by Silent Draco
Frodo, in his turn, was welcomed and walked to another small cottage. “Lady Estë asked us to walk about the gardens, and chant or sing, as is your wont,” spoke Mardur. “Come, let me sing some verses of the Voyage of Fendlas the Unprepared. Though his was not quite the time, yet his effort appealed to sympathetic ears. It is a comic tale of a Noldo who attempted to cross the Sundering Sea by himself, with a boat and gear which were not quite ready for the great waters. The tale reminds me of one of my uncles, similarly unprepared or not considering outcomes.” Mardur walked off with Frodo, singing comic tales of an unsinkable craft which suffered from tremendous leaks; a patched boat which then decided to sail crossways and crabbed, no matter the wind; a compass which worked backward to the Hither Shore; and other antic tales of what can go awry on the waves. Frodo was soon at ease, and laughing madly at verses about the unfortunate rats aboard, like this:
Though stowed in the hold, or cargo so bold,
Made early too old: the ship tried to fold
‘Round chest full of gold or so we are told.
For thus did they cold a sailor so bold!
Frodo enjoyed this tremendously, and sang him Bilbo’s song about an inn, and the night the Man in the Moon descended to drink their ale. Both were soon skipping and laughing, telling limericks, rhymes, and improvising absurd tales:
Oh, why would you want a badger pie
With tasty apple sitting nigh?
Better with tea and cheese so bright,
Not grizzled and up all the night;
To taste fruit pies so juicy sweet,
Not digging into tougher meat!
At length, Mardur held up a hand to pause, and stopped from a drink from a fountain. “Come, friend Frodo, enjoy the sweet waters!” Frodo grinned, took the cup, and leaned down to the basin. His left arm quivered and twinged terribly; switching hands, he came up with a good drink. “My apologies, Mardur. It was the left arm that was wounded by …” “Stay, speak no more of them,” Mardur finished, “I understand. This is what the Lady wanted me to regard and consider, as I learn more of the deeper work of healing.” They followed winding paths, telling stories and singing snatches of verse, while walking back toward a small white cottage with a trellis of red and gold roses climbing its west site. Frodo found the cottage, with green shutters and door, almost home-like; it reminded him of many similar old newer homes in The Shire.
They sat at their ease on benches by the door, simply enjoying the butterflies, when Lady Estë joined them. “I had not realized the full amount of healing that your friend Master Samwise needed,” she began, “and that took longer than anticipated. Master Frodo, from the tone and laughter accompanying your ridiculous ballad, any would know you had spent time enjoying time and drink with Master Bombadil!” She laughed without concern, her face clearing of all duress. “Would you please enter of your kindness, while I confer with Mardur?”
Frodo entered to find a cheery sitting area, with four chairs colored bright read and a small table draped with a yellow cloth. Looking farther, he saw in a far room what appeared to be a large bed or dais, with a wardrobe in one corner and a small table with pitcher and ewer in another. Estë and Mardur entered shortly, as fragrances of lavender and bergamot wafted through the open window. “Young One, although Master Elrond performed a wonder of healing, it seems that the three injuries from different fights have built one on the other, along with the final whispering of the Ring.” She held up her hand a moment, halting a quick denial, with sorrow crossing her face. “Master Samwise recounted his temptations and the whispers of the Enemy, or his greatest weapon. I must hear these from your own tongue, alas! In the wardrobe you should find a simple robe of a size to fit you. Please change into this, and lie on the dais.” She picked up a small cup from the table and said, “Please, Young One, drink this first. It will relax sinews and spirit, and let us all work to heal you fully.”
As Frodo stretched and relaxed, first Mardur and then Lady Estë sang songs of Lorien, hearth, and healing, alone or in parts, to ground Frodo on Aman the Blessed and allow his spirit to recover. Lady Estë sang the final verses of the song, as Mardur returned with a large tray, placed on the table. She continued a song of investigation, probing Frodo’s wounded shoulder, tracing lines of recalled pain and shadowed coolness. Pausing, she asked Mardur to finish compounding the unguent, then concluded her song:
Oh, treacherous dice, overcome thrice,
A gamble fail-ed, evilly words said!
Set pride to the side, with heart open wide,
A mordant, dark blade; Now be all Unmade!
Reaching out, she took hold of a thin, lambent blade glowing bright blue, with a dose of golden ointment on its razor-sharp tip. Frodo started in alarm as she plunged the blade into his shoulder, swift and then slowly, following a channel of disordered flesh. Removing the blade, she accepted more ointment on the tip, and resumed probing, inward and slightly downward, seeking a place in advance of the channel. Placing the blade deftly, she sang once more as Frodo, mouth agape, tried to howl in agony, overcome by pain.
O Morgul-blade, your pow’r unmade,
Now lost with King and unwrapped ring!
Thy Master’s bane and cruel pain
Now be undone; Shoulder be one
With heart and mind and hand now bind
As newborn find: your flesh refined!
No longer flayed or slow unmade,
Begone O shade; Frodo, new-made!
So rise in joy and light so warm,
And never again to feel such harm,
Be purged and cleansed of evil charm
Remade, redone, are hand and arm!
A sudden surge of white and blue light accompanied the last verse, blazing through every window and spiraling up into the clear, calm skies of Aman. Bluebirds and nuthatches flew away, then returned with cranes to dispel every remaining vestige of possible evil, dispersing every bit to the winds.
Lady Estë sat back, spent for the moment, as Mardur staunched the new wound and applied first a poultice of asea aranion and then another ointment, covering all with a soft white dressing and deftly bandaging this into place. Mardur then spoke softly to Frodo: “Young One, close your mouth. Let me ease you up on this pillow. Now, a cup of clear water and then one of marithian, to ease spirit and help the healing.” Estë recovered her aplomb, and told Mardur to pour himself a small dose, to heal the overburdened spirit of an apprentice.
She poured a glass of golden-white wine and spoke softly with Frodo. “It is well that you were so strong, Young One,” she began, “for we must repeat the Deep Healing for the other two wounds, the ones cared for by King Elessar. We must also heal you of the crushing burden and the Ring’s final temptation.” Frodo’s face fell in dismay and woe, for this Healing had lanced through him like a molten bolt of steel. “No, we have time for you to recover first, and the Morgul-wound was the foundation for other hurts,” she continued, patting his left hand. “For the nonce, let us talk about lighter things for a while,” she said, with a covert glance at Mardur. “My servants will come shortly with ciders, tea, and small cakes, for a doughty Halfling who has strived so mightily in his Healing!” she laughed.
As she served wine and small fruited cakes, she asked about their party going astray and coming unexpectedly to the House of Tom Bombadil. She sighed and dimpled as she had for Sam, recounting the moments when Tom leapt, danced, and sang his way to the lands of Middle-Earth. “Tell me, please, of your visit, and leave not a word or line out. I loved him, and his silly songs and wild dances, as you would a slightly absurd uncle. He danced at our wedding-feast …” Frodo had not realized that a Laday of the Valar would giggle in such fashion.
Every song, delay from the rain, and the horror and rejoicing after the encounter with the Barrow-Wight was told twice. Estë quietly and deftly steered him back to the second evening and discussing his fears with Tom. “And what made you put on the Ring, after it apparently had no hold over Bombadil? What had you considered?” Frodo thought long and carefully, and answered at last. “I thought had had done a conjuring-trick and used another trinket,” he spoke, slowly. “But it weighed strangely on my hand, and I had an urge to show that it was my Ring – no, I was urged to show it was the same, and to walk outside.” Frodo now shook himself, “Oh, dear. I was foolish; no, I was caught up in myself and my plans about the …” he looked down, dejected, and whispered, “I was so proud to be Master of Bag End and the Ring, and to bear it.” Estë spoke no word, but inclined her head and sang softly, sadly. She sat silent as birdsong filled the air for several minutes, then continued. “Three times had you put it on, ere the Morgul-blade pierced you, Young One. Ah, the peril from a simple thought or urge! I needed to cleanse the blade’s full path and a bit more, for the Ring had set subtle ties and tendrils toward your heart.” She shook back her tresses and mused, as Frodo begged forgiveness, “Nay, Frodo. The Elder King Himself has pardoned and forgiven you, and regretted the burden placed on the three of you as imperfect vessels. Be at ease; we will need to cleanse the wounds of sting and tooth, and they also will tax your fortitude, but the deepest bindings are now severed and irreparable. You are free.” Similar to Sam, she kissed him on the brow and bade him to remain and rest, recovering in heart and spirit. Frodo lay back, drowsily listening to warblers, thrushes, and swifts, as the light of Anor gently faded to a comfortable twilit glow.
* * * * *
In the Houses of Lórien worked the subtle healers of the Maiar, skilled in all matters of age, injury, and wounds caused by the Great Enemy. For the Elves wished healing in their age, those who had not laid down their lives for sleep in the Halls of Mandos, or who had awakened in distress. What mattered a century, or three, or the passing of a thousand years, to those deathless within the bounds of time? Subtle discord, ennui, or perceived slights, overcome or forgotten in an ephemeral people, may fester unnoticed for decades, or even an Age, emerging unchecked and ruinous to holder and victim. Some of the Maiar worked to re-weave tired, slighted, or discordant minds, healing some and bringing others to the end of a skein. The Valar had gathered the Elves unto them in Aman the Blessed, out of concern for their well-being, but had caused other strife among Eru’s children of the First Song. Some had been awake since before the blossoming of the Two Trees, and others had fallen from war, torment, or grave accident; rest, hope, and patience were benisons for them.
Galadriel and Elrond in their turns needed healing and consolation of the Ages afflicting them. Master Elrond and his brother Elros had seen with horror their mother cast herself into the sea, with the free Silmaril clasped on her breast. Elrond heard with regret his brother’s choice to stay with the Men of the First and Third Houses of the Edain, sail west to the Isle of the Star, and found Numenor as its king. Three Ages later, he heard his daughter’s choice with regret and sorrow as she decided to become mortal, and plight her troth to Elessar. She reunited the Half-Elven lines of the Kings of Men, at the loss of the Evening Star to the Eldar, as Luthien the Morning Star had departed with Beren. Galadriel had stood with her brothers in defiance of the Ban, and followed Feanor their half-brother to Beleriand, there to war upon Morgoth. She saw or knew of all their downfall, slain by Orcs or fell beasts, lost to horror of mind, or wandering far in strange paths, devoid of kin and home. She also saw her granddaughter decide to become mortal, and journey out of this world with Elessar her husband, sundered from her forever. Both leaned heavily on the love of their parents, and on Celebrian (Elrond’s wife and daughter of Galadriel), now healed and cleansed of her torment in the dens of Orcs), for recovering heart and finding quiet joy. In time, all pains were refined to calm joys and thankfulness.
* * * * *
Find Previous Chapters Here:
Chapter 11 – Part 2 Chapter 11 – Part 1
Chapter 10 – Part 2 Chapter 10 – Part 1
Chapter 9 – Part 2 Chapter 9 – Part 1
Chapter 8 – Part 2 Chapter 8 – Part 1
Chapter 7 – Part 2 Chapter 7 – Part 1
Chapter 6 – Part 2 Chapter 6 – Part 1
Chapter 5 – Part 4 Chapter 5 – Part 3
Chapter 5 – Part 2 Chapter 5 – Part 1
Chapter 4 – Part 2 Chapter 4 – Part 1
Chapter 3 – Part 2 Chapter 3 – Part 1
Chapter 2 – Part 3 Chapter 2 – Part 2
Chapter 2 – Part 1 Chapter 1