Return to Valinor

The journey to their new home took no time at all, but the afternoon was busy with getting settled in to their lodgings. Carantaliel led Frodo to a spacious room on the second floor with a balcony that faced the Sea.

In the distance he could see Círdan’s ship as she elegantly waited in port to sail back towards Middle-earth. The hobbit felt somewhat melancholy at their going, but found there was little to miss apart from Samwise and his family and Merry and Pippin. His friends had gone on with their own lives, however, and Frodo believed there was little room for him now in them.

Bilbo had the room across the hall and quickly announced he wanted a bite to eat and a nap, which their hosts were eager to provide. Gandalf disappeared, as was often his wont, so Frodo was left to his own devices.

He was weary as well, but Frodo felt restless and did not think he could sleep. Instead he unpacked his luggage, meager as it was, and took his time arranging his belongings.

Much to his surprise he discovered Galadriel framed in the doorway sometime later, watching with interest while he paced the chamber with his things.

“Lady…” he nearly stumbled, “I did not see you there…” and bowed awkwardly.

“Forgive me, Frodo,” she smiled, “I did not mean to spy. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly a hobbit can make himself at home.”

He swept his azure gaze around the room tentatively and sighed, “It is not exactly a hobbit hole, my lady, but I’ll make do.” She cocked her head at him, and Frodo suddenly realized his faux pas. “Not to be insulting, Lady,” he added quickly. “I just meant that it’s rather grand for a simple hobbit such as I am.”

“No insult taken, Frodo,” she answered. “Whatever you need to make yourself at home, please seek out Carantaliel. She will provide all that you require.”

“That is gracious, Lady,” he replied, “but I find after all that I need very little to make me content.”

Galadriel gave him a searching look that made him edgy, rather like the feeling he got so long ago in Lothlórien. “Content is different from happy, Frodo Baggins,” she finally said.

“I dare not hope for more, Lady.”

She was silent a moment longer, still appraising his mood, then commented, “My great-granddaughter said much the same thing to me earlier.”

“Carantaliel is your great-granddaughter?” asked Frodo with some surprise. “Surely you are hardly older than she, Lady?”

“You are gallant, Frodo,” she laughed lightly, “and you are trying to get me off the subject.”

“What subject is that, Lady?”

“That both you and that silly elfchild are determined to live out the rest of the days in gloom and sorrow.”

“I cannot speak for the lady,” he replied gravely, “but I do not seek out gloom and sorrow. They are with me all the time and there is little I can do about that.”

Realizing it was futile to make him see otherwise at present, Galadriel merely answered, “I hope in time you will be able to feel differently, Frodo. In the meantime, there is a feast planned for later. It is hoped that you and Bilbo will feel up to attending.”

Frodo did not really feel up to the feast, but went anyway. It did not seem right to refuse Galadriel’s invitation. Bilbo, after his long nap, felt quite up to the challenge, however. Eagerly he led his nephew to the Great Hall where they met Gandalf at the door.

“My dear Frodo, do you feel quite well?” asked Gandalf seriously.

“Just weary, Gandalf,” he replied. “I could not sleep earlier.”

The wizard pursed his lips considering the hobbit’s answer. He did not quite believe him, but said, “That’s too bad. The party will go on early into the morning. The singing and dancing don’t really get started ‘til moonrise. You’ll miss all the fun.”

Frodo’s smile was wan, “I’ll do my best to keep up.”


Carantaliel noticed the hobbits enter the hall with the great wizard, but could not go to them right away as she had finally gotten to greet her grandfather, Lord Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris had made the crossing as well, but had been busy overseeing the unloading of the ship all afternoon. Now Elrond was brooding, standing near but apart from his wife Celebrían. Yet, on seeing Carantaliel his face lit with an affectionate smile.

“Ah, my child,” he kissed her lightly on the cheek, “I am ashamed to say that I did not know how much I have missed you until this very moment. Step back now and let me take a look at you…” he held her out at arm’s-length and gave her an appraising look. “More beautiful than ever, I see, though the sadness still clings stubbornly to your expression.” Sadly, he shook his head, “It is the same with your father and uncle, I’m afraid.”

“Why did they not come with you, my lord? I was so hoping…”

Again, Elrond shook his head and said, “I would not look for them any time soon, my child. They are not ready to abandon King Elessar. He is like a brother to them and Elladan and Elrohir will not leave while they may yet serve him.”

Carantaliel blinked back tears she refused to shed, “It’s all well and good for the man to fight in the name of the king, but when the woman wants to do the same…” she trailed off bitterly.

“Let us not quarrel on my first night back, Cara,” he urged. “We had this argument too often. No one questions your abilities, but your path did not lie in the same direction as Tellonnion. You could not save him from his fate any more than I could have saved Celebrían. We both had other duties.”

“And mine is to languish here alone?”

“The only person who is forcing you to languish is yourself, Carantaliel,” he responded sternly. “You have not been alone nor did you need to return to Valinor when you did. Celebrían would have made the journey with or without you. To go betimes was your choice and you must abide by it.”

Chastened, she replied, “Nai … Perhaps if I had your foresight, I might not have been so hasty.”

Fondly he caressed her cheek, “Perhaps it was your foresight that sent you too soon, not wanting to see more death.” Her only answer was to smile wistfully with a slight nod. Changing the subject he asked, “How are you getting along with your new charges?” He nodded towards the hobbits who were conversing quietly with Gandalf at the side of the hall.

Her smile brightened, “They are easy enough to get along with. Neither asks for much and they are astonishingly self-sufficient.” Suddenly her face clouded over, “I worry for Master Frodo though, my lord. He says he is just weary from the trip, but I can sense he is not well.”

“His scars are deep, my dear. It is hoped that they may heal at last here in Valinor.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked eagerly. “I tell you, it breaks my heart to see him!”

“Ah, my lady, always the compassionate one,” greeted Figwit cheerfully, though Carantaliel sensed a subtle current of annoyance. “I wonder if yon hobbit knows he has such a concerned protectoress among the First Born.”

Her anger flashed, “Do not belittle him, my lord. From your own lips I have heard of his bravery. Ten of you could not match his valor and I will gratefully help him however I may. Excuse me.”

Carantaliel stalked off leaving Figwit speechless as Elrond said to him, “If you ever thought to woo my granddaughter, Figwit, I fear you’ve lost your chance now. Just because she has been consumed with sorrow does not necessarily mean that she has no room for other emotions.”

“She will tire of it soon,” Figwit said. “The hobbits are a novelty to her. Once she sees their limitations, she will return to other more appropriate interests.”

Elrond crossed his arms on his chest and asked, “Namely, you?”

“Well, that is my hope, of course.”

“I see. I wish you well,” Elrond said blandly. “You must excuse me.”

As the Lord of Imladris moved off, Figwit stood tall and proud, knowing he had the better claim on Carantaliel’s affections. No stunted, weak hobbit would be a match for him in the end.


Gandalf and Bilbo were chuckling over some long remembered escapade when Frodo looked up to see the Lady Carantaliel toss her red-gold hair angrily and walk off across the chamber. He could see fire in her eyes and remarked absently, “I wonder what Lord Figwit could have said to anger her so.”

“What, my boy?” asked Bilbo. “What did you say?”

“Oh! Nothing, Bilbo,” Frodo started, not realizing he spoke out loud. “It’s not important. Go on with your story.”

“My story? Sticklebats! You made me lose my train of thought…” Gandalf gave Frodo a wink over Bilbo’s head. “Oh, nevermind. When’s dinner, Gandalf? I thought this was supposed to be a feast.”

“Indeed it is, Master Bilbo,” answered an amused voice. Carantaliel had regained whatever composure she lost at the hands of Figwit and continued sweetly, “Let me show you to your table…”

Bilbo took the lead with the Elven princess and talked animatedly with her while Gandalf contributed a few witty comments at their backs. Frodo fell in behind, thoughtfully watching the others, and Carantaliel in particular.

She got them settled at a table near the front of the hall and was starting to leave when to everyone’s astonishment, including his own, Frodo asked, “My lady, must you go? We would be delighted if you would join us at our table for the feast.”

“I haven’t had such a charming invitation in many a year, Master Baggins,” she replied cheerfully. “Thank you. I would be delighted to accept.” And with that Carantaliel made a great show of letting Frodo hold her chair and sitting next to him.

The response from across the great hall was as she expected, though it gave her no joy. Her intent was not to excite jealousy in the elflord. Rather, Carantaliel hoped to discourage his advances. Figwit’s expression was sulky as he sat at the table with Lord Elrond. After she saw his reaction, the she-elf gave him no further thought.

Instead her attention continued to be drawn to her pensive halfling companion. Frodo made every effort to join in the merriment, but grief still clung to him as if he was wrapped in a sorrowful mantle. It was obvious he had much affection for both Bilbo and the great wizard for he indulged them in every joke by laughing gently and he listened attentively to every repeated tale as the evening wore on.

Unlike Bilbo, Frodo ate sparingly and drank only water. Even Gandalf partook of more food and drink than he did. When the plates were cleared, the wizard excused himself to join Galadriel and Elrond, while Bilbo hopped from table to table visiting with others who had made the trip over the Sea with them.

Left alone together, conversation ceased awkwardly for a moment until Carantaliel made an attempt to put Frodo at ease by commenting, “You are fond of your kinsman…”

“I am,” he agreed as he sent an indulgent glance over Bilbo’s way. “He took me in when my parents were drowned in an accident. In many ways he is like a father to me, albeit an odd one from time to time.”

The Elven princess also looked up at the older hobbit and said, “He has great affection for you too, Master Frodo. He told me he is quite worried about you.”

Sighing, Frodo nodded, “I know. I’ve tried to convince him I’m all right, but he worries anyway. I don’t know what more I can do.”

“It seems we have much in common,” she murmured.

“Yes. I’ve noticed your own family keeps a close eye on you as well. You, too, have a sad story to tell?” he cocked his head with interest at her.

“It’s sad enough,” she said with a delicate shrug, “though only to me. I will tell it to you someday when you have nothing better to do.” Carantaliel caught movement from the high table and said with forced brightness, “But look, the ceremony is about to begin.”

“Ceremony, my lady?”

“Did no one tell you?” she asked surprised. Frodo shook his head with a puzzled frown and she added, “Well, perhaps they thought it for the best, Master Frodo.”

Frodo felt a strange foreboding and he asked anxiously, “What is going to happen?”

“The Rings of Power…” she nodded towards the center of the room where Elrond, Galadriel and Gandalf had gathered. “They are going to give them up.”

“But why? I’ve been told they’ve lost all their power since the One Ring is gone.” Absently his good hand sought the milky white gem around his neck in place of the Ring.

“So I understand as well,” she agreed, “but it is thought that to avoid any sort of corruption even now of the rings, they should be delivered up to the Ainur.”

As if her words should summon them, Manwë and Varda, the greatest of the Valar, appeared in a burst of pure light. Frodo felt his breath desert him when he looked upon their absolute beauty. He sensed the profound goodness in them and despaired in his own flaws, not feeling worthy to be among them. Closing his eyes, he struggled to regain his breath while listening to the proceedings.

Gandalf stood before Manwë and Varda and began, “Holy Ones, I give up the Ring of Fire, Narya. May its stone of red be quenched now and forever in the goodness of the Valar.”

With that the wizard offered up the ring and it vanished with a wave from Manwë’s hand. Frodo felt rather than saw the ring disappear as a sharp stab in his wounded shoulder coursed more painfully than it ever had in the past.

Galadriel spoke next, “Holy Ones, I give up the Ring of Water, Nenya. May its stone of white be drowned now and forever in the love of the Valar.”

Again, Manwë waved his hand and Frodo felt another sharper stab in his shoulder.

Last of all, Elrond stood before the Ainur, “Holy Ones, I give up the Ring of Air, the greatest of these Elven rings, Vilya. May its sapphire stone be smothered now and forever in the grace of the Valar.”

The pain in Frodo’s shoulder this time was worse than the actual wound from the Morgul blade itself. The Ringbearer gasped for breath and collapsed back in his chair with a quiet moan.

The three together recited, “By Fire, Water and Air we relinquish these Rings back into your safe keeping, O Holy Ainur, and we praise you for your goodness, love and grace.”

Carantaliel watched as Manwë and Varda acknowledged the Elven ring bearers’ praise with a silent blessing of farewell and then disappeared with another burst of radiant light. She sighed with contentment and awe, taking a moment to savor the rare appearance of the Valar among them.

Her joy was disturbed, however, at the sound of Frodo’s low moan next to her and she quickly turned to find him near fainting in his chair.

“Frodo!” she gasped and knelt at his side.

“The pain…” he groaned as he clutched his shoulder. “It is too great… I cannot bear it…”

Quickly Carantaliel dove her hand through vest and shirt to reach the old wound and murmured a quiet Elvish prayer of healing. The touch of her slender hand was cool and gentle, seeming to quench the fire in Frodo’s shoulder. As she continued to recite her prayer, he found his breath returning and he struggled to sit up in his chair again.

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispered weakly. “That is much better…”

Slowly Carantaliel removed her hand from under his shirt only to lay it on his chest with gentle pressure. “Do not try to move just yet, Master Frodo,” she said with anxious concern. Frodo was aware of her nearness, of the bewilderment in her sea-blue eyes and of the subtle scent of jasmine that surrounded her to make him feel a little dizzy again.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Perhaps I should go back to my chambers.”

“Let me help you…” she offered.

“No, no… that is kind of you. I’ll make it on my own…”

But his body betrayed him again when he stood, a wave of true dizziness sweeping over him to make him sway on his feet. Quickly he grabbed the arm of his chair to steady himself.

“If you will not let me help you, then please let me get one of your friends, sir. Perhaps Master Bilbo or Gandalf…” she pleaded.

“I will escort Master Baggins back to his room,” said Elrond to their surprise. “I know this wound from of old, do I not, Frodo?” The hobbit nodded wearily and the elflord supported Frodo as they prepared to leave the great hall together. “Come then. I should have guessed this would cause you some distress. Thank you, my dear, for coming to Frodo’s aid,” he spoke gravely to his granddaughter. “I see that not all of your lessons are lost since you left Middle-earth.”

“None are lost, my lord, though they may be seldom used,” she replied. “I hope you will let me know if I may be of further assistance to Master Baggins.”

Lord Elrond nodded, then he and Frodo made their slow progress to the hobbit’s chambers.

“Why he does not just pick him up and carry him is beyond me,” commented Figwit as they watched Frodo struggle across the room.

Carantaliel rounded angrily on him, “Do you think he is a child or some sack of potatoes, my lord, to be carried off in such a manner? He is a man for all his small stature. Leave him his dignity, I beg you! And if you have any affection for me at all, Lord Figwit, you will show Master Frodo and his kinsman the respect and honor they deserve.”

That was twice in one evening that the she-elf had upbraided him in public and Figwit was stung by her harsh words. He checked his angry retort, however, realizing that he would be the loser in this fight. Instead, he bowed stiffly and replied, “I beg pardon, my lady. No insult was intended.”

“It is not my pardon you need beg, my lord,” she answered just as stiffly. Turning to the wizard, Carantaliel asked, “Mithrandir, I only know bits and pieces of Master Baggins’ tale. Will you not tell me the whole story? Why does Lord Elrond say he knows of this invisible wound? Did he heal him of it?”

“Healed him as best he could, my dear,” answered the wizard. “In taking the One Ring to Rivendell Frodo was stabbed by the Lord of the Nazgûl with a Morgul-knife. If memory serves, it is the anniversary of that wound. I had hoped on reaching these shores it would no longer trouble him. Lord Elrond is right, we should have considered Frodo in our timing of tonight’s ceremony.”

“I am sure, Master Frodo does not blame you, Mithrandir,” she replied.

“No… no, he doesn’t, you’re right,” he agreed. “Though perhaps he should. Come, my dear, and have a seat. I will answer all your questions about Frodo and the quest of the Nine Companions.”

Gratefully Carantaliel sat with the wizard and the two of them talked long into the night of the adventures of Frodo and his friends. Lord Figwit, knowing as much as he wanted of the whole affair excused himself, while Bilbo popped in and out adding his own comments but much preferring the merrymaking elsewhere in the great hall. By morning, Carantaliel knew as much as anyone about the destruction of the One Ring.

-end of Chapter Two-

Nai - Yes