The memory faded.  What had come after Olórin left the Timeless Halls was common knowledge by now, and thus Eönwë's questions were fully answered.  As the sensation of reliving that part of his past dwindled, the Istar closed his eyes, reveling in all that he only now fully remembered.  He savored the utter joy of being in the presence of their Father, thrilled to at last fully comprehend the greater purpose of the crystal circlet that had been bestowed upon him on the day of his return to Valinor.  He focused his thought upon it, and through it felt the touch of perfect love that was their Creator, as near to him as the soft morning breeze against his skin.  This was his true gift, beyond the healing to his wounded spirit, and he was deeply honored to receive it.

A few moments later, he opened his eyes, and was startled when he did not see Eönwë standing before him.  He was even more surprised to see the herald kneeling, clearly in deference to him, and was further shocked when he glanced about and saw that all of the Ainur, including the Valar, had apparently followed Eönwë's lead.  He cast his eye to those who had been watching upon the plain, and saw that many of Eruhíni were also on their knees, most likely those who had chosen to witness all he had just revealed to Eönwë.  He paled when he noticed that Frodo and even Bilbo were among them, though the younger hobbit was whispering something to his elder cousin.  Trembling, he turned back to the herald, hoping that by focusing on one person, he would not feel quite so overwhelmed by this disturbing turn of events.  

“My friend,” he said, willing his voice to remain steady, “there is no need for this!  What have I done to cause such an... inappropriate response?”

Eönwë looked up, his bright blue eyes unwavering.  “Can you recall what the One said to you, and not know the answer, Olórin?   To return shows great courage; to want to return when it means giving up such a precious gift shows courage greater than any of your kindred would believe possible.  Many of them, even some of the greatest, would not make such a choice, uncoerced.  He spoke naught but the truth, and if we kneel to you, we are only acknowledging that we are among those who would not have made such a choice.  And you did more than give up the gift of returning to His Presence to resume a bitter task.  If the greatest love one can show to a friend is to wish for their happiness, how much greater is that love which will sacrifice one's very existence to save an entire world?”

The Istar's pale face suddenly flushed red, but even in his embarrassment, he could not deny the truth of which Eönwë spoke.  He had not offered himself out of duty, but out of love for the Eruhíni, and the world the Ainur had fashioned to be their home.  The quest to destroy the Ring was a part of that, for much would have been lost without the defeat of Sauron, but in the end, he had taken up the burden of an Istar, relinquished it in its moment of failure, and taken it up again all out of love for the Children, and those who had sent him.  For a time, he did not know what to say.  Then, he reached down and took Eönwë's hands and raised him up.  Tears were bright in his eyes when he finally was able to speak.

“I accept the honor you do me,” he said, in a clear voice that all could hear.  “I admit that the choice to leave the Timeless Halls and return to a life in which more pain and suffering were inevitable was the most difficult decision I was ever asked to make.  But our Father promised me that I would be given a gift that would ever allow me a connection to that joy which I surrendered, and it was bestowed upon me but a few minutes after I returned to my life without the encumbrance of true flesh. That is a great comfort to me, and I will cherish it always.”

He let his glance fall upon all the others, first the Valar and their people, then the Eruhíni; he was relieved to see that they were also rising.  He smiled when his gaze touched Frodo and Bilbo, who were watching with shining eyes and broad smiles of their own.  “And I will always cherish the love of the many friends who have come into my life.  If it were not for all of you, I could never have found the courage to perform even one of the deeds that you consider so admirable.  It is another thing for which I give thanks today.”  He bowed deeply to the assembly, honoring them in return.

Eönwë accepted the obeisance with a polite nod.  “And I thank you for your willingness to give such a thorough answer to my question.  I could not have asked you to share your memories as you did, but I am most grateful.  Through them, I feel as if I, too, have returned to be with our Father, if only for a moment.  That is a gift beyond price.”

A murmur of agreement rose up from the Ainur, the Valar included.  Eönwë then took his leave and returned to his place behind Manwë's seat.  It was only then that Olórin realized that, though the other Valar had settled into their chairs, the Elder King was still standing, an expression of great wonder upon his face.  When their eyes met, Olórin abruptly remembered the message he was to give the Vala — the message he had already given, through the shared memory of his time with the One.  And as Eru had promised, he finally understood its meaning.

Manwë echoed the words that the One had spoken long ago.  His voice was soft, but clear.  “‘But behold, the time is come for the vessel to be fully restored, and the emptiness to be filled.  For even before all the Ainur were brought into being, that fall was foreseen, and the means to heal that which it most sorely wounded was fashioned.  The marring of Arda is not yet to be undone, but the time to heal the first wound wrought by the fallen has come, delivered not in might, but in humility.'  

“In humility,” he repeated when Olórin suddenly looked down, his face flushed.  The Vala shook his head, not in denial but in amazement.  “Oh, how can I have been so blind?  How many ages of the world have passed, and yet never did I see what was so plain before me?”

He strode across the gallery, stopping but an arm's length from the Istar, who still seemed inordinately interested in the thick grass before his bare toes.  “How long have you known this?” Manwë asked.  When he did not receive an answer, he put one hand beneath the Maia's chin, forcing him to look up.  “Olórin,” he said, firmly but not angrily.  “How long have you known this?”

The Maia's eyes remained lowered for a moment, but he did not resist for long.  His gaze met the Vala's, a bit tentatively, but without flinching.  “Since the first time we met in the Timeless Halls,” he admitted.  “I was aware that a connection existed, but I did not understand any of what it could possibly mean for a very long time.   Long after we entered Eä, in fact.  I began to piece together bits of the truth after the Lamps were destroyed, during the raising of Valinor.  I have long known that we are kin, if not in what fashion.”

Manwë's tone was gentle.  “And you said nothing?”

Olórin shrugged.  “What could I say?  I have always feared that I had reached the wrong conclusion, and I did not want to risk causing offense — or humiliation.  Lord Eru said that I would understand when I remembered His message for you, and I do understand now, quite fully.  It is for the best that I kept this to myself.  If I had spoken of it those many years ago, and if I had been believed, would you have sent me to succor the Eruhíni against Melkor's darkness and despair during the First Age, or charged me to be your emissary in the Third?”

Manwë's reflection took only a moment.  “No, I would have found it quite difficult.  I do not blame you, Olórin.  I do not think I was ready to hear this, until now.  And now that I am ready, I rejoice.”  His face lit with a brilliant smile even as tears filled his eyes.  He opened his arms and the Maia gladly entered his embrace and returned it, shedding his own tears of joy.

“Rejoice?  For what?” a rather puzzled voice came from behind Olórin.  Tulkas, seated beside Ulmo in resplendent golden glory, looked thoroughly perplexed, though the smiles worn by many of the other Valar showed that they had grasped what he had not.

Oromë snorted and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation; Námo provided an explanation, in a cool manner that was betrayed by the good-humored sparkle in his dark eyes.  “The meaning of the message is quite plain, Tulkas,” he said with the feigned seriousness of the Doomsman, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his fingers in the manner of a teacher instructing a child.  “Even before all the Ainur were brought into being, that fall was foreseen — this surely speaks of Melkor, and that even as He brought forth the other children of His thought, Eru Ilúvatar foresaw that Melkor would make choices which would lead to his fall.   That which was most sorely wounded might be the Music, or the world that we helped to fashion from it once it was made manifest, but even more grievous was the personal wound that was caused when Melkor rebelled against Eru and broke the heart of his brother Manwë.  The One created the remedy for this terrible injury even before it was first inflicted.  That means, delivered in humility rather than might, is that which came not first but last: the youngest of the Ainur of the Great Music.”

When Tulkas appeared even more puzzled than before, Irmo took pity on him, nudging Námo with one elbow.  “An explanation offered like a pronouncement of Doom is not terribly enlightening, brother,” he chided the Lord of Mandos.  Námo maintained his air of false innocence; Irmo smiled at Tulkas.  “What Námo has been trying to say in his own inimitable way is that Lord Eru understood what Melkor would do very soon after his creation, and made certain that his loss would not leave such an emptiness in Manwë's heart forever.  Olórin, who was the last of those Ainur brought forth to sing the Great Music, is the instrument of that healing.  He is their younger brother.”

Sounds of surprise and understanding rustled through those who heard like the sound of wind through the grass.  Among the Valar, several gave nods of comprehension.  “That explains much,” was Ulmo's opinion.  “It was wise to keep the knowledge hidden, for if this had been known from the beginning, Melkor surely would have attempted to corrupt or harm him, to the great sorrow of many.  As the youngest of us, with no acknowledged relation to any and of a humble demeanor, Melkor would have deemed him to be of no consequence.  And I have often wondered how Olórin alone among all the Maiar was able to conceal himself from Melkor's notice during his labors of the First Age.”

“And how he was able to move beyond Manwë's perception, five years past,” Nienna added, smiling at her pupil.  “Yes, it explains a great deal.  A mere servant may balk at being ordered about by his master, without consultation or explanation, but to a younger brother, such treatment can be a devastating rejection.”

Manwë heard them, and knew they were referring to the manner in which he had forced the burden of the Istari upon Olórin, and how it had hurt and angered the Maia when the full consequences of that command had been revealed to him after his return to Aman.  He stepped back from the Istar, his expression heavy with remorse.  “I now regret that mistake more than ever before,” he said in all humility.  “It was wrong of me to place my pride before anyone's safety.  It was unforgivable to do it to my own brother.”

But Olórin immediately rejected that assessment.  “No, my lord,” he declared, unwilling to brook any argument.  “We have both made mistakes out of pride, I no less than you.  Even if we had both known of our kinship, you are still the king of Arda, and you have both my fealty and my love, as Nolofinwë has given his own to Arafinwë as his king, and yet remains his brother.  What you did needed to be done, for it was a part of your responsibility as a king.  And how I responded to what was required of me was also written within the designs of Lord Eru.  I was angry, yes, because it seemed to me as if my thoughts and feelings in the matter had been dismissed out of hand, but sometimes, that is the path our fates must tread.  My anger may have clouded my reason for a time, but never did I cease to love you.  And did Eru Ilúvatar not tell me that the hurts I would suffer would serve a greater purpose?”

Manwë studied the Maia, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes and in his heart.  “He did,” the Vala conceded.  “And we have learned much from it that was needed.  You are right, Olórin.  We have done what we were meant to do, though I very much have wished that our education had not come at the cost of your pain.”

There was general agreement with that sentiment, which seemed to end the debate — at least among the Ainur.  One of the younger Elves — a page in Ingwë's court from his garb, still some years from his majority — spoke up.  “But... how can a Maia be a brother to a Vala?  Isn't that like... like a bird being a brother to a fi— ”  The child suddenly became aware of many eyes upon him, and realized that he was about to say something that was potentially quite offensive.  He blushed red with embarrassment before blanching white with fear that he might have invoked the wrath of the Elder King.

But both Manwë and Olórin laughed.  “I suppose that it might seem that way, young one,” the Vala said kindly.  “But it is not as it appears.  Although not all of the Ainur are of the same order, we are all of the same kind.  The Vanyar and Noldor and Teleri are different in their appearance and in their skills, but all are of the Eldar.  As all of you are kin by the blood of your kind, the Valar and Maiar are kin by the nature of our kind.  Our blood is the thought of Lord Eru, and in that, we are all kin.  What makes those of us you call the Valar different from the Maiar is only the degree of power and ability with which Lord Eru gifted us.  Olórin and I are much alike in our natures, and I should have realized long ago that this was no coincidence.  That we are true kin is a part of our Creator's vast and intricate designs, and it gives me great joy to know that He understood how it would pain me to lose my elder brother to the ways of evil.  I rejoice in the gift I have been given in my younger brother.  He need not be counted among the Powers of this world to be precious to me.”

“Nor to me.”  Varda had risen from her seat and had come to join her husband.  Her entire countenance, already glowing with the beautiful Light of the One, was shining with joy.  “Welcome to your family, my brother Olórin.  And as for you, my husband,” she added, scowling at her spouse with mock annoyance.  “It's about time you finally recognized the truth.”

The wind-lord's mouth fell open at what she had implied.  “You — Varda, my beloved, are you... have you known about this as well?”

Her radiant smile turned wry.   “Of course.  Those of us who have been closest to you saw the... ah... family resemblance the first time we beheld the two of you together.  I had thought that Olórin was as unaware of it as you, that you were both...  What is the phrase, Yavanna?”

The earth queen's chuckle was perilously close to a girlish giggle.  “Too close to the forest to see the trees,” she supplied, her glance flicking to Oromë.

The hunter nodded, grinning.   “A saying of the Atani, as I recall. Quite appropriate.”

Varda thanked them for their help.  “Yes, quite appropriate.”  She turned her smiling gaze to Olórin.  “Too close to the forest to see the trees.  I am pleased to know that you at least were not so unobservant.”

The Maia blushed.  “Nearly so,” he confessed.  “If I had been created to fulfill as great a role as even the least of the Valar, I think that I would have been too preoccupied to notice.  As it was, I truly did not understand the whole of it until my memories of my life after death were stirred as I shared them today.”

Varda's silvery eyes twinkled like the brightest of her stars.   “Hardly your fault. The One said that you would understand when it was time, so I doubt you could have done so any sooner.  He does enjoy watching us piece together the little puzzles He plans for our lives.”

Ulmo snorted, rather like Círdan had earlier, the sound amused.  “I used to think of them as annoying, until I realized how boring our lives could become without such little challenges.”  Many of the others nodded their agreement.

Manwë was still attempting to digest his wife's news when someone among the observers interrupted.  “Does this mean that the Reckoning is over?” came Bilbo's plaintive question.  “Because if it is, it's nearly time for second breakfast, and I still haven't had my first!”

Those who were familiar with the elderly hobbit's appetite — which had been greatly renewed since his arrival in the Blessed Realm — laughed.  Manwë saw Bilbo's increasing chagrin and held up his hands for silence, sparing him further discomfort.  “Master Baggins's question is a valid one,” he said, his voice easily projecting for all to hear, as the wind sweeps over an open plain.  “If any unanswered questions remain concerning Olórin's performance of his duties as my messenger and a steward of Endorë during this past age, come forward now, and let yourself be heard.”

All was quiet for a minute or two, but in that stillness one could feel the movement of thoughts among those of the Eldar gifted with mind speech.  After the moment and the breeze passed, the three Elven kings exchanged glances and nodded.  

Ingwë stepped forward, smiling.  “My lord,” he said, “it would appear that we and all of our people are in full agreement.  Lord Eönwë said it plainly: there can be no greater love than for one to offer their own existence for the sake of others.  Whatever mistakes and misjudgments Lord Olórin might have made in fulfilling the charge that was laid upon him as your emissary, they are more than compensated for by the great and willing sacrifices he made in order to secure the peace and safety of all inhabitants of Arda.  If Eru Ilúvatar Himself is pleased and has shown His approval, then we can do no less.  As no other questions have been raised, we ask that this Reckoning be held fulfilled, and we thank Lord Olórin for the remarkable thoroughness of his accounting.”  He bowed one last time, as did the other kings and the members of their families and courts.

Manwë accepted this, hearing similar approval from the Valar and Maiar.  “Then I declare that this final Reckoning of the Istar Olórin is ended, that his duties are judged to be completed, and he is commended with the highest honor all the peoples of Aman can accord.  So let Eru Ilúvatar witness.”

“Násië,” came the reply from all in the assembly.  There followed a traditional moment of silence to honor the completion of the solemn event and give thanks for it.  Then, with no discernable cue, the entire gathering turned to celebration.  Musicians struck up joyful tunes, the pavilions that had been prepared for feasting and revelry were filled with people laughing and talking and singing as they broke their fast together.  The sun had fully cleared the Pelóri, and her rays shone bright and warm on the land below.

Atop the hill, the rest of the Valar had come to offer welcome to the Elder King's brother, while Manwë suffered in good humor their teasing congratulations for having finally realized what many of the others had already suspected, if not known outright.  To Olórin's relief, they moved on to be with the gatherings of their own people rather than make overmuch of the matter.  When the last of them — Aulë and Yavanna — were offering their congratulations to Manwë, he glanced down the hill toward Arafinwë's pavilion, where Frodo and Bilbo had joined the household of Elrond for breakfast.  He could see the hobbits settling down near Elrond and Galadriel, and noticed when Frodo looked up in his direction.

He turned back to his king and queen as Aulë and Yavanna were moving away.  “I promised Frodo that I would join him and Bilbo for breakfast,” the Maia told them, sensing that perhaps they would wish for him to join them instead.

They understood.  “Of course,” Manwë said with a nod of approval.  “Naught has truly changed, save between you and I, and there will be plenty of time for us to discuss this later.”

“Indeed there shall be,” Varda agreed.  “Even before today's unusual events, we had planned to ask if Frodo and Bilbo would like to spend the next week with us here in Valmar.  We owe much to both of them, and until now, we have not been able to enjoy their company as often as we would like.  Since they are as family to you, it now seems only proper that we should all spend a bit of time together becoming better acquainted, as family.”

The look of gratitude on Olórin's face required no spoken words.  Smiling, Varda kissed his cheek, then hurried to catch up with the Smith and his spouse.  The others were deliberately keeping their distance, not ignoring the newly discovered brothers, but rather giving them the space and time to speak without intrusion.  

Manwë fondly watched Varda glide away for a second or two, then turned back to his sibling.  “I hope that when you extend the invitation, you warn our hobbit friends that Varda is likely to pamper them shamelessly.  She has always envied the Children their offspring, and this is just the excuse she has been looking for to unleash her pent up motherly inclinations on beings vastly younger than you.”

Olórin laughed softly.   “Of course.  Frodo may balk a bit at the notion of being considered young, but I think Bilbo will devour the attention like a child with an unlimited supply of his favorite treat.”

Manwë grinned, a rather rare expression for him in such a public setting.  “Then perhaps she will finally be satisfied.  You do know that after today, she and I will not suffer you calling us ‘lord' and ‘lady' in private.  You made an excellent point earlier, when you said that even loving siblings owe fealty to their brother, if he is a king and rules well.  The Eldar have suffered much because of what happened in the family of Finwë, so perhaps you and I can set them a good example — especially since I suspect some will think of you as my half-brother, being a Maia rather than a Vala.  But we are family, in more than just seeming.”

The Istar concurred.   “As you wish.  I am honored to see how readily you have accepted this, but I fear I may forget myself from time to time.  Old habits are never changed quickly.”

“That is true for all of us,” Manwë admitted, wistfully.  He touched Olórin's face gently, then settled that hand on the white-clad shoulder.  “My heart sings with joy in the certain knowledge that I have found my younger brother, whom I have always loved, but I fear I will long regret how I did not recognize our kinship soon enough to spare you the pain that passed between us because of my pride.”

Olórin looked away for a moment.  He sighed softly as he once again met the Vala's gaze.  “As I said earlier, if there was fault due to pride, then we were both to blame.  Never before had you given me such an order without some kind of explanation, and I did not like the feeling when at last you did.  It stung all the more because I had long ago sensed that we were somehow akin.  If you should have explained yourself, then I am guilty of a similar omission.  I should have told you that I felt hurt by your blunt command, and why.”

Manwë did not attempt to dismiss his reasoning.  “Then I hope that we have both learned a great lesson from the experience.”

“Násië,” the Maia heartily agreed.  “I have certainly learned that if I feel in my heart that something is true, I should at least attempt to find the answer and not wait for other proof.  I might have prevented the friction between us, and uncovered Curumo's betrayal much sooner.”

“All things come to pass in Eru's time,” Manwë reminded him, and himself.  “What matters is that we do the best we can, and learn from our mistakes — which we have done.”  

Olórin confirmed it with a nod, knowing that it was so.  Manwë held the Maia's gaze for a moment more, then drew him into a brief but joyful embrace, which was gladly returned.  His smile was brighter than the dawn.  “There will be time enough to discuss this later, if we must.  Go, my brother, join your friends.  It is a time for great celebration —  and I do not think I can bear Bilbo's glare much longer!”

They both laughed and, with a respectful half-bow, Olórin turned and hurried down the hillside.  Manwë watched him go.  When the Maia reached the pavilion and was drawn to his place between the Hobbits and the Elves, the Vala closed his eyes, reaching out to the One Who was ever watching over them.  “Thank you,” he whispered, needing to say no more.  Eru alone knew how deeply he had been wounded by the betrayal of Melkor, and though Olórin was not meant to be — and could not be — a replacement for that lost part of him, the gift he had been given in him was beyond price. He let his entire being revel in the ripples of love and joy that were sent to him in acknowledgment of his gratitude.  Still smiling, he went to answer Varda's call to join her with a lighter and more healed heart than he had known in years beyond count.