To See the Ringbearer
Maringuë of Tirion stood upon the deck of the ship sailed by Talorë the Sailor from Tol Eressëa, watching as they sailed along the southern coast of the Lonely Isle. “Why don’t you use the western haven?” he asked Talorë,
The sailor shrugged. “And why should I wish to do so? Our home is on the east side, to which the ships from the Mortal Lands come. It is where I arrived on the island, and where I met my Rhysellë. It is where my own ships are harboured. I am happy there.”
“But only the fishing boats sail from there.”
The sailor shook his head, smiling. “I fish also, as well as bearing goods and passengers back and forth between Eressëa and Aman proper. I rejoice to sail whichever of my barks is suitable for the needs of the day.”
Meringue’s younger brother Fiondil emerged from the cabin on the foredeck, fastening the frog that held his cloak around him. “Are we nearly there?” he asked. “Will we see the Cormacolindo today, do you think?”
Maringuë sighed. Since his own visit to Eressëa some sunrounds past, his brother had expressed a remarkable interest in Ir-Iorhael, as he himself thought of the small mortal also known as Frodo Baggins who was an honoured guest on the Lonely Isle. “I cannot say for certain, brother. But as he is a frequent companion to Livwen, daughter to our captain here, it is indeed possible that it might happen. She likes to greet her father on his return to the eastern haven, and it may be that Ir-Iorhael would come with her today. It is also likely that Captain Talorë could better answer your questions about his daughter’s friend.”
Fiondil fastened his attention upon their captain. “Then you know Ir-Iorhael, sir?” he asked politely.
Talorë smiled down on his younger passenger. “Indeed. I saw him first on a day when I returned to the havens from a night’s fishing, my son Círdan with me on a visit from Alqualondë. We had to wait for an arrival from Endorë to precede us into the harbour, and we took the southern quay rather than the central one to allow it to berth there. Livwen was fascinated to watch those arriving from the Mortal Lands disembark, particularly when Olórin and the two Hobbits stepped ashore. She had never seen a Maia in the fána of a Man, much less such as a Man himself. As for the two Hobbits----“
“Two Hobbits?” interrupted Maringuë. “There were two Hobbits?”
Talorë’s smile widened. “Yes, when the Cormocolindo first came he was accompanied by his kinsman, Master Bilbo Baggins, who had been his guardian in his youth. It was Master Bilbo who found the Ring in the caverns of the Misty Mountains and brought It out, back into the light of day, in his pocket, keeping It until the day his beloved ward Frodo reached the age of adulthood for their people. He then passed the Ring to Frodo Baggins and left the land of their people to take up residence with the Elves of Imladris.”
Marinquë and Fiondil exchanged puzzled looks. “You did not tell me that two of Ir-Iorhael’s people had come here,” the younger brother murmured.
“I did not know.” Maringuë turned to face their captain. “Where now is this Master Bilbo Baggins?” he demanded.
“Oh, he left us but a few sunrounds after their arrival. Once he was assured that the beloved son of his heart was at last healing from his great hurt, he allowed himself to accept the Gift from the One and went beyond the Circles of Arda as was his right as a mortal. He was very old by the standards of the Hobbits of the Shire, after all.”
Neither of the two youths from Tirion understood this.
They were sailing past what appeared to be a tall ridge. Marinquë indicated it. “Beyond that lies a protected cove where the Cormacolindo often swims, and where he keeps the small boat on which he sails upon the sea. It was where I first saw him, sleeping under the silver robes he usually wears.”
Fiondil asked, “And you thought him but a child at first?”
His older brother nodded. “How was I to know? He is the first of his kind I have ever seen.”
“And he appeared almost as crystal?”
“No,” Maringuë said, shaking his head. “That time he appeared solid enough, there in the shadows of the late afternoon while he slept. But in the full daylight one could see the light of Arien shining through him.” He turned to Talorë, asking. “Was it thus with this Master Bilbo?”
“No, but no one assaulted him with such a thing as a Morgûl knife intended to enslave him to the Shadow World. Nor was he infected with the spirit of such a one as Ungoliant as was Frodo Baggins. Master Frodo was very ill when he arrived on our shores. We are told that he almost left his hröa while they were underway.”
“What is a Morgûl knife?” Fiondil asked.
“A cursed weapon inspired by Sauron intended to destroy the fëa of a mortal. The Nazgûl used them to bring the fëar of their victims into the Shadow World with them, under their rule. Had the shard of the knife left in the wound reached his heart, Lord Frodo would have become a wraith like them, and would have been forced to surrender Sauron’s Ring to them so they could restore It to Sauron’s hand. But Sauron was never one of the Valar—he was but a Maia. He had no ability to make aught new—he could but take the processes and doings of others and twist them to his own purposes. So we have been told by Olórin and Lord Elrond. To free him from the spell, Elrond had both to remove the shard of the blade and to twist the underlying spell to one in which his mortality is now focused on bringing him to being one with his own Light of Being. It is much as it was when Ir-Eärendil found that his own mortality had been burned from him on coming to Aman to petition the Valar to our rescue from Moringotto.”
He sighed as he turned the tiller to go north along the eastern shore of the Lonely Isle. At last he continued, “When we first come here we are oft depleted, depleted and in need of healing so that we can return to what we were intended to be. Even Lord Elrond and Lady Artanis Galadriel, brightly shining as they might have been in Ennor, were drawn and weakened when they first arrived. Lady Estë’s people needed to bring them to the shore so that they could be washed clean and their own spirits refreshed by the Song of the Sea Lord Ulmo holds in his keeping. They keep houses here on Eressëa, but dwell mostly now on Aman proper. Still, they come often to delight in the Light of Ir-Iorhael and to honour his determination to accomplish his duty to see the Ring destroyed.” He laughed softly. “He does not see this as necessarily a good thing, seeing his actions as evidence of stubbornness rather than the sacred duty fulfilled it was.”
Of a sudden the wind dropped and the small ship slowed. Talorë looked to the east, and they could see a grey shadow arising out of the sunrise, one that was becoming increasingly mithril silver as it approached. Talorë’s face brightened. “A new ship from the Mortal Lands,” he whispered. “More refugees from the destruction that Sauron wrought on our lands.” He examined the ship carefully, and went as still as the wind had gone. He sighed, and turned to his two passengers, an ironic smile on his lips. “A third Perian comes. I deem it is Ir-Panthael, Ir-Iorhael’s companion from their dread journey to the Dark Lord’s place of power. At last Samwise Gamgee arrives to join his beloved friend. It is for this reason alone that Frodo has remained with us as long as he has. He knew that this great gift had been awarded Sam as it had been to him and to Bilbo—that those who had borne and been damaged by Sauron’s evil creation might be healed and their Light restored ere they go on to the Presence.” He turned his face back toward the oncoming grey ship. “A third mortal arrives. I am told that there will be one more still to come—the right to come here has been offered to the Dwarf Gimli, who will most likely arrive with Ir-Legolas of the great Forest of Green Leaves when he comes in his own time. No, he never touched Sauron’s abomination, but It clawed at his heart and mind during the time he travelled with the Cormacolindor. He, too, is promised healing here ere he follows Bilbo, Frodo, and Samwise beyond the Circles of Arda.”
Neither Marinquë nor Fiondil understood what was meant by this discourse, but they watched with awe as the grey ship passed in front of them to the entrance to the eastern haven for Tol Eressëa. It was a ship reminiscent of the swan-headed ships of Alqualondë, its own swan’s head shining as it became clearer to their sight, its eyes sparkling black opals shining in the brightening dawn.
North, a great green pennant rose over the tower atop the hill of Avallonë. Talorë was adjusting his sails to further slow their travel and yet allow the smaller vessel to still move northwest toward the eastern haven. Similar adjustments were being made aboard the larger grey ship, slowing its speed and preparing for it to nose into its harbourage. The morning songs to the rising of Arien were shifting to songs of welcome for those returning from their long estrangements in the eastern lands. From the grey ship rose other songs of praise to Ulmo and the rest of the Valar who’d brought its passengers safely along the Strait Path to Elvenhome.
All were awaiting the arrival of those who’d abandoned their former home to arrive here in the Blessed Lands. What reunions would be known here on the eastern piers of Tol Eressëa?
“Many are already come to the quays,” observed Fiondil.
Indeed a large crowd already filled the central quay, singing as they stood in an orderly manner upon the stone pier. As they watched a tall, shining elleth arrived accompanied by a figure robed in white, a splendid beard lying against his chest. “Olórin has come, appearing as he was seen last by Ir-Panthael, as the Wizard Gandalf. It would be a comfort for the Hobbit, to see him first as he remembered him as he boarded the Ship to return to the Undying Lands. And, I believe, they bring with them Ir-Iorhael; and, if I am not mistaken, those following them are Ir-Elrond and his beloved wife.”
Artanis Galadriel and the Maia in the guise of an elderly Man did not appear to have anyone with them, although a bright, silver light shone beyond them. Indeed, the light they saw might have been held in the crystal bottle the elleth carried in her hand. It was strange. Those waiting already willingly stepped aside enough to allow these to go forward to where the gangplank would rest.
But now the grey ship from Endorë was slowing settling into its intended berth, and they were moving toward the southern quay where they were greeted by a single elleth and a number of those whose duty it was to help throw and receive the ropes required to hold the smaller craft to its place.
The attention of the elleth was painfully shared between their craft and those awaiting the larger one. Obviously, as happy as she might be to greet her father, Livwen of Eressëa was anxious as to whom the greater ship might have brought to the Lonely Isle. Meringuë caught that the look Livwen’s father gave his daughter was filled with compassion, although he did not understand why the ellon felt this emotion toward her.
A gangplank was lifted into place that those from the smaller boat might disembark even as the last lines from the greater ship were being fastened to the cleats built into the pier to receive them. Those who had sailed the larger ship brought forth their gangplank and set it into place, and at last those upon the grey ship began to cross it to set foot upon the solid land of Tol Eressëa. Many of these newcomers stumbled at first as they had to come to terms with being free of the movement of water beneath them for however long it was since they’d set sail to cross the Strait Road. Many came forward around the Lady and her escort to be reunited with those who descended first, embracing them with pleasure and welcome, leading them toward the strand and to their new abodes.
The greater part of the passengers had come forth before two who appeared to be Lords of the Eldar came to the plank, leading between them a small figure that glowed with a golden shimmer. Fiondil straightened. “I can see his Light of Being,” he murmured, “but it is not as is that of an Elf! It pulses gold as sunlight! Why is this?” he asked Talorë, turning to face the sailor.
The ellon shrugged, taking a deep breath before answering, “It is the Light of Being for a mortal. It pulses with their heartbeat and with the rhythm of their breathing. That to be seen in Ir-Iorhael is like unto the light of Eärendil, while this is more like that of Arien at her full height. It must be Samwise Gamgee at the last, the Lord Panthael, come to join his beloved friend and former Master. This is the sign that Frodo Baggins will finally choose to accept the Gift and go onward, when both find themselves ready to do so.”
Meringuë noted that Livwen had paled, and clutched her hands together, her eyes fixed on the Maia who was stepping forward with the silver aura of Ir-Iorhael beside him, the Hobbit’s shape barely to be discerned against Olórin’s white garb. Lady Galadriel had gone first, holding out her crystal phial to the Hobbit who accompanied her husband, and they saw him smile as he shook his head at her offer, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as they fixed upon the shining form of Frodo Baggins. “I don’t need the star-glass for to see him true,” they heard him say as he moved forward to be reunited with the brother of his heart.
The two Lights of Being pulsed as one, Sun- and Starlight joined together as Iorhael and Panthael embraced one another after nearly half a yen’s separation.
Meringuë saw again the pain in Livwen’s eyes, and at last understood. She loved Frodo Baggins not just as a friend, but as one she’d loved for many sunrounds as an elleth loved the ellon who had stirred her heart. No matter how long Iorhael and Panthael might linger here on the Lonely Isle, it would mean separation for all the ages for her from the one she truly loved. Now he understood the compassion seen in her father’s gaze.
*******
The ship had arrived in late fall-of-the-leaf. Fiondil and Meringue had time to see the two Hobbits frequently during their visit. At times, mostly in the night time, Iorhael would seem solid enough. But more often he was like one of the Suruli, a glimmer of light in the brightness of the day, difficult to discern from the reflection of light at the edge of a leaf or from the sparkle of a gem or the rim of a ripple of water.
Then at the summer solstice many went to the Garden of the White Tree to bless them one last time. Neither of the visitors from Tirion went, but all watched that way until the stars of a sudden began to dance within the heavens, and were joined by two great Lights rising from beneath the Tree to join in the glory above.
The Cormacolindor had at last taken their leave of Arda.
*
And the Light of Being for Livwen, daughter of Talorë the sailor and Rhysellë the Orchardist, now at times tended to pulse with the beating of her heart and the rhythm of her breath.