CHAPTER 5

Elrond eased Frodo back into his pillows, settling him comfortably upon the low couch. The anniversary illness had passed quickly but had left Frodo weak and listless and the elven healer felt a deep compassion for him. They had all hoped that the air in this beautiful land would work its own healing but October 6th had come, and with it Frodo had succumbed to his pain and grief once more. In his nightmare world it had mattered little to him that he had been tended with love and compassion. He knew only an anguish that further shredded his already ragged and failing fea.

Bilbo sat by his couch for many hours but age, guilt and sorrow had finally forced him to take some rest. Elrond it was who bathed the fevered body in cool spring water. It was he who coaxed sweet fruit juices and thin broths between cracked and trembling lips. And it was Elrond the lore master who now sat upon the grass beside Frodo's couch, recounting the lyrical tale of the coming of the Valar to Middle earth.

"Mightier than Este is Nienna. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered. So great was her sorrow, as the Music of creation unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began. But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope. Her halls are west of West, upon the borders of the world; and she comes seldom to the city of Valimar where all is glad. She goes rather to the halls of Mandos, which are near to her own; and all those who wait in Mandos cry to her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom."

Elrond paused as something in the atmosphere changed. The birds that had woven their song through and around his rich voice grew muted and the air became misted with the salt tang of the sea . . . or tears. Despite the mist, however, the glade filled with a soft, pearlescent light and Elrond arose, turning toward the source of this illumination. At his side, Frodo gazed in awe and fear, reaching up to grasp the elf's hand.

A tall figure floated before them. Slender as the willow she was and yet as strong as any oak. A veil of silver hair fell to here knees, glittering as though dressed with a thousand tiny jewels, like cobwebs dusted with bright tears. Her raiment was palest grey, that shimmered as it tried in vain to contain the glow of her being.

The Valar never left Valimar. Such a thing had not been heard of for ages past. And yet, here stood one of the shining ones.

Elrond lowered himself to one knee and Frodo tried his best to rise from his pillows, only to fall back with a small sigh as the lady lifted a hand to stay him. Her voice was soft and low, gentle, as one long used to offering comfort to those who suffered.

"Greetings to you, Frodo, Son of Drogo . . . and to you, Elrond, Son of Earendil."

It was Elrond who found voice. "Your presence honours us, Vala Nienna."

"Please rise, Elrond. We are no strangers, you and I. Many ages we have walked patiently together and much have you learned."

Doing as the lady bid, Elrond stepped aside as she drifted towards the ringbearer and settled upon his couch. Even in his weakness, Frodo recognised the honour and bowed his head slightly, licking dry lips before he spoke.

"I had not sought such an honour. I am humbled that you would come and sorry that I cannot rise to acknowledge that honour as I should."

Nienna merely smiled gently. She laid a white hand upon his brow and Frodo released a sigh, as one letting go a long held pain. Elrond watched as his fea flared brightly for a moment, before settling into a faint but stronger glow.

The lady beckoned to someone in the mist. "Olorin?"

A familiar voice, gruff with age and overflowing with kindness, slipped into the hush the Vala's presence had created. "Come Frodo. It is time." Mithrandir stepped forward, smiling down at his friend in the guise that Frodo had first come to love, his grey robes frayed and patched. He gathered Frodo into his arms and the hobbit smiled up at him at last, reaching out to tangle his still nimble fingers in the thick grey beard.

"Gandalf." The word was breathed out on another sigh and Frodo nuzzled his face into the soft wool of the wizard's robe, finding there the comfort of familiarity and trust.

Elrond watched them leave, his heart crowded with questions. Would this be Frodo's healing? Or was his recent illness a sign that healing was not to be his after all? Was he being carried to the Halls of Mandos, or wherever it was that hobbits were taken at the end of their life in Arda?

A touch on Elrond's arm drew him back to awareness of the Vala's presence and her soft voice whispered, "Go with them, Elrond. You are needed for this work."

The elf bowed meekly and turned to follow the Maiar as Nienna's voice slipped into his thoughts. "You brought him here in hopes of finding healing, did you not? You would not abandon Frodo, and neither will we."

Elrond's heart soared within his breast as he lengthened his stride to draw level with Olorin and his precious charge.

tbc