatly.  When she heard that you had chosen to reside here in Lórien, in the house that she and others made for me, she regretted not having provided it with anything considered special by Hobbit-kind, and she wished to remedy that situation.  If Ványalos has not destroyed the things I brought with me from the North, I shall make certain her gift is delivered promptly.”

“That is an unfair accusation, pityandil,” the redhead remarked as the four horses entered the clearing and brought them within easy earshot of those before the porch.  “I have admitted that I am not the most skilled of riders, but neither am I that poor!  Indeed, if Shadowfax hadn’t gone galloping off and prompted the others to try to keep pace with him, I would not have so much as jostled a thing.  If some item you have in your packs has been damaged, you may lay the blame on your own horse, not this gentle fellow.”  He patted the neck of the dappled gray stallion that had borne the Istar all the long way from Nienna’s house to Irmo’s.  “Indeed, he and his friends would have exhausted themselves completely, if our two young Elven companions had not used their charms to calm them into a more reasonable gait.  Whyever did you bolt off in such haste?”

“It was none of my doing,” Olórin assured his neighbor as he reached into one of the packs after Ványalos had dismounted and gone to assist the others.  “Shadowfax was eager for home, I suppose, and had become restless.  And no harm done, I see,” he added with a smile, lifting something from the top of the uppermost pack.  “Lady Yavanna will be pleased, especially if this meets with your approval, Frodo.”

The hobbit’s brow creased with curiosity as Olórin brought a cloth-wrapped something to him, and held it so that he could uncover it.  Frodo did so carefully, mindful that what lay beneath might be fragile.  Removing the cloth revealed a soil-filled pot with a number of seedlings in it; they were not yet large, but they were strong and healthy.  Frodo made a sound of delighted surprise as he recognized the plants.  “Pipeweed!” he exclaimed, familiar with both the sight and the scent of it, even in this tender young state.  “I had no idea it grew here in the West!”

“Not in Lórien, and not with that name.  But it is well known in some of the regions we passed through on our journey, where it is called sweet galenas and is grown for its fragrant flowers, not its leaf.  There were many such blossoms gracing the hall in which Lady Yavanna held her feast, and when I mentioned to her how the Hobbits had found a unique and delightful use for the leaves of the herb, which you and Bilbo had enjoyed during your lives in the Shire, she proclaimed that it must be added to your garden, straightaway.  She sent seeds as well, so that you might grow as much as you wish, but she wanted to be certain that you had plants for your use as soon as possible.  The climate of Lórien is not unsuitable for them, and with the Lady’s blessing upon them, they will grow swiftly, once they have been properly set in the soil.”

Frodo laughed as he accepted the gift.  “And I don’t suppose you bothered to mention that you enjoyed using ‘the herb’ every bit as much as Bilbo and I?”

Olórin cleared his throat, lightly, and shrugged.  “Perhaps not in so many words,” he admitted.  “I was telling her of the arts of the Little Folk, after all, not my own habits.  The gift was meant for you, but if we do share it, I will also share in the task of tending it properly.  That is, of course, if you wish to have it in the garden at all.”

The hobbit smiled.  “When I first arrived, I might have thought not, but now, I believe it will be very pleasant to see.  Does it need to be set immediately?  I have tea prepared for you and the others.”

“It can wait.  Permit me to introduce them....”

“Oh, I think that’s quite unnecessary,” Frodo said cheerfully, placing the potted plants to one side of the porch, then stepping down to the woodland floor to meet the travelers.  “Several of those who live hereabouts were familiar with the people you told Ványalos would be returning with you, and their descriptions were so remarkably clear, I believe I would know any of them on sight. 

“Let me see,” he said as he drew near to where the last of the visitors had just dismounted, turning from one to the next as he addressed them.  “You would be young Master Lére, of course, and Miss Melui, his sister, and the Lady Aránayel.  Frodo Baggins, at your service,” he added with a proper Hobbitish bow for each of them.  “Unless, of course, I have insulted you by confusing your names, in which case I sincerely beg your pardon.”

Melui giggled at his look of feigned concern; Lére, however, blinked, startled.  “Why, you are no taller than I am!” he exclaimed.  “Mithrandir told me so even before we left, but I didn’t really believe him.  I thought he was teasing, because I’d said he was short.”

“All a matter of perspective, I imagine, since to me, everyone in this land seems quite impossibly tall, even Mithrandir.  Which, no doubt, is why the Big Folk insist on calling us halflings, even though we Hobbits have a perfectly good name for ourselves.  I can see you’ve never met one of my people before.”

Both twins shook their heads.  “Father did,” Melui said.  “He told us about the times he traveled through your country, but he never had a chance to take us there before...”  Her expression dimmed.  “Well, before we sailed West.”

Frodo’s nod was sympathetic.  “I’ve been told the tale of your voyage to Aman, and I’m very sorry about what happened.  I was a bit older than both of you when I lost my parents in an accident on the river, but for a time, I thought I would spend the rest of my life alone, among strangers or relatives I scarcely knew.”

The children’s eyes widened.  “Mithrandir talked about you during our journey, but he didn’t tell us you’d lost your parents, too,” Lére said.  “Was it a long time ago?  You don’t look terribly old, but I’m afraid I don’t know how to tell with mortals.  You are a mortal, aren’t you?”

Frodo laughed, kindly.  “My, but I can see you have a lot of questions.  I can try to answer some of them for you over tea, if you’d like.”  He cast a questioning glance at the three Maiar, not certain if he should proceed if Aránayel was apt to balk at the suggestion.

Fortunately, Ványalos intervened.  “Ah, tea!  This is a splendid custom of the Little Folk that should not be refused when offered!” he said with great enthusiasm, gesturing broadly to both the twins and Aránayel.  “Come, now, I have learned from experience that this is something best appreciated if it is not delayed.”

The children eagerly followed Frodo as the hobbit turned to enter the house; Ványalos went in their wake, but Aránayel did not.  “Pleasure should not come before duty,” she said, a bit stiffly, as if she disapproved of Ványalos’ wish to be off so quickly when Olórin had turned instead to relieve the horses of their burdens.  “We should see to the comfort of our steeds, first.  They have brought us a long way, without complaint.”

“I will attend to it,” the Istar assured her quickly, seeing that the very circumstances he had hoped to avoid were in danger of coming to pass.  “Ványalos can assist me before sharing whatever is left of tea by the time we are done.  You and the children are guests here, and as a member of this household, Frodo is offering welcome in the way of his people.  I would not see his traditions ignored when I’m sure he has gone to considerable effort to arrange this, and Ványalos and I know where all the things we have brought are to be taken.  Go, enjoy yourself, Aránayel.  That is your only duty for the moment, as a guest.”

From her expression, she appeared inclined to argue.  Frodo noticed it at once, and acted to forestall her.  “I would consider it a great honor if you would join us, Lady Aránayel,” he said deferentially, but not overly so.  “I have heard a good deal about you since the day I arrived in Aman, and I must admit, I have been quite curious.”

She favored him with a look that might have been easily called snobbish, but which the hobbit ignored.  “To know if the ugly tales are true?”

Frodo smiled as he gestured for her and the twins to follow him into the house.  “I am curious to know the truth, yes,” he admitted, “but I shouldn’t call it ugly.  I have heard, for instance, that you sing with a voice second only to the Lady Melian’s, and I have heard her from time to time, during my stay here in Lórien, so I know this is a great compliment to you.  The folk hereabouts are positively smitten with music, somewhat more, I have noticed, than seems typical of other places in Aman — although I must be honest with you, I have seen very little of the country.  I’m afraid I slept a good deal of the time during the ride between here and Valmar, and I’ve not had much opportunity to travel far since.  I’m also very curious about the lands of the North, where you have been living for many years.  Is it true that summer never truly comes there, and it’s cold all the year ‘round...?”  His comments and queries seemed but a babble, yet they had the desired effect:  Aránayel went with him into the house, and began to answer some of his questions along the way.

When the door had closed and they were well inside, Olórin breathed a sigh of relief, which was echoed by Ványalos.  “I told you he was prepared,” the redhead said as they set about taking care of the horses and their gear.  “His wits are very quick.  She won’t get ‘round Frodo easily, because he has both your welfare and his own firmly in mind.  You were also right to make me stay and help with this.  If her things are settled into my house before she even knows where they have been taken, she will have less reason to complain of her lodgings and may even accustom herself to the fact that they will not be in your house.  Now, if you will only tell me that you had Shadowfax bring you here ahead of us because you have devised a way to tell her this news without inciting her anger and required Frodo’s aid....”

“Unfortunately, no,” Olórin grumbled as he removed the packs and tack from the horse Ványalos had borrowed for the trip, while his neighbor set about collecting Aránayel’s things from her steed.  “I told you precisely what happened, and if I had been inspired with a solution to this problem, I would have bespoken you in osánwë during the ride from Murmuran.  The simplest answer to this would be for me surrender my own private corner of this house to her and take up residence in yours until all is resolved.  But in the end, that might solve nothing.  If her designs are to somehow attach herself to me so as to enhance the opinions of those who have come to look upon me with favor, she would certainly follow — and under your roof, there is more than enough space to shelter half the residents of Lórien.”

Ványalos grimaced.  “And even if she did not follow, the young ones would be left alone with her, defenseless.  Ornedil did not speak so directly, but I am certain that a part of what he fears is that she would seek to be avenged against you by harming these children for whom you care, who cannot protect themselves.”

“Helyanwë had much the same concern, though she was worried for my welfare, not the twins’ — yet I fear much more for them.  Besides, prepared though he may be, I cannot abandon Frodo to her mercy, only for the sake of my personal comfort.  I told him that he would be welcome in my house for as long as he wished to stay, and that is the same promise I gave to Melui just this morning.  I invited her and her brother to return with me before I knew Aránayel was to accompany us, and I cannot go back on my word to any of them simply to spare myself yet another siege of her anger.  I will weather the storms of her displeasure, as I have done before.  And since I suspect that you and Frodo have arranged for our other neighbors to come this evening and welcome these new guests to the hill country, I sincerely hope that whatever merriment they provide will be enough to lighten Aránayel’s spirits so that when the time comes to inform her of her erroneous assumption, she will look upon it as a mere irritating inconvenience rather than the first strike of open war!”