"My apologies." He turned toward Frodo, offering a wry smile. "I fear my capacity to converse for any length of time has much diminished since my arrival upon these shores. My wife urges patience, but …" he chuckled, "I have never been well-acquainted with this virtue."

The Hobbit's soft laughter joined his own. "There is no need to apologize, my Lord. I was nearly comatose for several weeks after my arrival, and that was with the help of the Lady Estë. I know well what you're fighting."

"Celeborn." He had not intended to reveal so much within his tone, but merely shrugged at the Ringbearer's surprise. "I am no Lord here, merely another refugee washed up upon lands not my own." It was a bitter truth, much as he had resigned himself to it. He would do the same a second time, given the opportunity, but he had yet to make his peace with waiting out all the long years of Arda upon foreign soil and beneath foreign trees.

His mind had drifted once more.

"Again, my apologies."

Frodo eyed him for a briefly. "Forgive me for saying so, my Lord, but I don't think the desolation of new arrival is the time to be making such decisions." The Hobbit leaned back into the finely-carved comfort of the bench—Dwarven-make, unless he was much mistaken. "Gandalf explained to me that it's harder here than in Middle Earth—not harder as in more difficult, but physically harder upon the body and the mind." Here, at last, was some manner of explanation rather than simply an encouraging word. He turned his gaze upon the Ringbearer and his full attention to the words, as much as he was able. "Something about the presence of the Lords and Ladies of the Valar makes this land … brighter. Sharper. As if we're rubbing up against diamonds rather than limestone or shale." Frodo sighed. "You Elves are able to eventually build a type of … of callus—as if you've picked up a new instrument or weapon and after a time become accustomed to its weight and edge—but Mortals are unable. If the Valar hadn't given me and Sam and Gimli the gift of their protection, we would quickly burn ourselves out. The Lord Manwë says it would be like a moth beating against a light too strong for it." *

"That is … not a flattering analogy."

"Oh, Sam told him." Frodo laughed, a clear peal of affection and joy. It was a revelation, this glimpse of the Ringbearer so unburdened. It was also, perhaps, the greatest argument for Valinor that had yet been made to a heart still so in love with love Middle Earth. Something within him loosened, minutely. "Dear Sam has become far less unwilling to speak his mind than he was when our long adventures began."

"I am glad. He has much wisdom to offer."

Frodo sighed. "It has been our experience that the people of Valinor can be insulting without meaning to be, but for most it's worth the effort to learn to understand them."

"I shall take your words under advisement." More time to muse upon these new ideas would be required, and yet... "A callus of the fëa. I believe this concept has given me much upon which to reflect. My thanks, Frodo Baggins."

The dark curls dipped in pleased acknowledgement. The Hobbit hesitated, then offered, "The grief will lessen too in time, if you allow it. It does not leave—not completely, not for some of us—but there is joy here too. It doesn't make up for the loss … but life here is worth living."

He was exceedingly glad that his wife had chosen to accept the Hobbits' invitation.

"I am heartened by the words of another who understands. Again, I think you." He leaned his head back against the smooth bole of the mallorn. "I expect I shall have little choice but to follow such excellent counsel. The alternative is stark indeed. Yet, how to begin? For the loss of an entire ground of being is not as the other griefs I have known. I have stepped, in a way at least, beyond the Circles of World, beyond the Middle Earth which has been my home and companion since before the Sun saw her first dawn. It requires a change within myself for which I am utterly unprepared."

A smile played upon Frodo's lips. "Not for nothing has the Lady declared you wise, Lord. Many arrive who do not realize this for long years. Some who were here before me have still not accepted it. Some, I am told, choose even to remain within the Halls of Mandos rather than accept it." He thought briefly of his own kin, so proud and independent and dismissive of all that lay beyond the Sea, and wondered how many may indeed have chosen this last path. "That you have already come to this realization speaks well of you." The Ringbearer blinked, as if realizing to whom he spoke, then chuckled and dropped his eyes. "If you don't mind my saying so."

He laughed outright, drawing briefly the notice of his daughter and wife. They exchanged a glance across the long table which he did not attempt to comprehend, then went back to their own conversations.

"Come now, Frodo Baggins. Do not follow wise words and excellent advice with such bashful modesty on my account. You have earned your place, as any who would claim to be wise must surely accept. You need not pretend otherwise simply because you and I do not know each other well." Frodo quirked a rueful smile, nodding. "That said, many there are who have successfully managed—who have developed this callusing of which Mithrandir spoke, who have forged their new path through grief. I doubt not that my Lady wife has concocted many plans to assist my own endeavors. Indeed, she can barely keep them to herself, even despite her ridiculous tendency toward unnecessary secrecy." He dropped a lazy wink across the garden without actually glancing in her direction. A delicate snort teased the edges of his hearing, and he smiled faintly before returning his attention to the amused Hobbit. "You have also been here for some years now, however, and I am told you have met many in your time. How have some of these others proceeded during their dark days?"

"Well …" The Ringbearer shrugged. "As you no doubt expect, each must find his own way. Many, like Sam and I, like your daughter and her husband, have built homes reminiscent of those they left." He nodded, thinking of the round doorways and windows gracing the establishment in which he now sat. He had little doubt that, when he saw it, the home of Celebríanand Elrond would bear more than a passing resemblance to far away Imladris. "Some have decided to ply their own trades again in this new land, some have started new trades—a new trade for a new life. Some have finally chosen to have a baby, away from the darkness and wars of the last Age. Some with children long grown have chosen to have another child to help ground them here in their new land. Some stay in the city, drawing strength from others who have been through the same experiences and loss. Some take a parcel of land to make their own within the reaches of the island, some disappear almost completely." The Hobbit quirked a curious brow. "If it is not too much to ask, my Lord … what reminder did you bring with you from home?"

He pulled back. "How did you …"

"Know?" Frodo grinned. "Most people bring something with them—mostly small things, personal mementos." He waved a general hand around the garden. "Many of these flowers and plants do not exist within Valinor, but I would not wish to be without them." The Hobbit lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "Not everything is better simply because it is from the Undying Lands."

His own grin blossomed. "I am most grateful for our meeting, Frodo Baggins."

The Ringbearer laughed. "We natives of Middle Earth must stick together, my Lord." He held up a hand. "Truly, if what you have brought is very personal, there is no need to—"

"It is not." He smirked, reaching for the chain around his neck. "Indeed, I will likely be showing it to many denizens of these shores, if for no other reason than to cause consternation amongst the Noldor with my tawdry sensibilities and lack of taste." He withdrew the stone from his tunic, then lifted the necklace over his head and handed it over to Frodo.

The Hobbit's eyes widened as he gazed upon the jewel, shaped to a flat teardrop and polished to a glittering shine, an agate of deep blue with shimmering gold dendrite held in a net of mithril so fine as to be nearly invisible. Frodo's eyes widened further as he examined the fine strand tracing the dendrite, and he looked quickly up. "Is this…?"

"A strand of my Lady's hair? Indeed." He smiled, remembering the Dwarf's gruff response to his very real astonishment and gratitude. "I spent my youth underground amongst the caves of Menegroth, fashioned by both the earth and Elven hands. Many geodes and agates graced those halls, and since I was small have I admired their wealth of color and pattern and shape." He pulled a face. "The Noldor, when they arrived upon Middle Earth, had little use for them other than as trinkets and curiosities. Such rocks may exist upon the shores of the Undying Lands, but they are not considered valuable or particularly suitable for the type of crafting the Noldor most love. They cannot be made to hold the light, as their craftsmen desire, only reflect it." He offered a wry smile. "Perhaps this only increased my fondness, I admit. In any event, I gathered many such stones throughout my travels. My Lady indulged this habit of mine, suffering even that the ceiling of our chambers be lined in such geodes as I had collected." His heart ached within his breast as he remembered that place, lying by her side upon a warm still night, the reflected glitter of a candle magnified and flickering across the polished crystals above. It had been, for him, as close to Doriath lost as yet existed upon Middle Earth. Perhaps it was there even still—he had not entered their chambers since his Lady's removal from those shores.

"My Lord, are you well?" He shook himself, fighting a hard surge of longing and grief. The Ringbearer's gaze softened. "Maybe this isn't the time for—"

"I am well." He forced the words from a dry mouth, forging past the moment. He would not be undone by merely telling a tale. "This agate is one of the few of my stones that I brought with me out of Lothlórien. It is a chip of a larger one I took from within the hidden cavern in Doriath where I asked my Lady to bind her life to mine." He breathed out a long, deep breath. "After she had gone, I asked …" He laughed softly, still unable at times to believe or understand the turning of the tides of his long life. "I asked Gimli son of Glóinif he would shape this into something that I could wear. He knew its meaning to me, and understood that I would not have handed this particular stone over to just anyone …

"When he returned it, I saw that he had shaped one of the strands my Lady had gifted him into its patterns." Frodo sucked in a quiet breath, appreciating as few other would the depth of such a gift from the Dwarf. "I did not question him, I admit—he would not have welcomed it. We are not yet so comfortable with each other as that. I only thanked him most profoundly."

The Hobbit held the stone close, gazing upon its smooth surface. "But the stone seems unmarred. I see no way he could have done such a thing. How …?"

"I know not either." Truly, this particular Dwarf was a master craftsman. "I am only glad that he did."

Frodo returned the jewel. He slipped the mithril chain once more over his head, and when he looked up again the Hobbit was gazing at him with a strange light in his eye.

"My Lord, if I may offer one last word of advice in the matter of your own healing … trust your Lady wife. She greatly desires your joy and wholeness."

And though questioned further, no more would the Ringbearer say upon the matter.

**The thoughts in this paragraph are a mishmash of Tolkien and Lewis, with a piece of a quote from the Akallabeth there at the end ...