Chapter 70

Waters of the Garden

In addition to Valinor Topo there is a map of Valinor: im gur period com/gallery/jHPlDU8

~o~

On their way home, the Quendu of shamed Attëa Sule watched from the forest. Their own Naitë were defeated trying to conquer them. It was a bitter victory but they were saluted by the mountain fighters nonetheless. One hundred-fifty miles back to Thornost seemed much longer than coming. No one on his side found Shultö so Nag Kath walked home with the ohtars. Three nights on the field let him sleep enough to keep-up.

It did not turn their battle, but upon reaching Penethornost, tidings arrived that Galadriel's far-speaking spell was effective enough to have Vantieth dither while her artillery destroyed the northernmost bridge across the Athradduin. In the mayhem, Legolas led four thousand of Thranduil's best troops across the Panduin below Vantieth's army. The Chancellor of Farnëmar dug in for defense and did not cut a single tree to make barges or ferries. They never engaged Thranduil's army either, effectively removing them from the war. Vantieth and his worm-tongue dropped dead when Morgoth was launched into the stars. Lindareth survived until his army returned home enraged at being manipulated by the dark lord. Nag Kath grieved for the little boy and Celeborn's Lieutenant among the many who suffered for this madness. He was generally quiet so not everyone noticed.

On the road, Nag Kath spent considerable time with Gandalf and Galadriel. Since he was the only one who knew what he did, he explained it many times. His initiative was not officially condoned, but considering the outcome, forgiven. He had a private meeting with the King. That went well except when Nag Kath left the borrowed Naitë tent, the King's own guards instinctively saluted until they realized it was the sorcerer.

Lord Felaour's forces parted with them three days after the battle since home for them was due north. They were no longer neutral. Ten days after that, the main force arrived in Thornost tired and filthy. A week was dedicated to rest and as much celebrating as is proper among Elves. The Princess gave her victorious husband a more personal greeting. They mostly stayed out of sight except when King Finarfin spent time with his new Princess granddaughter.

~o~

As the week ended, the Kaths and Gandalf spoke alone. The wizard told them, "Now it is time to pay for your crimes, dear boy."

"Yes, I brought that on myself rather neatly, didn't I?"

Inariel blanched, "What crimes?! My husband is a hero!"

They all had to wait while Orórin filled the perfect bowl. It wasn't as much fun without a beard to catch the ashes, but Nag Kath enjoyed the ritual just the same. Princess Inariel would be attended, "What crimes you old villain?!"

When the pipe was lit, the wizard said, "For taking the life of the greatest of the Ainur. Your husband slew one of Ilúvatar's creations."

She was nearing tears, "But he was the soul of evil and a great murderer! I do not understand!"

Nag Kath comforted her, "Inara, my love. It does not matter how terrible he was. He was above my station to destroy. The Valar, Gandalf correct me if I am wrong, imprisoned him because they did not have the authority to slay him either. They thought they could imprison him forever. One time they let him go. This time he scratched out."

She was crying now. How could these revered beings be so cruel? More infuriating, why was her husband amused watching the feckless wizard blow smoke rings?! As tears ran down her face she pleaded, "Why?"

Gandalf had a last, unsatisfying puff and answered, "Your husband has been accumulating little gifts his whole life, some from me. How he came by them is of great moment. They made him a powerful sorcerer, though he denies it. Those gifts destroyed Melkor, Eru's greatest being. Now that labor is done and the gods will have their reckoning."

Inariel was a creature of feeling. This was a terrible feeling and not deserved at all! The Princess began thinking of her husband, always thoughtful and caring, but no; not always. Once he was a monster made to murder the innocent. He had destroyed three rulers of men and now several Elf Lords, just the sort of assassin no one would miss after token platitudes.

Oh no. She would fight for him. They would leave here and go home, away from these ungrateful godlings!

Nag Kath held her gently and wiped her cheeks with his sleeve. "My darling, do you remember me telling you of the great Rohirrim who gave me the sword?"

"Of course. You earned it slaying the wargs." He did not correct that to a single warg since it had not worked yet.

"I earned it because I helped his men, the very men I was created to kill. I had changed enough to be worthy. But there is another story to Lord Altheras. One of the Mûmikil crushed his knee on the Pelennor. The surgeon said the leg must be removed. Before he swooned, Altheras ordered his men to kill anyone who tried.

"When he was unconscious, his men knew the leg would rot and told the doctor to do what he must. The good Lord lived. Upon discovering he was a cripple, he cursed his men, called them disloyal and many worse names until his wrath was spent. The next day, he summoned them to his bed and forgave each and every one because their love was so great they would not be parted from him. He worked hard. He learned to ride again and went home in the saddle, a proud Marshal of the Mark. It was from him that I knew I would find my place in the world."

Fighting through his own tears he continued, "I am the men who disobeyed their Lord to do the right thing. If an Uruk-hai can be forgiven by a Lord of Rohan, a well-meaning changeling might be forgiven by those he served so many times, just like your granda Eärendil of the star.

He held her delicate chin, "Do not fear, my love. I cannot continue like this anymore than I could have stayed in Middle-earth. We will see what the future brings. Promise only that you will stay by my side."

She was inconsolable. What would they do to him? Come to that; who were 'they'? These were the greatest of beings, possessed of unimaginable powers and diverse skills in the imagining. She worried about her husband in her secret heart. The grin was gone. He took the casualties very hard. There were fewer than if he hadn't done what he did, but he was the architect of the battle. Two thousand Elves were killed in the greatest slaying of this continent. Rather than let his beloved wife fret, he held her and gradually applied a spell that let her sleep dreamlessly, resting for the long road ahead.

~o~

Gandalf, the King and the northern Lords and Lady met privately about that. Just as they had not influenced any but Lord Felaour to marshal armies against Morgoth's servants, they might not sway the judgment of the Valar. Gandalf would have to answer for aiding the lad. The wizard accepted the lords' written declaration of character and said the young Kaths would go to his home in Valmar where he was sure the Valar would like a word with the changeling.

Galadriel and Celeborn bowed deeply to the soldiers and lords as they formed ranks for the progress north with Nag Kath and Inariel, the latter still fuming about the unfairness of the summons and her husband's seeming indifference. Both had horses for this leg of the journey. They still moved at the speed of foot soldiers. From tradition in peace or war, Finarfin dug lightly-fortified camps every night because it was a good habit to secure the edges. His progress was still quicker than the trudge to Celeborn's capital after the battle and they made Harvien in nine days.

Celebrían had grown stronger since the Kath's saw her last. Nag Kath wondered if the end of Morgoth helped. She would have died with the rest if the coin was still inside her. There was nearly another week of eating too much, mostly so King Finarfin could get to know his granddaughter. She and Elrond promised to visit soon. The Lady had no memory of having been to Tirion. It was even rumored that Elladan had formed an attachment with a young lady of the Ñoldorin capital. A whirlwind romance here could take fifty years so they had time to write the invitations.

~o~

King Finarfin and his company made straight up the foothill road. His Archal spear brigade took heavy casualties but the bulk of his forces had only just engaged when Morgoth's appearance scuttled the battle. With nearly twenty-eight hundred fighters and four hundred non-combatants, he wanted to get them home safely and soon. It was nearly another five hundred miles to reach Tirion. Word was out and they were cheered along the route. The returning army was held in a certain awe that went far past victory. These were the Ñoldorin. Finarfin was the last son of Finwë and half-brother of Fëanor who created the Silmarils that spawned untold horrors. He brought his ohtars home having finally put Morgoth to legend. It balanced the family's debt to Elvendom. Finarfin rode to his duty and it wasn't until he was nearly home that he realized why his people were so inspired. The King, Gandalf and the Kaths could have ridden much faster but Finarfin stayed with his troops so they did too.

The city of Tirion was decked in splendor. Banners flew from every window. The army was not under orders to remain together and dissipated upon reaching their homes. Three days later they would be honored with a parade along the Avenue of Light. After proper cleaning and Elvish elements, the Kaths were introduced to Queen Eärwen. She smiled her radiant smile at her husband because the youngster did indeed have more than a passing similarity to her King. Eärwen was enraptured by baby Inariel. She would keep her forever if she could. After an eternity of having none of their children near them, Galadriel returned only a hundred fifty years ago and the twins not long after. Now their granddaughter had her mind restored and there was this lovely child who still had eye-rings! The family she thought lost was here just as the stain of the Ñoldorin was cleansed.

Gandalf hastened to Valmar but the Kaths stayed two weeks in Tirion until the festivities died-down preparing for the trip west. Tirion was the gateway to Valinor. It guarded the only low pass along the treacherous spine of mountains running the entire length of the crescent continent. Like everywhere else here, there as an excellent road directly to Valmar. The highest of the Valar, Manwë and his wife Varda were said to live just across the mountain chain on the high peak of Taniquetil. Nag Kath still thought it looked bloody cold.

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They did not all live together; these Valar. Ulmo, who had spared him more than once, lived in the sea. Oromë was said to hunt in vast forests as far down the mountains on the west side as Thranduil was on the eastern slopes. Many lived within a few hundred miles of Valmar along with half of the Vanyar Elves, most beloved of the Valar. The rest lived with their King on Taniquetil.

Making their way west, there were vast tracts of land that looked like they could grow any seed that fell from your pocket supporting farmers, villages, towns and even cities of white splendor. Folk took them in and gave them food and rest. Few had heard of the battle on the quarrelsome coast. That part of Aman was not considered Valinor, much like Gondor thought of the Easterlings.

From Tirion to Valmar took eighteen leisurely days. Approaching in the late afternoon, gleams of silver and gold reflected off the spires and towers. Inariel was enchanted, the perfect kingdom for a fairy princess. Nag Kath saw it as beauty and art but also as a building project. He considered the defenses and, as always, why people would put so many stairs where they weren't needed. When he asked in Tirion, people looked at him as if he was quite daft. In Valmar there were no inns or signs or anything to suggest there was commerce of any kind.

They arrived at a spacious home with a handman and maid. Food with no meat was brought. Their suite was too beautiful not to enjoy one of their favorite pastimes, even if done quietly so as not to disturb.

The next morning, December first, Gandalf, known here only as Orórin, broke his fast with them. This was his home, which was rather grander than anyone in Middle-earth suspected. He was a Maia, one of the most senior since only a few had been created and many were lost in the east on both sides of uncounted wars. Today he wore robes of silver with blue trim. As he put honey on his bread, Orórin asked, "Nag Kath, what do you know of the Maia you killed?"

"Maia? I thought Morgoth was one of the Valar."

"No, dear boy, the servant Selvas."

Nag Kath blinked and answered, "Not much. That could have been the name of the poor Elf he enslaved before Talifür. Not strong, as your sort goes."

"No, not strong. The dark ones kept that side quiet. I don't suppose he mentioned any others?"

"Must have slipped his mind."

Orórin said cursorily, "You will need your Quenya. Sindarin is for Sindars and we left them on the coast." The retired wizard began to rise and remembered, "Oh, and don't mention the book you gave your grand-da, Inariel. That stays between us."

She was recovered from her worry and asked cheerfully, "The failed language?"

He chortled, "The Nuralth. These folk don't want their secrets divulged. Let us hope Elrond never translates it."

~o~

The Maia showed them through his district of the city near the Golden eastern gates. They were right that Inariel was a child. A passionate and wise woman of Middle-earth, she was wide-eyed in wonder at the splendor of colors and scents. Even her practical husband was in awe but still wondered how they kept it so clean. A Princess expects that.

Flushed with her tour, Inariel asked Orórin, "What is next?"

"Next we wait. Your husband is known to be here and now we see if the Holy Ones want him to answer for his war." He said to Nag Kath, "Do not use any of your powers here, even for so much as peeling an apple. You are the humblest changeling ever to walk the gardens of the High. Amuse yourselves in the city. You will be easy to find if wanted."

With that, Gandalf repaired to his room and lay down. Unlike his wizard sleep in Middle-earth, a faint spirit rose above him as if looking down on the peaceful body. The true essence of the Maia was unencumbered. After months in the field, he was restored a few days after he arrived.

Nag Kath never had a handman. He could choose his own trousers and put them on. There seemed to be no way to spend any of the money he brought. With the rest of the afternoon at ease, the young couple strolled the wide streets gazing at the ancient architecture. It was all older than old but looked like it was made only centuries ago. They sat and watched the elegant, mostly blonde, people taking their ease by countless fountains and nooks with meeting benches. These were not the Elves who fought, except for returning to Middle-earth for the War of Wrath that imprisoned Morgoth the last time. They would not have to do that again.

The Kaths kept to the south of the city circle where there was more green and water. Future adventures would include the more elaborate northern quadrants. There were also vast gardens outside of the city, but they would wait for permission first. He was here in a questionable odor. Of course, it might be years before the Valar worried about such as Orc Six.

After several more days, they had toured much of the southern city. There were guards, of a sort, on the parapets, but none minded the tall Quendu loping up the steps for a look at the surrounds. Again; he saw no modern siege defenses. Timalen once drew him a picture of the big Mûmikils storming the inner-wall of Minas Tirith with a massive trebuchet in the background hurling chunks of the Rammas Wall as large as a market stall. He had another with the Uruk trolls and great beasts hauling engines of destruction alongside regular orcs to show the scale. It was a while before Nag Kath realized that these walls were mostly for show. Some of the residents here need only snap their fingers to destroy hosts of rabble storming the gates. It was all a matter of the force one could bring to bear.

Now, what did he bring to bear? He could draw poisons and spells. He could throw fire and summon modest breezes. He could confuse and clear. He had 'the fast'. It was a mishmash of adaptive skills but never honed for a great purpose, fair or foul. Nag Kath was more like a traveling merchant who bought what he thought he could sell. Most curious was the gift of color from the Wild Huntsman. It had returned him from death; not an everyday healer talent. Orlo found it deep within him while he was frozen.

Then there were all the powers he had 'borrowed' like; far-speaking or knocking loose rocks down on mithril devil-harps. Nag Kath had never written them down. They changed too often. If asked, he would say what he could.

Orórin joined them after two day's rest. He moved more quickly. Inariel wondered if he would be more comfortable disembodied but was too polite to ask. Her lady's maid was not sure what to do with the pretty Quenda, especially since Inariel had not traveled with much clothing. New garments of the city were found very quickly and cut as if every stitch was done with her in it. They fit rather more closely than the lordly garb of eastern Elvish capitals. Nag Kath thought her fetching and took them off.

~o~

Their host showed them the northern city arc which included meeting friends both firstborn and a few Maiar. They caught a glimpse of Nessa, Vala of speed. Nag Kath would dearly like to talk to her about that. One of the Maia Gandalf met was Fonë, occasionally servant to the more powerful Maia Orestë who helped the great smith Aulë.

By now the Kaths were accustomed to seeing grand lords of power and grace. Fonë did not fit the mold. He was misshapen and no taller than a Dwarf but thinner. The Maia had been burned several times, not to cripple, but scars on his hands and face had not healed smoothly. One expected that of a smith's helper in Middle-earth. Here, they thought those marks would vanish. No, Fonë bore them with more than a bit of good humor.

Fonë was a gossip. He knew everything about everyone after twenty thousand years of listening. There were things he would never tell and some he would only tell those with tighter lips than his, but he could carry-on like a fifth-level doyen with a dozen grandchildren.

The gnome-like Maia invited them into his modest home for tea. He and Gandalf spoke quite a while the young couple sipped and smiled to suggest they were paying attention. When he realized he was not the perfect host, Fonë asked Nag Kath, "However did you meet this old spirit?"

"I was his student when I was very young in Isengard, sir."

"Never been there. I understand it is a terrible place."

The changeling smiled vaguely and said, "That was the consensus when I was a lad."

Turning to the Quenda, "And you, fair Lady. What misfortune brought him to your door?"

Inariel answered, "He came to visit my great grandmother in Eldamar."

"And who would that be?"

"The Lady Galadriel, sir."

Finally, someone genuinely new! Fonë was charming, "Never met her either, but I have never left Valinor. I suppose that is limiting but, as you can see, I am not built for travel." He smiled broadly with very good teeth and sipped more tea.

Inariel continued, "My grandfather is Lord Elrond, on my mother's side."

The diminutive Maia slapped his knee and cried, "Now that is curious! You must be of the Half-Elven line. My master and his master crafted great things for Thingol in his time. Pity they are all lost."

She said deferentially, "Yes, I came into the world much later, sir."

The rest of the visit devolved into talk of old deeds. It seemed the highest only called on Fonë occasionally. He lived well among many friends and would do so until the end of days. Fonë asked cautiously, "Orórin, when are you to see the Valar about this, this, uhm, dispute in Melamar?"

Nag Kath looked at Gandalf and wondered the same. The wizard offered gruffly, "As your advocate, I haven't the foggiest. No one consults my calendar."

~o~

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After another two weeks of seeing every fountain in Valmar, Inariel and Nag Kath were ready to feel the wind in their faces. While they were planning their day, a messenger the wizard knew from the Circle of Doom in Máhanaxar came to the door and was admitted by the maid Tilidelia.

"Good morning, Orórin."

"Hello Betanzaes. I hope you are well."

"I am, thank you. I came to tell you that the supreme council will hear from your guest on March fourteenth at the rising sun. You are welcome to attend but may not be called at the same time."

The wizard was gracious, "Thank you, my friend." Inariel turned the corner on her way to the kitchen and was introduced by her name and as wife to the respondent. Gandalf added, "May she come in support of her husband?"

"Of course, thought she may or may not be called to give her testimony." Betanzaes gave the slightest head tilt as if to say that the highest beings would do exactly what they wanted.

Orórin knew that as well as any and showed the messenger out for a few words on the porch.

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Almost three months! That would let Inariel follow a fantasy she had imagined since she was a little girl and a trip would help relieve the tension of waiting.

As soon as they could understand, Arwen taught all of her children about their family. It was a convoluted road of life, love and loss stretching across every bloodline of Elfkind and then some. In her mortal life, it was lore to be told her children for remembrance. Here; it mattered.

Inariel was a direct heir of the Ñoldorin through Finarfin. She was well back in the succession but she was the most recent generation. Finarfin's mother was Indis, niece of High King Ingwë of the Vanyar Elves. He lived with his small family on Mount Taniquetil with Lord Manwë and Lady Varda along with many of his subjects. That made Inara not far off the succession there too. The third direct lineage was that through Celeborn, she was nobility of the Sindar Elves.

It was a fourth, nearly extinct line that fascinated her. Elrond was the great, great grandson of the Maia Melian and High King Elu Thingol of Doriath, also of the Sindar/Teleri clan and brother to the current King of the Teleri, Olwë. Aragorn had her blood as well. Melian's story was no less tragic than the Ñoldorin saga. She was a powerful sorceress, servant of the Valar, Estë and Vána. Much in Middle-earth, she fell in love with the great Elf-Lord. For thousands of years, her magic girded the realm against Morgoth, his servants and dark Dwarves, but it could not save her daughter Lúthien. When the King was slain, largely through his own arrogance, Melian returned to Valinor as Doriath was beset by enemies. It was said the Lady visited the Halls of Mandos in sorrow for her lost husband and those killed in the fall of their realm.

Gandalf knew her well before he was a wizard and reported she sometimes stayed at her former home in the Gardens of Lórien, realm of the Vala Irmo and his wife, the Valier (female Vala) Estë. The Gardens were four hundred miles on a good road. When she felt the time was right, Inariel asked her husband, "My dear, I would very much like to visit my granna Melian."

Nag Kath answered without hesitation, "That would be splendid. Where is she?"

"My best chance is to visit the great gardens of Irmo and Estë. Orórin said she may not be there, but I would like to take the chance."

He considered, "Should I be there for this?"

"Of course, silly. You are my protector. Many Elves and even the Valar go to the exquisite gardens to refresh and heal. We shall join them. Orórin said she may be in the Halls of Mandos, but if we are to live forever, we should see what is said to be the most beautiful place in the world."

Her husband held her close. He was not sure how long forever would be in his case but was ever dutiful, "Then we shall go. The Lady Estë is the greatest of all healers. Perhaps I can make myself useful."

The couple conferred with Gandalf who served Irmo and his sister Nienna for long years. The wizard planted a thought in Inariel's mind to share with them when they arrived. Orórin was also servant to Manwë and Varda so he cautioned the Kaths to return here in good time. Kissing the fair Princess' brow, he sent them south.

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Visiting the gardens was popular year-round. Groups from two to forty made pilgrimages, in many ways like Nag Kath's retreats of post-Sauronic lands. Most folk were on foot so the mounted couple passed them during the day but shared inns or camps in the evenings. They also shared stories since many pilgrims had either been there before or were on their way home. The Kaths told a few of their less magical or royal tales too. His name was infamous in Eldamar but not widely known on this side of the Pelóri.

On their third night they camped with a Quendu who fought for Felaour, ally to Elrond. The ohtar was deeply troubled by what he had done and hoped to repair his dreams. Toulour and Nag Kath spent much of the night talking quietly. Knowing why he had to fight would help the soldier take his rest.

At a good pace with good horses they made it almost to the entrance of the massive gardens in just over two weeks. That night they stayed with a company of pilgrims on their way in led by Anthreil. The old journeyer looked askance at the sword and bow poking out of Nag Kath's bedroll but welcomed the courtly couple. They, in turn, did their chores and provided a few fish for the supper.

What the Kaths were to learn was that people came to this place to relieve stresses much like the ohtar who could not erase the memory of killing defenseless soldiers. A hard-bitten man of Middle-earth could not imagine feeling sorry for the fair immortals of this safe land, but living indefinitely could place a great burden on the mind. For all Nag Kath's joking about losing his wits making Lembas everyday, that was a definite affliction when life became so monotonous that spirit fades. If untended, the soul could become disoriented and even die when Elves no longer had the will to eat. That was very rare.

One such lady was Helica. She was on the household staff of a Vanyar official in Valmar. Her mistress was a kind soul, but doing the exact same thing with no beginning and no end made it hard to order her thoughts. Helica came here fourteen hundred years ago and was relieved. Her mistress told her to take as much time as she needed to restore herself again. Traveling with her was her niece Jens and her husband Gelandanó. They watched her aunt while praying for dreams of fertility after long waiting.

One of Anthriel's company had been lamed in a farm accident long ago. Some hurts never heal so he came on crutches in hopes of easing his pain. Nag Kath let him ride Yhoulo and walked alongside for the half-day trip inside the boundaries.

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Calling it a garden did not do the marvel justice. The home of the Lords was fully two hundred miles long by almost that wide. It had been created by many of the Valar and had an almost unnatural perfection. There were streams and fountains and meadows with every kind of flower. Trees flowered too and the air was heavy with scent said to aid slumber and sweet dreams. Some places were dense forest that opened onto small bowers for privacy and meditation.

Their company formed smaller groups in a campground Anthriel found on his last trip. Helica was organizing the family meal while Gelandanó and Jens spoke with friends close by. Helica prayed she had enough time to refresh but did not disclose the full extent of her distress. When her niece returned to the site, the Quenda was laying against a log unresponsive to the touch.

Jens cried, "Anthriel, Anthriel! Please come quickly. My aunt is failing." Anthriel had taken the largest of the sites where the company would gather later. He dashed over to attend the woman along with a number of their group.

One prayer Helica had not considered was Kath of the Arse Arrow cooking a fat trout in his Trum Dreng frying pan just sixty feet away. He ran over too and watched as Anthriel looked in the Jen's eyes and asked, "How long has she been like this?"

Jens rang her hands and wailed, "Not long, but this has happened before. Please, sir, can you help her?!"

The Elf shook his head and said, "This is serious."

Nag Kath asked, "Sir, what ails this lady?"

Anthriel was a kindly soul, but of no mood to educate greenbottoms. He said tersely, "The Atalantëa, it is a confusion of the mind. She is far gone now."

Unbeknownst to those present, they were with the king of confusion, poisoner of thousands of soldiers who for years would wonder why they were grumpy with foul breath. He knelt beside the stricken woman putting one hand along her face and holding her wrist with the other. Applying his clarity spell, both hands began to glow silver, now visible in the fading light. The color crept up his bare arms and brightened until it seemed to seep into the patient.

Everyone backed-up several paces which gave Inariel room to kneel as well taking the woman's pulses and timing her breath. Both of the Kaths rose and the brunette child diagnosed, "She should wake tomorrow morning." Turning to the shocked niece, "A strong tea of yarris and silver elm bark will help." With that the healers went back to their site and put the frying pan back on the fire.

Usually the company would gather to sing songs and recite poetry. Tonight they left the youngsters alone. In the morning, Helica was already up making porridge. She remembered nothing of the care and seemed fine so the two travelers rode further into the gardens after saying goodbye.

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Irmo, Master of Dreams and Desires was curious, "Did you find the source of the surge?"

"Easily, My Lord. A Quendu pilgrim administered a spell to a woman afflicted with Atalantaë. It was powerful and inefficient but effective. The lady was healed."

"Healed, not merely calmed?"

"Healed, My Lord."

"A spell? What became of the sorcerer?"

"He and a girl-child are on their way deeper into the garden on horse. I passed them there and back."

It was uncommon for pilgrims to venture very far inside the garden realm, even more so mounted. Lord Irmo considered and said, "Invite them here for the high meal."

~o~

Nag Kath and Inariel took their time along the trail. There was so much to see in the marvelous place. No one in their party knew where Melian lived so they followed pulses of energy flowing northwest. Making an early camp near a small lake, Inariel unpacked while her husband took his fishing line to the shore.

She felt him before she heard him and turned to face the tallest Elf she had ever seen, easily seven feet high and very fair. He bowed and said, "I hope I did not alarm you, child."

Inariel curtsied and replied, "A pleasant surprise, sir."

Nag Kath heard them and returned to the camp with a bow of his own before saying, "Good afternoon, sir. I can catch an extra trout if you would join us for dinner."

Such curious accents! The Maia was in his Fana (appearance) of Elvish form so as not to shock. He said gently, "Thank you. I am Handril and have come to invite you to the Lord and Lady's table tonight."

There could be no refusal. Inariel replied, "That is most gracious and accepted gladly. I am Inariel and this is Nag Kath. If you will give us grace to gather our things, we will be ready shortly."

They followed Handril through a dense hedge that parted like wheat in the wind. It closed behind them as they walked on a pristine path covering twelve leagues in only half a bell, not a path for pilgrims. The trail opened onto a magnificent mansion of white and silver set in a riot of colored flowers surrounded by every possible shade of green. A groom only slightly shorter than their guide took the mounts and the three climbed a broad staircase into the entryway of a grand reception hall. Handril said, "Please excuse me for a moment" and bounded up another flight of stairs. It was longer than a moment but the creature returned and asked them to follow him back up.

~o~

Somehow Nag Kath was expecting his hosts to be seated in thrones looking down from on high. What he got was an extraordinary couple standing at the far end of the room talking. He was easily eight-feet tall, with long, pale hair held with a circlet of silver, vines and leaves. His gown was blue-black with silver trim. Lord Irmo reminded Nag Kath of Thranduil; pretty, almost feminine, but with great presence and grace.

She was perhaps seven feet tall, crowned with golden hair reaching below her waist clad in a shimmering gray dress with no adornments. Estë's face was a vision, but capable of more emotion than the same face on an Elf, a bit like Goldberry that way.

The Valar turned to their guests and received deep bows before approaching. Irmo said in a gentle but resonant voice, "Thank you for coming after your long journey. I am Lórien and this is Lady Estë."

"I am Nag Kath and this is Inariel Telcontar, My Lord and Lady."

Estë said in a soft, flowing tone, "We felt your healing. You cared for someone in distress?"

Nag Kath answered, "I did, ma'am. It was probably not the best remedy, but versatile."

Lórien, also called Irmo, asked Inariel, "And you, child, have you come here to be made well?"

"No, My Lord. My husband and I came seeking an audience with the Lady Melian."

If the Lord and Lady were not expecting that, one could never tell from their faces. They thought the girl looked a lot like Melian but she was impossibly young to be married to the strapping lad. Inariel was about to offer the thought Orórin had placed in her mind when the Lord said, "Please, join us for nourishment."

Despite being the destination for so many Elves, the magnificent couple seldom entertained other than their own kind. Both were in their most familiar Fana, the physical aspect to put guests at ease. In this form they could eat and enjoy. The greater spirits took their places at the head of a large table and gestured for the youngsters to sit close by. For a moment Inariel felt like a child at the adult table but within moments her chair seemed raised to a comfortable height. Servants brought wine. Irmo offered a toast to Eru Ilúvatar and all sipped.

Neither Kath was about to start a conversation so they waited until Estë asked of the changeling, "Tell me more of your healing, young Quendu. It seemed very strong."

"It is a witch's spell of Middle-earth to clarify sorcerous confusion, My Lady. It healed the symptoms. I cannot speak to the cause. The woman seemed well this morning."

Estë considered that and asked, "Is your being here to do with the upset in the Eldamar?"

There would be no secrets at this table. Nag Kath replied, "After a fashion, ma'am. I was called before your council and must return at the ides of March."

All that would be tended in its own time. Irmo asked of Inariel, "You said you seek Melian. What is your interest and is she expecting you?" He knew Melian wasn't. She did not entertain at all, though she was here now coaxing colors from her flowering trees.

Inariel had never met gods before but she was used to the highest company in every life she had led. "The Lady is my great grandmother several times back. I have long dreamt of meeting her. Since we had leisure before attending the council in Máhanaxar, we hoped she might be here, My Lord."

Nag Kath thought he caught the mosquito buzz of thoughts exchanged without speaking. The Valar returned to their guests and chose that as tonight's topic, speaking mostly with Inariel about her family. Dinner was good but Nag Kath did not remember what he ate. Before they were excused, Inariel said, "Oh dear, I almost forgot. My Lord, Orórin is our friend. He gave me a thought for you."

Irmo extracted it from her mind in the blink of an eye with no change of expression before bidding them goodnight.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The Valar couple had several hours in the morning and several at twilight before their respective labors. Irmo was master of night, bringing dreams and imaginings to the minds of sleeping or resting folk so his Elf-like Fana was only for guests. Estë stayed mostly in her Elvish form and slept on an island in her special lake, taking hurts and weariness from the same people during the day. In the time they had she said in thought-speaking, "Something for both of us my dear."

"Yes, I will visit them shortly. How were you affected by his healing?"

"I felt it. He took more than he released to me. She has the touch too. How can she be so fair and so young both? Let me ponder that. I will also tell Melian that her granddaughter has come to call. Perhaps that will help. She is too long away from the energy of life." The Lord and Lady were very much in love. Other married Valar seldom saw each other. Irmo wished her a pleasant night and left to tend his flock.

A servant showed the Kaths to their suite. It was magnificent too. Nag Kath had never drawn anything so perfectly proportioned. Their meager belongings were already unpacked with Nag Kath's sword and bow placed on racks of honor in a sitting room. Tea was steaming on a low table and they both had a cup. In addition to resting chairs there was a full-sized bed. After two weeks among pilgrims, they both gazed longingly but thought to wait until they knew the Valars' purpose.

At dawn, Hanvil arrived after they were dressed to give them a tour of the palace and grounds. It took several hours along astonishing paths that sometimes even confused the trail-savvy changeling. They also understood it to define their boundaries while here, for however long that might be. The tall Elf took them back to their quarters and said they could take their ease until the Lord and Lady wanted them.

That turned-out to be some time. For a week they explored within their confines and marveled at the flowers and fountains. Engineer Kath could not see how they got the water-pressure to supply them but that would be a minor project amid great power. Smaller lakes had an assortment of witless trout but he did not take them. He did allow himself liberty to climb a small hill inside their allowed area. It gave some perspective of the palace including a smaller mansion on the grounds off to one side. In Middle-earth it would be the grandest of mother-in-law's quarters. Here it could be anyone exiled against time. In a different direction he saw a small blue lake with an island near the center.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Time went by quickly. When it seemed lunchtime it was almost dinner which was served in their rooms by smiling but silent servants. One night, they were visited by great dreams. As a rule, Nag Kath had mannish dreams, fragments of fantasy unmoored in time or experience. Inariel's were closer to Elvish which could be shaped but held human thoughts woven through the skein. Both woke fresh without remembering and looked forward to revisiting a garden that had many of the floating spirits who lived here. A very small spirit stayed close to the Princess, floating near her as if enjoying physical presence. They could both sense the invisible folk, lowest of the spirit chain that culminated in the Valar themselves. Even when Elves can feel them, they can't tell where they are.

~o~

"Good evening my dear."

"Good morning, husband. How was your evening?"

"Queer, my love. I attended our guests. The changeling's dreams are thin and unformed. The night offers him no clarity. He does not seem to need it. She, on the other hand, has the dreams of a man-child. I watched her as a girl with her sister trying-on apparel for a celebration. I think it is time to ask her about that. What news of Lady Melian?"

"I let her know, husband. It is up to her now."

He thought it unlikely the Maia of Sorrows would respond but held hope. Irmo did say, "Hanvil showed them some of the garden. The male remembered both the true and magical trails.' After a pause, "Orórin spoke well of our guests. He is deep in this business with Melkor."

"Good. The Kath will need counsel."

The youngsters were to attend their hosts for dinner again. It had been two weeks since the first yet seemed only a few days. They followed the successful pattern of answering rather than asking. One of those answers was explaining how Nag Kath infused the Princess with his life essence to overcome the blood disorder. That was power considerably above healing. Irmo saw in his mind other powers; some kindly, some terrible. Still more were untested. So; the young Quenda was a changeling too, albeit from more wholesome sources.

That night their dreams were strong again. Both were taken from their waking rest and looked at each other in the moonlight. It reminded them of another moonlit night not so long ago. If Irmo was the master of desire, he would understand.

Nestled like spoons, Inariel murmured, "Perhaps we will be created Gods of Intimacy."

"Mmmmmm."

"Mother wouldn't care for that."

Nag Kath rose on his elbow, "Now there's a thought." Leave it to his passionate She-Elf to mention it. In Aman, from the fireflies to the Valar, joining was always in service of new life. There could be great joy and pleasure in it, but they were probably the only two creatures on the continent who loved recreationally. Irmo noticed and was fascinated. As master of dreams and desires, he had seen this in all of his sentient races. Some needed more encouragement than others. The Great Vala smiled. Dreams the world-round were interesting that night.

More time passed. Nag Kath found a stick in the forest and whittled it into a beater for slow-swords. He wondered about the martial appearance, but this was for deep rest. Inariel and her spirits watched. She spoke to them and began to understand them. Many spirits were messengers of thought for the pilgrims, taking and returning dreams to their waking rest. After the second day of swords, they received an invitation to visit the Lady Melian two days hence. Nag Kath took it upon himself to started sketching.

For the first time, Inariel wore the Elfstone or Elessar broach in public. It was the fabled jewel of her great grandfather Eärendil, given by Gandalf to Galadriel and later to Aragorn, adding Elessar to his name before his coronation. Milli gave it to her pretty Elf sister before they sailed. As the couple prepared, Inariel became quiet and asked, "Did I do the right thing Nag? She is alone and bears the weight of so many sorrows."

Her insensitive orc husband replied, "Seven thousand years? Time to get over it."

Inara would have liked a little support herself for her courage. She looked at him with pleading eyes as the weak candle of recognition lit in his mind. Her handsome Elf kissed her gently and said, "This might be a form of healing too, my love. It hurts on both sides. Perhaps this helps her become whole again."

It was the right comeback and the two were escorted to the guest mansion through a section of the palace they hadn't seen before. It was no more than a quarter-bell walk. The doors were opened by an attendant and the two were shown to what had to be the most uncomfortable couch ever built, the sort of furniture made for rooms people never sat. They waited quite some time before a tall, gloomy Quenda collected them to walk up three flights of stairs. The lady, who reminded the Kaths of Miss Told without the occasional smile, knocked on a stout door before opening it and showing the guests inside.

~o~

Melian was sitting at an embroidery stand. She looked up and rose, accepting her guests' bows. As she came closer, she froze a moment looking at Inariel's face. It was much like her own. If the former Queen of Doriath wasn't taller than Nag Kath the two could be sisters. The Lady adopted a reliable smile, the sort one can conjure to disguise any mood, "How nice to meet you, great granddaughter."

"It is my pleasure, Your Highness." Melian was both a queen of men and a ranking Maiar of the immortals, nobility in either camp. She showed them to a much more comfortable couch and took the chair nearest Inariel. The Lady of Sorrows had only imagined her heirs, having left Middle-earth before Elrond was born.

Tea was served. Melian said graciously, "You are staying with the Lord and Lady. I am grateful they told me you were here. Tell me child, you are daughter to Elrond?"

"No ma'am, granddaughter. My mother was Arwen Undómiel."

"Yes, that is right. You have two uncles."

"I do, My Lady. I just met them two years ago."

Melian looked at the quiet husband and said more sternly, "And you are the warrior of Middle-earth, are you not?"

Nag Kath admitted, "At need, ma'am, and recently too."

"What is your part in this?"

"I married Inariel after healing her from a malady of mixed Elvish and mannish blood."

Melian's face softened to say, "And now you are here. Will you stay long, child?"

Her grandchild replied, "Not much longer, My Lady. Nag Kath must answer to Máhanaxar in a months' time, though we hope to return and see more of this place."

They spoke for perhaps ten minutes about this and that. Then the Lady's face changed again to a mask of graciousness, the sort of expression practiced by women who do not want their thoughts known. The Maia said softly but finally, "Then I hope we will see each other again."

She started to rise, which should have been the signal for better-bred company to take their leave. It was not effective with Orc Six who blurted, "Before we go, I hoped to give you a gift of my own hands."

Melian sat down and smoothed an imperceptible crease from her gown. Nag Kath opened a small tube, unrolling the sheets as he said, "This is your great, great grandson Lord Elrond as I drew him last year." Sliding it under the stack he added, "This is of my own Inariel. Now these two likely lads are Inariel's uncles Elrohir and Elladan."

Melians watched with mild interest until the changeling got to the final drawing, "These are King Elessar and Inariel's mother Queen Arwen."

He let the last sentence hang in the air as Melian's concentration was drawn to the page. It was said Arwen was Lúthien reborn, the most beautiful women of any age, then or since, the perfect blending of mother and her beloved King Thingol. The face was inspiration since the dawn of Nag Kath's awakening, and no one had ever captured her better. The Kaths could tell a tear was waiting behind those blue eyes. The child before the Maia Queen today was very much of her blood, now relegated to memory even while several generations lived only as far as the other side of the mountains. Nag Kath handed her the sheets and left the tube on the couch. Displayed emotion lasted only that long. Melian composed her face then rose to thank them for coming.

On the way back to their quarters Inariel was uneasily silent. The meeting had gone as she expected but not as she had hoped. Perhaps they would meet again. Nag Kath held her closely in the bed, like he had when she transferred her father's essence to baby Inara. She wept softly.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath thought it was time to stretch their bounds and investigate the little lake he saw from the knoll. He hadn't improved his healing and that idyllic place was drawing him. Usually he wouldn't take Inariel on one of his questionable adventures but she was restless and asked to come when he told her his plan.

They walked up a thin but well-trodden path for about half a bell. The youngsters stood and watched for a while before taking off their shoes and hose to dip their feet in the cool water. It was not the refreshment he expected. Nag Kath could feel great pulses of energy surging towards the island with lesser humors returning along the same paths. There were thousands of them. Inariel felt something too and said almost inaudibly, "Nag, this was the place I saw in granna's mirror."

He felt incoming pulses flow through him and back out towards the island, slightly diminished in the transfer. Curious. Was this the water that healers sent here from the sick and injured? Was inefficiency over the long, dry distance why it took so much from them? Most importantly; did proximity to the Lady of Healing matter? He wondered if the draw of Valinor was being closer to these streams of power that converted Elvish pain and woe into eternal life. His direct connection to this lake might be why he never felt he had to leave Middle-earth.

Nag Kath gently took his wife's hand. Both of them slowly glowed a pale silver, further reducing the pulses of hurt sent further into the lake. Holding that condition for several minutes, eyes closed, they did not notice Lady Estë had woken from her rest just out of view and peered over her bower at the youngsters. She had the slightest sleepy smile before laying her head back on her arm.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~