Author's Note: Well, here it is. I apologize for it taking so long, but if I could even begin to chronicle my list of computer problems, I wouldn't – it would take up another ten or twelve chapters at least. Let's just say that I lost this chapter twice and had to start all over again. Regardless, here is Chapter 25, and thank you for your patience, as always. Thanks, too, for reading, and please let me know what you think.
Where the Shadows Lie
A Tale Of The Ring
"…He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom."
Chapter Twenty-Five: Havens
"So it is that you seek to return to us," Radagast said softly. "Gandalf the Ring-bearer, Gandalf the once-Gray – fleetingly White, become the Black – seeks to return as Olórin the Once Resurrected, now the Lost."
Gandalf slowly brought his eyes up to meet that of his fellow Maia. Still radiant in white, he gleamed in sharp contrast to the other's drab and earthen brown robes. He was unbent now, and seemingly vibrant with strength; a bittersweet smile touched Frodo's lips as he remembered that it had not always been so. He remembered meeting Gandalf the Gray, long ago, thinking the other only a wizard and a kind old friend. Still, though, he had not changed in many ways; the same old smile was always readily available and the same mischief occasionally gleamed in his bright eyes. Yet he seemed stronger, although more tired at the same time. Gazing upon the Grey Havens, Frodo could perhaps understand why: the Ring sapped the vitality out of a being and made you desire peace. Peace – what a seductive idea. He hoped that Gandalf could find it here.
There was no one in Middle-Earth who deserved it more.
"And you would seek to liken me with Sauron the Betrayer?" the wizard asked softly; his voice held no ire. "But yes, Aiwendil, Olórin seeks to return home."
Frodo thought he saw frustration and anger cross the other's features for a split second before the brown-clothed Maia schooled his face into utter expressionlessness. "The shores of the West have been closed to you, Gandalf the Black."
"I have destroyed the Ring," Gandalf replied with extreme patience, and again, he seemed very tired, seemed almost spent by his trials. Still, though, there was a fire in his eyes that even the burden of the One had not been able to extinguish. "We both know that this world is no place for one of our kind. I come now as a Maia, willing to accept the judgment of the Valar – but nay, Aiwendil, you have not the right to judge me! You, who did not act through fear and distraction, have not the knowledge to do so, nor the understanding of the power I renounced. You dare to call me Gandalf the Black, and yet you know, as I do, that the corruption of the Ring would show itself."
Radagast seemed taken aback by Gandalf's intensity, and all he managed in reply was a weak, "You were warned, Olórin."
"So I was," Gandalf nodded slightly, but his eyes still blazed. "But I chose to defy what you called my fate. All you have feared I would become, I have not. I owe no explanations to you."
"You will never reach the Western shores alive," the other spat angrily, and Frodo frowned upon realizing that not all superior beings were constrained to act with wisdom and kindness. Radagast clearly feared Gandalf, but he seemed to resent him as well. Did he hate the other for accomplishing the impossible, or for the understated yet unmistakable power that radiated from him? Was it Gandalf's refusal to accept his judgment that angered the Maia so, or was it his strength?
"That may be," Gandalf said softly, "but if my end shall come, it will be at the hands of the Valar. I will accept their decision."
"Fool! Do you wish for death?"
"Peace, Aiwendil," another voice intervened even as Gandalf made to reply; Frodo felt his head turn unwillingly to look upon the newcomer and watched his companions do the same. Seeing this new being, though, sent a chill of mixed fear and awe running down his spine.
She was beyond beautiful. Small and lithe in build, and dressed in the purest of white, it seemed that she could not have possessed more than a handful of years in age, but there was a quality about her that defied the innocence with which her youthful appearance was presented. Her eyes, deep and blue, held unsurpassed strength and wisdom, and the strength of her gaze sent a flash of fear through the hobbit. Her steps were silent; she glided forward, past Radagast, though hardly seeming to move at all, and he gave way with a feeling akin to Frodo's terror.
To his left, he heard Galadriel gasp. Upon the surface, the two great beings looked similar, but something inside Frodo knew immediately that this was no Elven Lady, and no matter how great the power and wisdom in Galadriel, beside the new being, she seemed but a child in age and knowledge. The greatness he had always sensed in the lady of Lothlórien were dwarfed by this glowing and noble lady, the likes of whom he had never seen before, even in his dreams. Next to her, even Gandalf's sheen seemed to fade, and the hobbit felt his gaze lock upon her, drawn like a moth to flame, even her beauty was so great that it almost hurt to look upon her.
Before him, though, Gandalf bowed.
"Lady Varda," he said softly.
"Olórin," she responded, and to Frodo's surprise, held her left hand out to the Maia, smiling slightly. She seemed somehow sad as she reached out to him, but it was hard to imagine what could dismay such a lofty and terrible being.
Seeing this, a tremor ran through the one-time Ring-bearer, for he could not imagine touching such a great and frightening being. However, Gandalf accepted the proffered hand without hesitation, and as they stood side by side, they seemed of a kind: two glowing beings of pureness and power. Their gazes met, then, as they touched, and her smile grew wider as joy touched her eyes. "It seems I was not mistaken," she said softly. "You remain as you have always been: strong and steadfast, uncorrupted by a power that has stricken many others, even over far distances. Manwë will be pleased."
Behind her, Radagast seemed to tense, but Gandalf only bowed his head in acknowledgement and thanks. Without so much as a glance in the other Maia's direction, she continued.
"Your strength, though, does not surprise me," Lady Varda said. "We have always known your heart to be the greatest of your many virtues, and though we feared the worst, we have always hoped for the best. What surprises me, though, is your desire to leave this land so quickly when you once desired so greatly to return."
"I desire only peace," Gandalf replied softly. "My work is done, and no matter how I love this land, I do not belong here."
"But having touched power as you have, can you truly desire what you seek?" she asked softly.
"I have never asked for power, and only accepted it when there was no other choice," the Maia said. "I would have rathered to try and fail than to give up without battle. Perhaps I love this world too much, but I would not plunge Middle-Earth into darkness and chaos without contest."
"You took the greatest of chances, Olórin," Varda replied. "And you very nearly made the ultimate sacrifice, though you know it was not meant to be this way."
"I know." He nodded.
"Then why?" she asked.
Gandalf's reply was simple: "Because someone had to."
"And so you deserve peace, my old friend." Her smile was melancholy, but also pleased, and suddenly her gaze expanded to include them all, elves, hobbits, and Maia alike. "As do you all. Go now, Olórin, with the blessing and the thanks of the Valar. I shall await you upon the Western Shores."
Once more, Gandalf bowed to her, and then she turned to Radagast, and the two moved away, leaving Frodo's sight; somehow, he knew that he would never see the brown-clothed Maia again.
Long moments, passed, then – or at least, it seemed so to Frodo, though he hardly could say why. Finally, though, the silver gates before them swung open, and Círdan, the guardian of the Grey Havens, stepped outside of them and bowed. "All is now ready."
The sky was now darkening, and the waters eerily calm; the great white ship glided forward without benefit of wind or elements. Frodo stood alone upon its stern, staring at the fading outline of the land in which he was born. Strangely, he did not find a overwhelming sadness gathering within his heart – he had expected as much, when their journey to the Havens had begun, but now he understood why he did not. The Ring had changed him, he knew, had aged his soul far beyond his years and had distanced him from all those who could not understand the burden that it truly was. What damage to him the Ring had not done to him, though, came from Sam's death.
I miss you, Sam, he thought silently, sending his sadness across the waves to whatever land in which his old friend now rested. There was nothing more to say; all needing voice had already been spoken, and all else Sam would understand, wherever he was. Grief touched him, for one moment, as Frodo remembered all else he would leave behind; faces of old friends and new flashed through his mind. He would miss them, yes, but it was time. He, too, no longer belonged upon Middle-Earth.
A hand suddenly touched his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Gandalf looking down upon him. The Maia said nothing, merely smiling gently, but Frodo understood. Without looking back, he turned away from the railing, and toward the future.
