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It was shortly after seven in the evening when Frodo heard a knock at his door.
He had gone with Gandalf, Elrond, Celebrian and a few others to the Midsummer Festival at around noon. He had wound up dancing on a table after Gildor, who he had not known had sailed, had tripped over him when a few of them were dancing to a group of street musicians, and had rectified this by placing him on top of a table that had once contained a barrel of wine. Gandalf had not stopped ribbing him for the rest of the day, saying that he had seen, for the first time, how Frodo was related to Pippin. Frodo had politely and humbly told him to hush up.
He had gotten home, very full and very inebriated, and had spent the rest of the day resting on the sofa, which was really a large, puffy chair, but was sized for Men or Elves and thus could fit a Hobbit in repose with ease. Indeed, he had not moved an inch since he had come home, save to drag himself to the chamber pot a few times. He had plans to stay there for as long as Gandalf would allow him.
And then the knock came.
He groaned, lugging himself off the recliner and stumbling to the door. He patted his curls down, smoothing them the best he could, straightened his clothes and opened the door.
A strange… person stood on the other side. He was wearing ornate festival robes that came to his ankles, heavy with white jewels forming the shapes of puffy clouds and dandelion seeds, and lined on the top and bottom with a sort of white fluff. His hair was white, but shone different colors, and curled around his ears and chin.
“... Oh, hello,” Frodo greeted. “How do you do? What brings you to my door?”
The stranger gave a polite smile. “Hail, Frodo Baggins! Could I mayhaps have a simple word with you?”
“... Yes, you may, but first… what do you go by? I would like to know your name first.”
The visitor bowed. “I am terribly sorry. My decorum suffers; I have spent too much time away from strangers. My master is Manwe Sulimo, Breath of Arda, King of the Valar and Lord of Birds, and I am only his humble servant. My name is Eonwe.”
Frodo stifled a gasp. He forced himself onto one knee, bowing deep. “... I… I am… I am so sorry! My lord, I did not know…”
Eonwe chuckled. “Stand, young Halfling, you have more than proven yourself worthy to stand in my presence.” He extended a hand to Frodo, and Frodo took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet.
“... Thank you,” Frodo managed dizzily. “... I… and why would the mightiest servant of the Lord of the Breath of Arda want to speak with me, a mere halfling of the humble Shire?”
“I will answer all questions, but I would like to have a place to sit first, if you will have me.”
“Of course.” He bowed. “Come in, come in.”
They entered. Eonwe perched on the back of the couch. “I have come to apologize.”
Frodo clambered into the chair he had previously been in. “By the heavens, what for?”
“I…” Eonwe swallowed. “Well, at the end of the First Age…” He fluttered his wings. “You see, after the War of Wrath, Mai--I mean, Sauron, he… he came to me, in person, and… he pledged himself to me, saying he would change, saying he would get better, and I… like a fool, I took him at his word.”
Frodo cocked his head. “... He lied, and you believed him?”
Eonwe stared at the ground, nodding. “... I… I wished… it was pure wishful thinking. I just… I just wanted him to be good again.”
“... That sounds terrible,” Frodo sympathized.
“It hurt, badly. You see, at the beginning of the world, he and I… we were… well, we were like kin to one another. Brothers, friends, or something else, I am unsure, but we were kin, and I…” He trailed off. His eyes closed. “I was foolish. I did not bind him. I thought he would come back with me to Valinor in peace. And when I woke up the morning we were due to leave… we had our ships ready and everything… when I woke up the morning we were due to leave for Valinor, he was gone without a trace. I searched high and low, everywhere, land and sea, every root and ditch and cave, every hill and valley, but I could… I could not find him anywhere, nor could I find any trace of his fea. He had vanished in the dead of night.”
“Tricky, tricky.” Frodo tutted. How does any of this involve me? Did he just come to give me a history lesson? He could have waited until I was marginally less hung over than I am now. By the Valar, I am in my fifties! You can’t expect a gentlehobbit in his fifties to drink heavily and be fine just an hour or two later!
Eonwe nodded. “Very tricky.” He studied Frodo with startlingly metallic silvery eyes. “You are wondering how any of this is relevant to you.”
“I… how could you tell? I had said nothing out of sorts!”
Eonwe tapped his temple. “I have all sorts of tricks up my sleeve. For example, right now, you have a bit of a headache, you’re wondering how any of my comments relate to you, and you would frankly rather not have me here. Worry not! I will be out of your hair in mere moments.”
“I would not kick you out,” Frodo soothed. “I am a bit worse for wear right now, but I have been far worse. Do not feel rejected. ‘Tis my fault for overdoing it at the festival earlier. But yes, I do have a headache, and I was wondering how your relationship with… with the Dark One relates to me.”
“... If I had succeeded in keeping him from harming others, he would have never made the Ring, and you would have been able to remain with your kin, and much suffering on the part of you and others would have been averted. If I could apologize to every soul in Arda damaged by his malice I would. But I cannot. So instead, I have come to apologize to you.” He fluttered down from where he was sitting, laying firm, solid hands on Frodo’s shoulders. “From the bottom of my heart, Mr. Frodo Baggins, I am sorry.”
Frodo’s throat tightened. “...I… I forgive you. All is forgiven. Do not blame yourself for his malice. It is not your fault.”
Eonwe smiled. He ruffled Frodo’s hair, which Frodo grumbled at, and pulled away. “Thank you, young one. It means a lot to me.” He stood up in full, stretching his wings, which nearly sent a vase crashing from the nearby mantle. “Oh dear. I shall be more careful. Anyway, that is all I wanted from you. Goodbye, Mr. Baggins.”
“Good… goodbye?” Frodo barely got the word out before Eonwe brushed a hand over his forehead and he fell into blackness.
When he woke up, Eonwe was gone, and so was Frodo's hangover.
He could faintly smell smoke, which meant that Gandalf was in his office. Briefly, he wondered if Eonwe's visit had just been a strange dream. After all, why would the Herald of Manwe visit him? He must have had better things to do.
Frodo pushed himself to his feet. He felt quite rested, in all honesty. He was ready to cross the small house to visit Gandalf in his office when something on the floor caught his eye.
It was a large white feather.
He picked it up, the room swimming around him. So… he really was here?
By the Valar.