The hobbits happily accepted Varda's invitation when Olórin informed them of it, and so they returned to Valmar that night, long after the sun had set and the midnight stars shone brightly overhead.  Frodo was already settled into Olórin's old rooms, so Márandur had prepared chambers for Bilbo just across the hall, also overlooking the wind chime garden.  Bilbo was delighted to find that their lodgings had easy access to both an extensive library and the kitchens, and that whenever he wished, various household servants would appear to assist him.  As the hour was already late by the time they arrived, Varda saw to it that they were both comfortable, assured Bilbo that there would be a family breakfast ready for all of them in the morning, and that a proper tour of the mansion would follow.  Satisfied, both hobbits bid the Valië goodnight.

While she was seeing to the needs of their guests, Manwë asked Olórin to come with him to the private chambers on the upper level.  The Maia had been there before, at the invitation of the king or queen, but always, it had been on some matter of business. Now, he was guided to a part of the mansion in which he had never been before, and he was curious.

They at last came to a suite of rooms not far from the most private chambers shared by the Vala and Valië, where only a few of the household servants were permitted to go.  Manwë opened the wide door to the largest room, a combination of parlor and study; he gestured for Olórin to enter first.  The Maia did so, puzzled, then forgot his confusion a moment later as he saw what lay within.

The room was one of the most beautiful constructs Olórin had ever seen, even in the most regal palaces of the Valar.  It was neither huge nor ornate, but it had been fashioned in such a way that upon crossing the threshold, one felt as if they had passed from the ordinary world into the firmament itself.  The walls and floors gave the impression of clear skies and windswept clouds, while the ceiling arching high above was the very dome of the midnight heavens, glittering with living stars.  There were furnishings about the room, but somehow, they had been crafted so that they did not intrude upon the sensation of being amid the very airs of the world.  Olórin was mesmerized by it all, by the beauty and peace of the place.  He had no idea how long he had stood there, drinking it all in, before Manwë came and stood beside him.

“I made this place when we first constructed the house,” the wind-lord said in a quiet voice, also enjoying the surrounding peace.  “Varda helped, of course.  She has a way with anything representing the stars that I simply cannot match.  I had no idea why I did this, other than a very strong feeling that someday, I would want such a place to be here.  We have never actually used these chambers, although I have come here to meditate in private, from time to time.  Whenever I did, I felt as if I should be seeing something that was missing.”

Olórin was so wrapped up in his study of the wonders about him, it took a few moments for the Vala's remarks to register in his conscious mind.  “I cannot imagine what could possibly be missing,” he said, awed.  “This is truly magnificent, my l— Manwë,” he corrected a trifle sheepishly.  “I know of few places so well suited for rest and meditation.  Had you said nothing of it, I would have expected you to tell me this was made for just such a purpose.”

“Perhaps it was,” Manwë allowed.  “After we finished fashioning Valinor and laid out the city of Valmar, I had hoped that someday, Melkor might repent of his ways and wish to live among us once again, as kin and ally.  I once thought that I could offer him this suite as a temporary place to live until he made his own home in Aman, and that perhaps here, he would find sufficient peace and rest to heal what became twisted within him.”  

He shook his head and sighed.  “That wish was in vain — and yet, I see now that I was not entirely inaccurate in my feelings.  I had prayed that these would be my brother's chambers, a place for him to stay and find rest when he visited this house.  And now, it is my brother's, and shall always be his.”

A small frown creased the Maia's brow, of confusion, not displeasure.  “Do you wish for me to leave Lórien and take up residence here?” he asked presently.

To his relief, the Vala shook his head most emphatically.   “No, of course not.  You are happy there, and I could not deprive Irmo and all the others of your presence when it is good for so many, yourself included.  But there will be times, such as now, when you will need or want to spend time here, and you should have a place of your own in the house of your kin.  I made this for my brother, not knowing that you were destined for it.”

Olórin hesitated before speaking.  “Are you disappointed that it is me and not Melkor?” he asked softly.

This time, Manwë paused to reflect before replying.  “I suppose it would not be true if I flatly said no,” he admitted.  “It was a terrible disappointment to me when Melkor refused to turn from his evil ways, and thus turned his back on me, on all who would not side with him.  But I am most assuredly not disappointed to know that you are my younger brother, Olórin.  I have always loved you, because we were so unusually alike.  I had no idea how alike we actually were.”

The Maia's frown finally melted into a smile.  “Neither did I.  If I had, I would have been able to put a name to our kinship well before our Father gave me His message to deliver.  Ever since I became aware of such relationships, I longed for family of my own, seeing how much joy it brought to others.”

Manwë snorted.   “Until Melkor introduced the concepts of dissension and rebellion and betrayal to our lives.  I do not question Eru's wisdom in creating Melkor, but I have sometimes felt I would rather have had no kin than have a brother who caused so much harm.”

“Then perhaps it is good that I am nothing like him.”

The snort became a brief chuckle.  “Varda would disagree with you — and after listening to her reasoning earlier today, I can see that she is right.”  

When Olórin's face became a picture of horrified disbelief, Manwë hastened to explain, albeit with a smile.  “She pointed out that while you never had Melkor's sheer power nor his high stature — nor his great hubris and monumental selfishness — you have always possessed a fire that was much like the fire he had in his earliest days, before thoughts of rebellion began to darken his very being.  From the beginning, you have been filled with ideas and inspirations of things that might be done or made for the enrichment of Eä, but you have never displayed a need to claim them as your own, or attempt to see them fulfilled to enhance your position and power.  Whether it is something you make or something you only imagine, you give both away freely, and take delight in the joy others gain from the objects or the implementation of the ideas.  You have never claimed to be the source of another's inspiration or even their hope unless you were hard pushed to it.  You have seen and experienced much of sorrow and death and the ugliness of war because of Melkor's marring of Arda, but the core of your being has ever retained an innocence of spirit that is very much akin to my own. You cannot take Melkor's place and I would not wish it, for I cherish your uniqueness.  But I can also see how you are his brother, as much as I.”

The disbelief and horror had drained from Olórin's expression while he listened to the explanation.  What Manwë had said made sense, and he found he could not refute it.  He looked up at the high domed ceiling, at Varda's stars glittering there, and commended the Valië for the keen perception she had passed on to her spouse.  “I think you may be right.  But then, it makes me wonder all the more what common thread runs between you and Melkor.  You have always seemed to me to be completely unalike.”

“Not always,” the Vala said sadly.  “In the earliest part of our existence, before Eru brought forth the Maiar and was instructing us, Melkor was as eager to learn and know and understand as I, simply for the joy of it.  We were still innocent, for we were truly as children, and he and I were inseparable.  It was not until the One made the Maiar that he became aware of the miraculous power of creation as Eru creates, creatures with true life sprung from His own power of Being.  We were all in awe of it at first, but when the numbers of the Maiar increased and grew far greater than our own, the spark of jealousy awoke in Melkor.  He feared that with so many others about, our Father's attention to us would be greatly diminished.  It did not, of course, for Eru has limitless love to give, but Melkor's jealousy eventually grew into covetousness.  He thought that Eru had created all the other Ainur because He desired the love and adoration they gave Him, and he wanted it for himself, feeling that he had somehow been slighted.”

Olórin found this surprising.  The Love of the One was so profound, he could scarcely imagine anyone thinking that it could have limits — or that Eru would deliberately withhold it from any of His children.  “Do you suppose that if we Maiar had not been made, Melkor would not have rebelled?”

Manwë shrugged.  “Perhaps, but I very much doubt it.  At times, I think that Eru made a mistake in making the first of us so very powerful.  Melkor thought that his great ability was meant to be a sign of our Father's special favor, that because of it, he should be considered superior to the rest of us.  In ability, he was, but that was not enough.  He wanted a greater share of our Father's love, and he did not like that the One gave it to us all in equal measure.  He especially disliked that Father gave His love equally to the Maiar, whom Melkor always considered vastly inferior.  Yet as much as he disliked the creation of the Maiar, he also grew to dislike the fact that the other Valar also existed.  He should have spoken of these things to Eru, for anger and resentment kept hidden tend to fester greatly, but he preferred to keep his own counsel and found no healing or comfort.  Thus began his madness, his fury toward anything that existed that was not of his making.”

The Vala fell silent, his head bowed with the weight of memory; then he shook it off with a will.  “For now, I see no point in belaboring the matter.  Melkor made his choices of his own free will, as do we.  Eru does not make mistakes, so I believe that there is some greater purpose in Melkor's fate that we will understand only when the Music has come to its final notes.”

“I pray that you are right,” Olórin said, thinking of the Maiar who had fallen into darkness as well.  He knew they had chosen their own paths, but he was no more at ease with their decisions than Manwë was with his elder brother's.  It disturbed him to think that they had given their loyalty to someone who wanted their worship, and would use them as pawns against the designs of the One Himself.

The wind-lord nodded, then looked up at the Maia, his smile returning.  “I wish that I had been aware of our kinship long ago, but I believe that Ulmo was right.  Had Melkor known you were our brother, he would have tried to suborn you, or destroy you.  I am glad that he never made the attempt.”

Olórin shivered, but not from the cool night air that drifted in through an open window.  “He did, but without success.”

It was Manwë's turn to be shocked.  “He did?   When?”

Olórin hesitated before replying.  He fingered the embroidered hem of one sleeve for a bit, seeing but not focusing on the intricate threadwork.  When he spoke, his voice was soft.  “During the time of his freedom in Aman, after you had permitted his release from Mandos but before he fled and Fëanor was exiled to Formenos.  I had gone to the house of Finwë on an errand from Lady Nienna.  I had been spending time in her halls, and she had heard of the difficulties arising between Fëanor and his wife Nerdanel.  She had a message for Nerdanel and asked if I would deliver it, since I was due to return to Ilmarin.  After I had spoken with Nerdanel, I was departing the house when Melkor arrived, why I do not know.  He... said things to me that I would prefer not to repeat, but he attempted to persuade me to join with him.  He made quite plain his belief that I would only find true purpose in my life if I cast aside my foolish loyalty to the Valar and Eru, gave up being their errand runner and menial laborer and gave fealty to him instead.  

“I was so appalled and angered by his words, I could not bring myself to answer him.  He mistook my silence for stupidity, and said that perhaps I was best suited to the life I had after all, for I had not the wit of even the least child of the Eldar if I did not appreciate the tremendous opportunity he had offered me.  I fled rather than vent my anger in a house of one of the Children, and I am very glad that he never approached me again.  I believe that Sauron's opinion of me was strongly influenced by his master's contempt, which ultimately was to my benefit during my work as an Istar.  If the opinions of his servants and thralls was any indication, Sauron, like Melkor, felt I was weak and easily dismissed as a threat.”

“And so ever does evil harm itself,” Manwë said, loosing his breath in a long sigh.  “I am glad that they dismissed you so easily.  They did so at their own peril, and in the process spared you from the danger of their direct attention.”

Olórin agreed.  “Their indirect attention was bad enough.  For myself, I am grateful that I didn't know how closely related I was to Melkor while he still walked the world.  If I had known when he approached me in Finwë's house....”  He fell silent, shaking his head to dispel the dark thought.

Manwë did not press him for any further explanation.  He took a seat on a long, softly cushioned bench that ran beneath a wide bank of windows.  Several were open; those that were not were fitted with panes of colored glass depicting such things as wind-tossed trees and birds in flight.  He gestured for the Maia to join him, which he did, sitting so that they could comfortably face one another.  “You said you were aware of a connection between us since the first time we met.  How did you interpret it, all these years?”

The Maia looked out one of the open windows for a time, collecting his thoughts.  After a while, he shrugged.  “I admit, the perception changed with my wavering certainty.  At first, I had no particular interpretation, for I knew nothing of the specifics of relations among the Ainur.  I knew only that there was a connection, a resonance that drew me to you.  Perhaps if I had met you and Melkor at the same time, I would have understood it more clearly, but I did not actually meet him until much later, after we entered Eä.  When I discovered that you and he were brothers, I thought that the connection I sensed must have been completely different.  And then, when the time came for us to enter the physical world, you asked if I would follow you, and I began to think that the connection must be one of service.  It appeared that many of the Maiar followed those of the Valar who were as kin to them in their hearts, and that they had been created so.  I decided that it must have been the same for me.”

He paused, then sighed.  “But as the years passed, though I was glad to call myself one of your people, I found myself drawn to serve others of the Valar as well, though none so devotedly as you.  I thought little of it until it was pointed out to me that this was quite unusual.  Those Maiar who served more than one of the Valar usually did so because the Valar were kin or spouses, or shared areas of responsibility, like Yavanna and Oromë. Apparently none of the others went as far as I did, eventually serving all of the Valar, from time to time.”

Manwë laughed softly.  “That is true.  Though any of the Maiar will serve a Vala if so instructed by the one to whom they have given fealty, none but you appear to have done so with such eagerness — and without explicit instruction.  I have never stood in your way in this, for I knew it was a good thing, and would in time lead to even greater good.  Your curiosity to know and learn has amazed many, and I suspect that this is why more than a few of the other Valar saw that you and I were brothers.  I do not have that fire to such a degree, but Melkor once did.  In him, it turned to evil; in you, it manifests as great compassion and inspiration.”

“I had never considered that,” Olórin said after reflecting upon it for a time.  “It might explain why I was so powerfully opposed to Melkor's designs, and why I was able to counter the despair he used as a weapon against the Children.  I understood him, though I did not know how.”

He took a deep breath before continuing.  “At any rate, I was all but certain that you and I must be brethren, until the Eldar awakened and I saw the myriad ways in which they could be related to one another.  For a time, I was confused and began to doubt that the connection I felt was real.  Then some of the Maiar heard the Firstborn call us the Valarindi, the children of the Valar, and I started to think that the connection between us might be one of an ersatz father and son.  Yet try as I might, I could not believe that was so.  There was something wrong, something missing, and I finally gave up trying to put a name to what I felt.

“Then, shortly before the feast of Midsummer five years ago, some of the Maiar in Lórien were discussing the matter of parent-child kinship between us and the Valar.  I happily admitted that I harbor some feelings of that kind toward Lady Nienna, since she has always treated me like a beloved son.  But later that evening, Frodo asked if perhaps I considered you as a father figure, and I had no difficulty denying it.  I cannot say that any of the Valar inspire that kind of feeling in me.  I have always felt much too strongly my filial bond to Lord Eru; no other could take His place.  But my thoughts about our connection were stirred once again, with no better result than before.  Today at last, it all makes sense.”

“It does,” Manwë said with a fond smile.  “I had thought that we had come to know each other quite well since your return from Endorë, but today, I learned things I had never suspected of you.  You told us before that you had known you would die when you faced the Balrog, but I had never imagined that you offered your very existence in hopes of defeating it!  Your courage and the depth of your love for the Eruhíni put me to shame.  I am not as brave — and I fear I would have been one to choose to remain with Father rather than return to the certainty of more pain and suffering.”

Olórin's answering smile was slightly wry.  “Until I did it, I had no notion I could be that bold and unselfish.  But often, we cannot see the true depths of our own being until we are put to the test.”

The sound the Vala made was one of self-recrimination.  “A test I would have failed.”

The Maia's smile softened with sympathy.  “Ah, but since you have not faced the actual test, you cannot know the result for certain, can you?”

Manwë was touched by his faith in him.  He chuckled.  “You are trying to let me off the hook, as Ulmo would say.  I appreciate it — and I believe you are right.  It is pointless to feel guilt for failing a trial one has yet to face.  If I am fortunate, I will never be asked to do so.”

“That is my hope as well.  Not because I believe you would fail, but because I would spare you the pain that inevitably comes before the results are known.”

“That is kind of you.  So, you bear no ill-will toward Father for not helping you to find the truth more quickly?”

Olórin shook his head.   “No, not really.  Oh, I do wish the right time had come much sooner, for I have longed terribly for a family of my own kind, and did not understand why I should feel connected to you if there was in fact no kinship between us.  But I have loved you since I first met you, without knowing more — and as you have said, He does not make mistakes.  While I would have been deliriously happy to know that you are my brother long, long ago, I see that I truly was not ready to know it for certain until today.  While Melkor was free, the knowledge would have been a terrible danger, and even after he was exiled to the Void, the danger from Sauron remained.  Curumo became jealous of me because Círdan chose to give Narya into my keeping.  How much worse would things have been had he known that I was also your brother?  No, there were things I was fated to do whether I liked them or not, and until they were done, the knowledge was best kept secret.”

He laughed ruefully.  “Now that I think upon it, even these past few years might not have gone so well, if the Elves of Aman had known of it.  I think they needed to see for themselves, as they saw today, that I did all I could to help their kin in Middle-earth, and that I honestly loved them all more than they knew.  Now, they can accept me freely as the younger brother of Manwë Súlimo, for I have earned that honor, even in the eyes of those who might have thought otherwise.  It is no longer a danger — or if it is, it is one I will be capable of dealing with on my own.   But... I still cannot help but wish I had had some confirmation of it earlier.”

Manwë's eyes sparkled, almost impishly.  “Perhaps it wasn't confirmation, but Father did give us a clear hint, five years ago.”  When Olórin regarded him with a complete lack of comprehension, the Vala reached out and touched the crystal circlet about the Maia's head.  “I have heard you bemoan the fact that His gift to you was a symbol of high honor that some would likely misinterpret, but I think we were the ones who made that mistaken interpretation.  Is it not appropriate for the king's own brother to wear such a thing?”

That had not yet occurred to the Maia.  He considered it, then made a gesture of acquiescence.  “I suppose it is.  As long as no one decides it's an excuse to start calling me ‘prince,' or some such nonsense.  Your crown is not of a kind for which there could possibly be an heir.”

Manwë's chuckle could almost be called a snicker.  “Our people know that, but I suspect you'll have to do some convincing among your Elven friends.  With so many kings of realms both past and present, half their population could likely make a persuasive argument that they qualify for such a title of distinction.  Today, I heard talk among the Eldar, wondering if you are not some distinctly different kind of Ainu, less than a Vala but more than a Maia.”

Olórin's face drained of color.  “You're joking,” he all but squeaked, appalled.  “Please tell me you're joking.”

“Alas, I am not,” Manwë said apologetically.  “I did my best to quash such speculation, but I doubt that I was entirely successful.  Because we are not naturally incarnate and they are, it is very difficult for the Eruhíni to understand that there is no essential difference between the Valar and the Maiar.  That we can have vastly differing power and rank does not alter what we are in our being, and that is the same.  It was the Elves who named us Valar and Maiar, thinking us to be different in nature.  You and I can be brothers if for no other reason than that is how the One wishes us to be.  The lack of physicality in our creation makes it hard for those who are naturally physical in their existence to understand this.  I believe that a few of the Elves who are of a more scholarly nature grasped what I told them, but I suspect that many concerned more with politics and less with metaphysics never will.”

Olórin groaned, knowing the wind-lord was right.  “I think I'm going to make a point of avoiding Eldamar for a while — a year or two, at least.”

The Vala laughed merrily.  “In your position, I would want the same thing.  But I wish you luck in attempting it.  You have an extraordinary number of friends among the Eldar, and in their royal houses.  Someone is bound to mention it sooner or later, and I think it will be sooner.”

The Maia grimaced.  “I wonder if Lady Varda would mind if I spent a bit more than a week here.  Say, until next Eruhantalë....”

Manwë's smile was broad.  “You are welcome to stay here that long, if you wish, but I think your friends in Lórien would miss you.  And Varda and I have duties in Ilmarin that we cannot neglect for so long.”

He looked up at the glittering stars in the domed ceiling, thinking of the palace atop Taniquetil that this mansion echoed.  “There are rooms there, you know, very similar to these, that I had fashioned for the same purpose.  The roof there is a clear crystal dome, and the stars that are seen in it are real, in the heavens above.  The lights of Anar and Isil enter only through the windows, so that the stars are visible regardless of the hour of the day.  You could spend the next year there, I suppose, but it would be even more inaccessible to your friends.”

Olórin surrendered to the inevitable.  “Then I will have to devise a suitable way to dissuade them from using such a ridiculous title before they actually do it.”

He shifted position slightly so that he could see more of what lay beyond the window.  The courtyard below held the wind chime garden, and the soft night breezes stirred the tiny bells so that they made a soothing music.  Through the branches of the trees, he could see the windows that opened onto the rooms Frodo and Bilbo shared.  There were still lights visible in each room, but as he watched, first one then the other went dark.  He smiled to himself.

Manwë saw the fondness in his face.  “They are so young, and yet so precious,” he observed, knowing what the Maia had seen.   “The youngest of all Eru's Children. You do realize that you are no longer the youngest of our kind.”

The Istar was perplexed by that statement, but only briefly.  He examined the awakened memories of his recent sojourn in the Timeless Halls, and saw what the Vala had also noted: the presence of totally unfamiliar Ainur in their Home beyond Eä.  “Yes, I do,” he said with a nod.  “Until today, I did not recall all that happened before I was returned to Eä — very little of it, I now see.  I find it a bit odd that He called me littlest one when He came to heal me five years ago, but I see now that He knew full well that my oldest memories of the Timeless Halls would be strongest, until all of my memory returned.  To be truthful, I am glad to know it.  I have never quite been comfortable, being the youngest, the last.”

“It is a place of honor,” Manwë reminded him gently.  “And you will always be the youngest among those of us who sang the Great Music.  You are special to all of us.  Why do you think that all of the Valar have been so willing to let you serve them?  You thought of it as service; they viewed it as instruction, and they were happy to share with you knowledge of the things that to them are most beloved.”

“Ványalos has said things to that effect, often enough,” Olórin confessed.  “It would seem that he was right.”

Manwë laid one hand on the Maia's nearer arm, a gesture of comfort.  “It is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with firm reassurance.

“I know,” the Istar sighed.  “It is not shame that I feel, simply... discomfort.  I know that many Maiar have greater power and authority than I.  And yet I seem to have found unusually ready acceptance by all of the Valar.  I once thought it was pity; I know now that it was a kind of affection.”

The Vala nodded.  “That it was, and still is.  Your eagerness has always been tempered by an engagingly sincere humility, which made it difficult for any to refuse your quest for knowledge and understanding.”

“That I know as well, now.  It was two thousand years spent in the true flesh of a Man that increased my doubts about myself.  It is one of the most terrible things that Melkor's evil inflicts on the spirits of Mortals, the conflicting pulls to either fatal pride or a crushing lack of self-esteem.  I did not know it during my mission, but Curumo and I were apparently injured by it in those two opposing ways.  It has taken time for my spirit to heal from that wound, and I still cannot help but feel that self-doubting discomfort when I sense that I am being drawn onto a path of wrongful pride.  I could not accept the honor of being the last, the youngest, and yet I could not change what I am.  So instead, my heart, still conditioned to react as I did when I lived as a Mortal, attempted to reject the honor through feelings of unworthiness.”

“Which are misplaced.  Someone came first, so someone would naturally come last.  It is simply the way things are.  What I truly find surprising about the situation is that Father decreed that both positions would be held by one of my brothers.  The only distinction I was given was the dubious honor of being the king of Arda.”

He said it so drolly, Olórin could not help but laugh.   “Oh, a terrible, terrible insult, to be sure.  After all, given how many kingdoms the Eruhíni have established in their comparatively brief time in this world, being a mere king would not appear to be so great an honor, would it?”

“Indeed not.  Whenever the so-called loftiness of my station threatens to go to my head, I have only to remember that, and I regain my perspective quite quickly.  Varda enjoys reminding me of it even when there is no such danger.”  He shook his head, grinning.  “Actually, I enjoy it when she does.  It reminds me of how much she cares for me, which is worth any amount of teasing.”

The thought of the publicly proper queen of the stars baiting her spouse struck the Istar as amusing, and oddly touching.  “I will enjoy becoming better acquainted with her.  When she said it was about time that you recognized our relationship, I was almost shocked.  Not that she said it, but by the way she said it.  She is always so dignified before the Eruhíni, I could scarcely believe she was actually teasing you in front of half the population of Valinor!”

“Which is why she did it, no doubt.  The Eldar love her dearly, sometimes too much so.  She feels that occasionally, they should be reminded that she is merely another fallible child of Ilúvatar, not the One Himself.”

Manwë's sapphire eyes unfocused for a moment, in a way that any Ainu knew meant that he was engaged in ósanwë.  “She has finished with our guests and seeing to the preparations for the morrow.  I asked if she wished to join us, but she thinks it would be best if we took this time to ourselves, to adjust to the sudden change in our lives.”

“She is wise,” Olórin said, moved by her consideration.  “I could not have asked it — she is your spouse, and this is your home — but ever since this morning, I have been hoping that there might be a few hours in which we could talk, alone.  It seems rather... childish—”

That hand that still lay upon the Maia's arm squeezed it, lightly.  “If that is so, then we are both being childish, for I feel the same way.  Varda knows this, as do most of the other Valar.  Tulkas may continue to be confused for a while, but only because he has never been one for pondering the metaphysical complexities of creation.”

Olórin did his best to suppress his laughter, but it managed to find its way out despite his effort.  “Others would not put it so politely,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth.   “Even among his own people.   I have heard several of his closest Maiar say that he prefers a... direct approach to the time-wasting nonsense of words.  They find it quite endearing.”

Manwë also attempted to restrain himself, without success.  “‘Endearing' is an interesting description.  Oromë and Ulmo call it ‘refreshing' — but they have always favored a ‘direct approach,' especially in dealing with one's foes.”  The wind-lord glanced out the window, then turned back to the Istar.  “Are there other such interesting things you know about your fellow Maiar?”

The gleam in his eyes unleashed a flood of delight in Olórin's spirit, for there was an easy familiarity about it that was magnificently reassuring.  “Ah, so is that it, you would claim me as your brother so that I can be your informant among the Maiar?”

“Certainly,” the Vala intoned with a ponderous formality he could not maintain. “Of course not,” he said as a smile destroyed his semblance of grave authority. “I know that our people can be terrible gossips, all the more so as our lives seem to become more limited with the passing ages, but I would never ask you to betray a trust, or to act in any manner contrary to your nature.  But I do admit, though I am charged with the guardianship of Arda, I see and hear less than I would like of the doings of my own people, so much are my thoughts caught up in matters of the Children, especially in Endorë.  In you, perhaps Eru has given me the gift of a stronger connection to my own kind.  You are out and about more than I can often be, and what news you can give me of the everyday lives of our folk would be a blessing.”

“I will do the best I can,” he was assured.  “Although for that kind of news, perhaps you should rely on Ványalos.”

Manwë chuckled, well aware of the gregarious nature of Irmo's messenger, who was also Olórin's friend and neighbor in Lórien.  “I will keep that in mind.  Come,” he said, rising and gesturing for Olórin to follow.  “Let me show you the other rooms.  And along the way, if any other intriguing tales should come to mind....”

The Maia grinned as he rose from the window seat.  “Well, I do recall one amusing incident involving Eönwë and Ranyalór....”

“Námo's steward?”

Olórin nodded.  “After the War of Wrath, Ranyalór felt that Lord Námo had exhausted himself near the point of collapse, tending to the fëar of all those who had fallen in the battles.  Eönwë believed he was singularly well suited to understand that condition, as he felt much the same after leading the Host of the West and dealing with the aftermath of a very hard-won victory.  He and Ranyalór came up with the most outrageous idea to trick Námo into an extended ‘vacation.' They were working on their plot in one of Lady Vairë's tapestry galleries when they were overheard by Lady Nienna's servant Helyanwë, who had come on an errand to the Weaver.  She insisted that Nienna could benefit from such a rest as much as her brother, for she had also borne a heavy burden of grief due to the War.  How they decided that I should become entangled in this plot, I do not know, but one day, I found the three of them crowding the doorstep of my old house in Lórien....”

He continued the story as they went through the rooms, which now and again rang with laughter as the tale went on.  On the floor below, Frodo, on the brink of sleep, heard the echoes of their merriment and smiled, the sound to him more sweet than the chiming of the many bells in the garden; he let it soothe him to sleep like a beloved lullaby.  The laughter was heard by all the Ainur in the house, and beyond.  Its echo rippled throughout Aman and rose up beyond the circles of the world, where Another laughed with them, rejoicing in the healing that was at last taking place in the hearts of two of His most cherished sons.

To be continued in Part Two: Repercussions

Addendum:  I know I've been MIA for several years.  This can be blamed on severe depression, illness, and my husband's bout with prostate cancer.  As I do have much of Part Two completed, I will be posting it chapter by chapter in the near future.  Thank you to all for your patience!