Numberless as the Wings of Trees by Laurëalúmë  

Water is my element, from my mother's Telerin blood. Earth is the element of the Noldor, steady and unyielding. Fëanor and his people were as unyielding as adamant in their pride, Fingolfin and his as steady as stone in their resolve. Water is wayward, ever moving, ever changing. At times it is as hard and cold as the Helcaraxë, brilliant as the everlasting snow upon the slopes of Oiolossë, clear and gentle as the Celebrant, or dark and wrathful as the waves that drowned Beleriand and Númenor.

In my youth in the Blessed Realm, I often left Tirion to dwell among my mother's kin in Alqualondë. There my days were spent sailing on the starlit bay with my Telerin cousins, even as far as the dark side of Eressëa, which the light of the Trees did not touch. We never ventured out of sight of the Lonely Isle but would gaze eastward over the vastness of the open sea. One could see farther from the peaks of the Pelóri, but it was the horizon seen from the prow of a ship that stirred my heart. What was to stop us from going farther, even to Middle-earth, to see with our own eyes the great sleeping forests that our grandfathers had crossed long ago? 

As children, we gathered around Imin, Tata, and Enel, revered forefathers of the Eldar, and listened to their tales of the perils of the wide lands over the sea. In the earliest days, when the Quendi dwelt by Cuiviénen, those who ventured far from its shores rarely returned, and great shadows in the shape of fearsome beasts rose at times from the horizon, hiding the stars. Then a horn would echo off the hills like thunder, and the shadows would depart for a time. Not without reason did the Eldar undertake the long and treacherous journey across Middle-earth, the old ones would caution. Middle-earth was dangerous, and only in Aman, under the protection of the Valar, could we live in peace.

Yet had not half of the Teleri remained in the westernmost regions of the outer lands, seafarers among them? Surely, had calamity befallen, some at least would have escaped and come into the West. If they had endured, then Middle-earth must surely be safe enough for us to join them there for a time. We could always return home.                              

Having gone as far east as the ruling of the Eldar permitted, I would at other times make the long and quiet journey westward across Valinor, over the hills that bordered the plain of Valimar and through vast, quiet forests softly lit by the distant light of the Trees, until I came to the dim shores of the Outer Sea. It was held by the Eldar that, in later days, the spirits of Men departed from that strand to the Door of Night and passed out of Arda, never to return. The dark waters of Ekkaia could not bear elven ships, and so its eastern edge was, for us, the margin of the world. I would sojourn in the house of Nienna, where those who desired quiet might spend their days in contemplation. The Maidens of Nienna, Maiar and Vanyar, took vows of chastity, wore gray hooded robes, and rarely visited Eldamar. Before the great departure, few Noldor joined that order, but later, as I would learn, many of those who remained in Aman turned to Nienna in their grief, among them my aunts Nerdanel, wife of Fëanor, and Anairë, wife of Fingolfin. From the windows of that echoing house, I would gaze upon the Walls of the World beyond the water and listen to the music of Ulmo as it rose from the depths. 

Still other times, I would visit the gardens of Lórien in the full radiance of the Trees. There, at the mingling of the lights, I would bathe my feet in the lake of Estë and lie beneath the willows on its grassy banks. Strange dreams would come to me of a handsome elf lord, tall and silver-haired, and of a dark-haired elf woman lying on a bed of faded mallorn leaves in a forest withered by winter. 

Seven thousand years later, from the prow of a swan ship, I looked out over the black expanse of Belegaer. Ages of sea-longing in Middle-earth, faint at first but ever stronger, were sated at last. It was night, and the stars were hidden by thick clouds from which a gentle rain fell, but I paid no heed. Soon the storms of Vista would give way to the clarity of Ilmen, and I wished to breathe the rich inner air while I could. 

It will not be long now. Mithrandir approached and stood beside me in silence, resting a hand on the smooth white neck of the swan. 

I remember it as it was, I replied. That memory has sustained me through the numberless years. 

That memory will never fade, child. The ages have turned the Trees to stone, the Pelóri cast long shadows at daybreak, many Noldor wait in Mandos, and the Blessed Realm will never again be as it was. Yet the mellyrn of Oromë and the elanor of Vána will not die while the world lives, nor will the snow upon Oiolossë melt. 

I, too, have changed. 

As have I, he replied, and we laughed aloud. Artanis was the least princess of the Noldor. Galadriel the ring-bearer is the greatest elf that lives. 

The light of the Ring of Water has been quenched, I thought, brandishing Nenya.  When I declined the Master Ring, I lost all desire for power. I will mourn for Lothlórien until the End, but my only desire now is the least place among my people at the feet of the Powers.

These many centuries, I have grown to love Middle-earth, thought Mithrandir, not least the little land of the hobbits, but even as I crowned Aragorn and bequeathed my task to his line, my concern for the wide lands and those that dwell there ceased. I exist, after all, to serve the will of Eru, and my labor was finished. Yet in the hearts of you Quendi, save perhaps the Vanyar, there will always abide a love for the land of your awakening. With the passing of the Elves and the dominion of Men, Middle-earth as it was shall cease to be, and yet shall live in memory and song in Eldamar forever. His dark eyes twinkled as he turned toward me. Lothlórien will never truly die, child. 

"You begin to remember your former self, Olórin," I said aloud, returning his smile, "if you would call me child." Then I sensed it, a mighty movement of water beneath the ship. Slowly, imperceptibly to the eye, the great body of the sea began to fall away below us.

"It is beginning," I said. "The halflings should be woken." 

Gildor, Glorfindel, and others had gathered at the prow when Mithrandir returned with Elrond and the two hobbits. The old one held a cane in one hand and Mithrandir's hand in the other as he tottered across the deck. Frodo's hands held the crystal phial I had given him on the banks of the Anduin and the jewel given to him by Arwen beneath the White Tree in Minas Tirith. The pain of his wounds was still upon him, if ever fainter the farther we drew into the West, as was the mark of the abomination he had borne.

Far below us, the waters were parting ways, the deeps bending with the earth and the shallows lifting away from it, bearing the ship aloft.  Then, just as the first rays of dawn lit the rain behind us, we plunged into the clouds that had been overhead and could see naught but a wall of mist like silver glass. The mariners ceased their rowing and their steering as the tide of memory bore us ever forward and upward. The air was sweet, and a hopeful and mournful music like an echo of the Ainulindalë itself, could be heard across the water, not with our ears, but in our hearts.  At last, the silver curtain rolled back and we beheld afar a sight I had ached for: white shores and, beyond them, the snow-crowned peaks of the Holy Mountain glowing red in the sunrise. The sea was calm and the stars were fading in the rose-hued sky behind us. After long ages of bitter sorrow and gladness in Middle-earth, I was home. 

I turned to Elrond and saw my joy reflected in his eyes. We both loved the one who waited for us on those shores. Mithrandir's eyes shone with the youth of Olórin; soon his spirit would be freed from the agèd body that had imprisoned it for milennia. He glanced down at the hobbits, on whose shoulders his hands rested. They stared in wonder, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

"Behold the blessed land of Aman," said Mithrandir. I smiled down at Frodo. Beside the glory of the Powers, hobbits were so very little. 

Aman was indeed changed. Whereas before, light had streamed through the Calacyria from within Valinor and bordered the peaks of the Pelóri, now the Sun shone from without and the pearl beaches of Elendë gleamed like snow in the daylight as we passed the Isle of Eressëa and came to berthe in Alqualondë. Swift Telerin ships sailed out to greet us and many elves had gathered on the quays to see which long-sundered loved ones our ship might bring. There was Olwë my grandfather, Eärwen my mother, Finarfin my father, and with them Celebrían my daughter, whole and healed of her torment. Sweet and bitter were the tears that she and Elrond shed as they embraced, for the gladness of their reunion and the sorrow of their parting from Arwen. The hobbits were made much of, and when we had rested, a great feast was held in my grandfather's halls to honor us. The next day, a procession bore us into the Calacyria and up the green slopes of Túna. Then we entered white Tirion, city of my birth, and climbed its crystal stairs to the Mindon Eldaliéva, beneath which ancient Galathilion still flowered, fairest of living trees. There we were met by Fingolfin, resurrected, to whom my father had relinquished his rule of the Noldor, and with him were Fingon, Gil-galad, Aredhel, Turgon, Elenwë, Idril, and the man Tuor. There also were my brothers: Orodreth with his daughter Finduilas, Angrod and Aegnor, and, dearer than all the rest, Finrod, his eyes shining with gentle love and wisdom. With him was Amarië. Yet Finwë my grandfather was not among them, for he waited still with Fëanor and his sons in Mandos.

For three days we dwelt in the city as guests of the king, feasting, embracing, and telling tales of the intervening years - all save Olórin, who departed whither I could guess.  At sundown on the third day, a herald came from Valimar bearing a summons, for the Great Ones desired to look upon the ring-bearers who had rendered such service to the Kingdom of Arda. The hobbits could not endure the sheer climb up Taniquetil, and so we were to set out at dawn for the Ring of Doom. 

As we rode through the western gates of Tirion, the green plains, hills, and wooded valleys of Valinor stretched before us in their beauty. Never before had I seen the Land of the Valar as it now appeared, lit from on high. In my youth, light had always radiated outward from the midst of the land, the beams of Laurelin shining between the trunks of trees, or through leaves and blades of grass, casting long striped shadows. The light waxed, waned, and changed hue, but always from the same direction. Now the shadows danced from west to east as the Sun steered her course. She had begun her descent when we spied the golden roofs of Valimar. In that twilit moment, I recalled the mingling of the lights. Then I beheld them, Telperion and Laurelin, black and withered! The dignity and grace of their shape remained, slowly turned to stone as Mithrandir had said, but where before they had thrummed with joyful light, their branches bearing leaves and blossoms of shimmering silver and gold, now they stood silent and stark against the sky, their branches ending suddenly where they had broken and fallen away. I grieved, thinking of the fate of the mallorn trees in far Lothlórien.

The first stars appeared as we approached the Mahanáxar. Many Maiar and Vanyar had gathered on the green mound of Ezellohar. In their midst, arrayed in majesty upon their thrones, the Valar beamed at the approaching hobbits, their eyes shining with love. Beside the throne of Manwë stood Olórin, freed from his body but clothed in the guise of Gandalf. His eyes were tender. Elrond coaxed Frodo forward and knelt beside him, while a seat was brought for Bilbo. I, too, knelt, overcome, my head bowed to the earth. 

"Rise, Frodo Baggins of the fair land of the Shire," said Manwë, "tall among the heroes of the Children of Eru. Long have I watched you from afar and desired our meeting. For your courage and endurance in the fulfillment of your quest, for the burden and hardship you took upon yourself for the sake of Middle-earth, you have our thanks. Hear, Ainur and Eldar! One of the Periannath, accounted humble among the races of Arda, by his humility defeated the power of Mordor when the mighty could not. For what you have done, all Aman shall honor you. And you, Bilbo Baggins, for your part in the tale, are welcome also. It was by more than chance that the abomination came to you, that your kinsman might inherit it." 

"The shadow and the pain of that evil remain upon you both," said Varda. "From here you shall go to the gardens of Lórien, there to find rest and be healed by the care of Estë. Yet none of the Secondborn may long endure the light of the Blessed Realm, and so you shall dwell among the Eldar on Eressëa, within sight of the mountain of Manwë, until the end of your days."

"And you, Olórin," said Manwë, "for the love you bear them, shall dwell there also until that time." Olórin bowed his head and winked at the Hobbits.   

"Elrond, son of Eärendil," said Mandos, "two ages have passed since your father stood upon this mound and pleaded for the deliverance of Elves and Men in Middle-earth. You have known loss: the loss of your father and mother in the tender years of your youth, the loss of your guardians, and the loss of your wife. Greater than these are the loss of your brother and of your daughter beyond the Circles of the World. Yet know this: by Arwen's choice, Elros's line is renewed, a parting gift of the elder kindred to the younger, and the spring of the Age of Men shall be long and green. Rightly was she named Undómiel, for never again shall elven child be seen in Middle-earth. Yet the children of Elessar and Undómiel, and their children's children, shall be fair and wise.   

"Maedhros son of Fëanor remains in my halls, and Maglor shall fade, as must all Elves that remain in mortal lands. Yet you have found your wife in Aman, and your mother waits in her tower by the sea, where, at times, your father rests from his watch."

Elrond bowed reverently.

"We would look next upon she who is called the Lady of Light," said Varda.  I found that I could not raise my head and remained prostrated.

"Artanis." Hearing the oldest of my names pronounced with tenderness by her holy voice, I looked up into the light of her face, purer and more ancient than the stars.

"Did you think I could not hear when you sang to me in longing and regret beside the Celebrant," she asked, "or that I hear not all who invoke my many names? Greatest of the Eldar remaining in Middle-earth, you rejected our pardon and second summons, thinking instead to rule a realm of your own among the Moriquendi. For this, your ban was renewed. And yet, was it not thus that you could aid the Fellowship of the Ring long ages later?"

"And thou, Melkor, wilt discover all the secret thoughts of thy mind," said Ulmo, "and wilt perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory. The latent fruit of your pride was the safeguarding of Middle-earth. At your prompting, not ours, was the White Council formed and the effort against Sauron directed."

"Few in Middle-earth," said Aulë, "could have wielded a ring of power as you and young Elrond did to preserve the strength of the Eldar until Men were ready to inherit Arda."

"And in renouncing the abomination, your pride was cured," said Mandos. "We perceive clearly that you were meant to remain in Middle-earth until the dark power was vanquished. You are forgiven." 

"Yet you have changed, daughter of Eärwen," said another voice, and I looked into the green eyes of Yavanna. "Was I not there when you took your first steps upon the grass of Túna and when you planted your first tree? The Valar love all the Children of Eru, even those who stray into darkness, yet there are those whom each loves most, even as Olórin loves these halflings. Many times I ascended Taniquetil, and my eyes sought for you, but I have not the sight of Manwë, and the sea between us was veiled in mist. Nerwen, Man Maiden, you were named by your mother's kin, for your stature of body and mind. The numberless years, the teaching of our cousin Melyanna, and the power of your ring raised you above all the Eldar, so that you seem to Elves and Men as one of the Maiar. Yet you are not a maia, but an elf only, shorn of your ring's power. Will you find contentment here in Aman?"  Her words brought tears of love and shame to my eyes.

"I desire the least place in the Blessed Realm," I said. "Often were you in my thoughts, Kementári. When winter withered Doriath and Lórien, how I yearned for your undying grass. The Elessar stone that you sent to me by Olórin's hand I bequeathed in turn to the King of Men, that he and his descendants may always see Arda as it was in the Elder Days." 

"Then it was well given," said Yavanna, "to him and to you." 

"The hour grows late for weary hobbits," said Manwë, smiling. "A dwelling has been prepared for you in Valimar, and tomorrow you shall enter Lórien. Farewell, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. We shall not meet again, but I will watch over you from Ilmarin."  

Chapter End Notes

In the next chapter, Galadriel visits the Gardens of Lórien and meets a familiar face. Together, they tie loose threads and contemplate the fate of loved ones left behind in Middle-earth. 

Leave a Comment

Standing in the midst of Lórien at twilight among the very trees and flowers that had grown there thousands of years before, I could almost believe that nothing had changed. What was time but change? Here in the Blessed Realm, time was still, save for the passage of the Moon and Sun overhead in endless arcs. At last, I had found the stillness I yearned for during long ages of ceaseless growth and decay in Middle-earth. 

I had rested in the house of my grandmother Indis in Valimar, near to that of Ingwë, her kinsman. The King of the Vanyar rarely dwelt among his people anymore, choosing instead to abide with Manwë upon Oiolossë. After the death of Finwë, my grandmother had forsaken Tirion and the Noldor and returned to her kin. Of my forbears, it was she whom I most resembled, yet in a strange way I was now far older than she, for long ages of ease in the Blessed Realm had changed her little. Despite her grief at the loss of her husband and the departure of her elder son and grandchildren, scarcely could she imagine the toil and hardship of the Noldor in Beleriand or the sorrowful fading of those elves that tarried in Middle-earth after the changing of the world. The latter were thinner than those who had never left Aman, less hröa than fëa. In time, perhaps, the nourishment of the Undying Lands would restore their bodies, but the thinning wrought by my ring would never wholly be undone and forever set me apart from the Eldar. 

Olórin, the hobbits, and I had come to the high green wall and silver gates of Lórien as the Sun began her descent. Passing into the domain of Írmo, we walked in a maze of gentle light and shadows, whispering leaves, trickling water, soft moss, and the fragrance of every flower that has ever bloomed. We uttered no words as we wandered from garden to garden, lest we disturb this waking dream. Here and there, others could be perceived meandering through the groves and glades. After a time, we came to the grassy banks of a lake as still as glass, a mirror for the rising Moon. Great silver willows grew at the water's edge and on an isle at its center.

Before us, upon the surface of the water, stood two figures, cloaked and hooded in gray, their long hair shining like míthril. They were Írmo, weaver of dreams and visions, and Estë, giver of rest and healing.

"Long and hard were the paths that brought you to this place," said Írmo.  "As Valinor is to the world without, so is Lórien to Valinor. My gardens are the least touched of all places by the marring of Arda, which even Valinor cannot wholly escape. Not without intent, I think, was the timeless wood of Galadriel renamed Lothlórien." He smiled. "Welcome, ring-bearers. I alone of the Valar am long known to you, though you did not perceive me. For dreams, waking visions, and desires are my province, woven through the minds and hearts of all the Children of Eru, and no less are they a part of Eä than the stones of Aulë."

"Young ring-bearers," said Estë, "rest and healing are my gifts to all things living within the Kingdom of Arda, from the Valar to the least of the kelvar and olvar. In Lórien, even Manwë and Varda may find respite from the burden of the world, ever heavier as the ages unfold. When your daughter was brought to us, Galadriel, she bathed in these waters and was healed of her torment. Descend now into the lake of Estë, Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, and be cleansed."

The Hobbits exchanged an uncertain glance and I perceived that they were bashful. 

"Perhaps we might grant the Periannath time alone," said Olórin, sounding very much like Gandalf. "Hobbits do not much like water or wet clothes, yet they would not appear unclothed before the eyes of the Valar, nor of the Lady Galadriel." His eyes twinkled, but Írmo and Estë nodded gravely.

"We will return," said Lórien, then they turned and vanished into the willows. 

"I, too, shall leave you," I said. I walked along the edge of the lake, beneath the willows, thinking of Celebrían. When she left Middle-earth for Aman, she was pitifully broken. It was the greatest anguish and grief of my life that I could not go with her into the West and know that she was healed, that I could only trust in the power of the Valar to cure her. And yet, was she not fortunate to live in a time when the way to Aman was open to the Eldar? Was she not fortunate to have been born an elf? I thought of the men and dwarves beyond count who had suffered no less than she at the hands of Morgoth and his creatures and lived. How many mortal thralls emerged from the bowels of Angband when Morgoth's halls were unroofed, or when Lúthien laid bare the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth? How many men yet living were maimed or maddened by terror in the siege of Minas Tirith or before the Black Gates of Mordor? There would be no Lórien for them, nor any assurance of a life of ease in Middle-earth. And while the Eldar might perceive the remainder of a broken mortal's life as a brief hardship to endure, was the marring of his life not all the more cruel for the brevity of that life, whereas an elf should have time unending to heal and come into bliss, even after a thousand years in Mandos? 

These thoughts were new and strange to me. The Eldar did not perceive the sundered fates of Elves and Men as just and unjust. Only Men, ignorant of Eru and twisted by Melkor, perceived their fate as unjust. Had Eru not proclaimed to the Ainur, "to Men I will give a new gift"? Rarely had I given thought to the race of Men. After I came into Beleriand with the host of Fingolfin, I dwelt in Menegroth, the hall of Thingol, my uncle. When the fathers of the Edain reached Beleriand later, the Noldor were, for the most part, friendly to them - none more than my brother Finrod - but the Sindar were more wary, and Men were forbidden from entering Doriath. Not until Lúthien brought Beren of the House of Bëor before the king did I behold a mortal man. He was of middling stature and lean, with a startling profusion of hair upon his face. Yet more unusual than this were his weathered face and the lines upon his brow, for he was on the verge of his middle years and appeared older for the hardship of his life. I thought him a pitiful sight until the harsh words of Thingol kindled his pride, and I perceived that he stood tall after the measure of his kind. Still, I wondered that Lúthien, loveliest of all the Eldar, should choose him even against her father's will.

Later, after Lúthien fled from Doriath to aid Beren, news came from my brother Orodreth in Nargothrond that Finrod had joined Beren's quest in fulfillment of his oath to his sire Barahir and had not returned. Then, after a time, Beren and Lúthien appeared in Menegroth against all hope, having taken a Silmaril from the very crown of Morgoth, though it had been consumed, with Beren's hand, by a great wolf that guarded the gates of Angband. Thingol's heart softened, and they recounted their tale before the court. When Beren reached the point of his capture by Sauron, he said,

"Lúthien has told me that the sister of Felagund dwells in these halls. Where is she, that I might look upon her face?"

"She is there," said Thingol, gesturing to me. Beren knelt before me with tears in his eyes.

"Lady of the House of Finarfin," he said, "in payment of his debt to my father, your brother Finrod Felagund, noblest and most faithful of the princes of the Noldor, laid down his life to save mine in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  He slew a wolf loosed by Sauron and was slain by it."

Finrod, with whom I had played upon the slopes of Túna in my childhood, with whom I had studied in the caverns of Aulë, and whose unfailing good spirits had sustained my own as we walked side by side across the Helcaraxë - killed by a pet of Sauron! I thought, as I looked upon Beren, Oath or no, is this mortal's life worth that of the most blessed and beloved son of the Eldar? 

I would see Men again in the trying years that followed. Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien, assumed his grandfather's throne after Thingol's murder at the hands of the Dwarves of Belegost. After the destruction of Doriath, Celeborn and I journeyed to the Mouths of Sirion with Elwing, Dior's daughter, ere we passed over the Ered Lindon, and there we met Tuor of the House of Hador, husband of my cousin Idril. Yet Dior, although he was slain, was the first of the Half-Elven, while Tuor was sundered from his kin, and both, as I found upon my return to Eldamar, shared the fate of the Eldar.

After the War of Wrath and the ruin of Beleriand, Celeborn and I dwelt first in Gil-galad's new realm of Lindon, then on the shores of Nenuial, where Celebrían was born. I would see mortal Men but once more during the Second Age, when Aldarion, the seafaring prince of Númenor, sailed up the Gwathló to the haven of Tharbad. How high the descendants of the Edain had risen, more like to the lesser Elves than to the Men of Middle-earth! 

It was while we dwelt in Imladris for a time that Celebrían became enamored of Elrond, half-elven son of Eärendil and Elwing, and he of her. Unlike his brother Elros, Elrond had chosen to be counted among the Firsborn, but there remained in him something of the heroes of the Fathers of Men. In him were united the three peoples of the Eldar - Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri - and the three houses of Men - Bëor, Hador, and Haleth. Through his great-great-grandmother, Melian, he descended also from the Ainur who were before Eä. Less than half of his lineage was mortal, and he was an elf by choice. Any children born of his union with Celebrían would have little of the race of Men left in them and would surely share the fate of the Eldar. 

Yet it is not so. 

I started, for a voice that was not my own had uttered my very thought within my mind - a voice that I had not heard for more than two ages of the world.

Melian! I turned and beheld the form of a lithe elven queen with long, dark tresses. Yet this was no hröa of the flesh such as she had worn while her union with Thingol lasted, but a fána, a veil over her boundless spirit.

"Mae govannen, Galadriel," she said in Sindarin.

"My Lady," I said, making obeisance.  "I should have foreseen this meeting.  This was your dwelling place in ancient days."

"Yet the Lórien of my youth, lit by the Trees, is no more - as you yourself have found." A knowing smile touched her lips, but her dark eyes, which had once bound haughty Elwë in a spell in the shadows of Nan Elmoth, regarded me now as from the depths of wells. "Nothing in Arda Marred endures forever unchanged. You yourself have changed much since last we met. Then, you were but an elf woman, and all my teaching was only knowledge in your mind. How like me you have since become!  I am sorry for it."

I saw the truth of her words. The union of Melian and Thingol had made them one flesh, so that Melian became one with the substance of Arda, of which the bodies of the Children of Ilúvatar are made, while some of her power passed into Thingol. Through that union, Melian had gained mastery over the earth with which to protect Doriath. My ring had likewise granted me power over the substance of Arda, with which I guarded and preserved Lothlórien. With Thingol's death, Melian's bond with Arda was severed. With the destruction of the One Ring, Nenya was reduced to a trinket, and my power over Lothlórien was broken.  Yet whereas I was rendered powerless to save my beloved land, Melian remained a Maia!

"And yet unlike," I said. "Why did you abandon Doriath?" It was the question that had bewildered and angered all the Doriathrim since her disappearance. "You left your people defenseless against their foes." Melian's gaze was mournful. 

"After the death of my beloved, I could not remain. My rule over Doriath was ended."

"Then indeed you left because you could not bear your grief, as was said among the Sindar. With the passing of Thingol, were you not freed from your body and restored to far greater power? Twice ruin befell the kingdom that you had kept so long in safety. The floors of Menegroth were wet with the blood of Thingol's folk. Your grandson Dior and Nimloth his queen were cruelly slain before your throne, and their sons were left to starve in the forest. Why could you not remain for their sake?"   

Melian's eyes flashed with anger. 

"Do you imagine I did not foresee what could befall in my absence or that I would have chosen to permit it?" she asked. "You speak rashly, Galadriel. I could not remain, whatever my desire. You say that my power is greater now, as it was before I wed Thingol, and this is true. Had I remained in Middle-earth in the fullness of my power, I would have been nigh as mighty as Morgoth himself, reduced as he was by the spawning of his hordes. No other foe could have withstood me, much less violate Doriath. Yet in the breaking of my bond with Thingol's flesh, I was restored to my true nature - an Ainu, a servant of the will of Eru. It was not for love of Thingol alone that I bound myself to him - though I did love him - but because Eru willed it, that the essence of the Ainur might enter into the body of the Children. This errand I fulfilled in the bearing of Lúthien.  Marriage is holy and inviolable in the sight of Eru, and while Thingol lived, I honored my duty to him as a wife and to his people as their queen. When he died, my purpose in Middle-earth, ordained by Eru, was ended. All things come to an end in Arda Marred, and had I remained and guarded Doriath, I would only have forestalled Eru's intent. Doriath had to fall, that the Silmaril might be brought forth by Elwing, and that she and Eärendil of Gondolin might come together and bind in their descendants the essence of the Maiar and the blood of all the peoples of the Eldar and Edain. Doriath had to fall, that Elves and Men should be driven to uttermost need and humility, meriting the saving grace of the Valar. Yet while I see clearly the purpose of Eru in all that unfolded and my part in it, grievously have I mourned my parting from Thingol, the plundering of my home with him, the slaying and anguish of our descendants and those who looked to me as queen.  And even more the death, beyond the Circles of the World, of my Lúthien."

I could not speak. Melian had not asked for her part in the story of Arda, which brought her as much grief as joy. Would she not rather have spent the First Age here in these very gardens, tending to the flowers and singing with her birds? Shame overcame me.

"My Lady, I beg your forgiveness," I said. 

"You do not need it," she said. "You did not know the truth."

"Yet had I but trusted in your goodness, perhaps I would have arrived at it.  I know your nature as a servant of Ilúvatar."

"I do not regret my love for Thingol and Lúthien," she said, "for even my grief for them outweighs the untroubled bliss of my youth."

"How alike you and I have become," I said, echoing her words as their full meaning dawned on me. "Not for the very light of the Trees would I trade my love and grief for Arwen. Yet how much greater your sorrow is than mine! For my own daughter and her husband are here in Aman, and Celeborn shall come over the sea when he wearies of Middle-earth, and our grandsons with him."

"Not all of my kin are lost," said Melian.  "Briefly were Eluréd and Elurín held in Mandos, and long ago they grew to manhood in the gladness of the Undying Lands and fathered children of their own. Dior and Nimloth came forth from Mandos also, and Elwing came over the sea. Long have I desired to look upon Elrond, and his sons when they come. Yet in one more way shall you and I be alike before long, Galadriel, that among our descendants are mortal Men beyond count. Most Quendi expect that their descendants shall be known to them and never sundered from them forever, for the generations ever waxed slowly, and now they draw to a close, and Mandos will not outlast Arda. Whereas the generations of Men wax without ceasing and in all directions. Were not my descendants among those Númenóreans who invaded the Blessed Realm, even Pharazôn the king, and among those who perished in Eru's wrath? The last king of Arthedain who drowned in the cold waters of Forochel was my descendant. How many others are scattered across the realms of Men? One is now their king, and his son's son shall be king, but how many others there will also be who live amid the perils and trials of Arda Marred."

Melian had uttered aloud the thoughts that had crept along the edges of my mind since the day of Arwen's wedding. While I dwelt in unending peace and ease in Valinor, I would have mortal descendants beyond number in Middle-earth until the Dagor Dagorath, the last battle at the end of days. What would be their many fates after death? I had faith that, whatever Eru held in store for Men beyond the Circles of the World, Arwen's fate would be good. The fate of Aragorn, too, I trusted would be good, as would those of their children and of generations to come, strengthened by Arwen's Eldarin blood and the distant strain of Melian's. Yet inevitably, some of our descendants would fall into evil ways, turning away from Eru and toward the darkness of Melkor. In the end, some would fight on the side of Melkor in the last battle - grief unbearable! None of the Eldar, however twisted, had ever served the Enemy. Even Fëanor, stained by the sin of kinslaying, had rejected Melkor with undying hatred. Those elves guilty of the same sin would remain in Mandos until the end, but Mandos was as much a place of peace and healing as of atonement. Námo its lord was just but without cruelty. Yet what of the fate of men who worshipped and fought for Melkor? The Valar could not harm the Children of Eru because it was not in their nature but also because they did not have the authority to do so. Would some among my descendants suffer the wrath reserved for Eru alone?

"My lady," I said to Melian, "do you know aught of the fate of Men?"

"If I did," said Melian, "I could not tell of it. Yet I do not - their fate is a mystery even to the Valar, save perhaps Manwë and Mandos in some measure. We know that death is Ilúvatar's gift to Men. Like the spirits of Elves, those of Men are gathered to the Halls of Mandos, receive his judgment, and depart from Eä to the fate that Eru has prepared for them. You are troubled by their destinies beyond Eä? Just as we keep estel that Eru will not forsake the Eldar after the death of Arda, so must we hope that the spirits of all those who turn from Him will be healed, cleansed, forgiven, and shown mercy and bounty beyond imagining. Do you imagine that aught is unknown to Eru? The Valar did not come to Men in Hildórien or to the far-flung lands of Middle-earth where they wandered - Melkor came. Eru knows this, and His understanding of all things is as great as His knowledge. Remember that the Orcs were in their beginning elves, Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar. In corrupting them, Melkor sought not only to fashion servants for himself, but to trouble the Valar and even Eru with the fate of their twisted spirits. Yet Eru knows that they are not to blame for Melkor's wickedness, and nothing is impossible for Him. We do not know, save Mandos, whether their progeny, the generations of the Orcs, are endowed with spirits like the Children of Ilúvatar. If they are, then we must trust that these, too, will find not wrath or oblivion, but release and freedom in death."

"Yet no orc has ever come forth from Mandos into the Blessed Realm," I said.

"Surely the corruption of their spirits would be greater than that of Fëanor's," she countered.

My mind turned to the creature called Gollum, who was surely in Mandos now. Though weak and prone to evil by nature, the power of the One Ring was too great for him to resist. Had he never found it, his wickedness would have been less - still wicked, but no greater than that of many mortal men.

"What of the Nazgûl?" I asked. "How could their corruption ever be healed or their evil forgiven?"

"What of you, Galadriel? In taking Nenya upon yourself, you were no different than they, save that you are a strong elf and your ring was undarkened, whereas they were mortals far weaker than you, and their rings were wrought by Sauron's hand. Could Eru forgive you and not them?"

I bowed my head. One question remained.

"What of Sauron, Ungoliant, the Valaraukar, Melkor himself?" I asked.

"The Quendi cannot know Eru fully within Arda, and the Atani and the Naugrim know Him far less," said Melian. "Yet the Ainur knew Him before Eä, and while their knowledge of Him is incomplete, they have full knowledge of His being and know Him for the One. Can they then be pardoned for turning from Him with full knowledge? It is of little weight, I think, that Melkor led others astray in the Great Music, for they strayed from Eru's themes within His very hearing. Only the Istari might be pardoned for those sins that they committed after donning true hröar, which caused them to forget much, and so there may be hope for Curumo and the others.

"Yet were not Sauron, Ungoliant, the Valaraukar, and even Melkor himself fashioned by Eru? We Ainur are not all as holy by design as Manwë, just as the most part of the Children were not fashioned for holiness as the Vanyar were. Therefore, we must trust that Eru's understanding and mercy extend even to Melkor.

"To these words, I will add but those that Eru proclaimed to Melkor in the wake of the Ainulindalë: And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. While we must bear the grief of our parting from Lúthien and from Arwen, and while our hearts may be disquieted by the fate of our mortal descendants through them, we must remember that Eru is rightly named Ilúvatar, All-father. Their fate, though sundered from ours, remains in His keeping. You may always find me here, Galadriel, and we will pass the long ages together, in sorrow and in hope." 

Chapter End Notes

In the next chapter, characters meet the destinies that Eru has in store for them. 

Leave a Comment

After the hobbits emerged from Lórien healed of their hurts, they swiftly grew weary of Valinor, and a ship bore them to Eressëa. There, on a promontory that sloped southward to the sea, the Eldar built a house for them after the manner of hobbit dwellings, delved into a hill, with a round door and windows. On Eressëa, Bilbo discovered the flowers he loved best, for all the fairest things in Middle-earth were to be found in the Undying Lands, save that these flowers were without blemish and would never wilt. Bilbo also found on Eressëa a plant never before seen by the Eldar who dwelt there. It yielded the hobbits' 'pipe-weed', and ceased to grow after their passing. The hobbits and Gandalf would sit in the garden before their little house and smoke their pipes while they gazed out over the Great Sea, toward the eastern horizon. 

At times, Elrond and I would visit them there, and I drew comfort from Frodo's companionship, for between us was an understanding that set us apart from all others in the Undying Lands. In time, Bilbo passed away, and we buried him in the little garden. Frodo grew quieter after that, and though he had been healed of the shadow of Mordor, still there was an emptiness in him that all the beauty of the Blessed Isle could not fill. 

One morning in the twilight of Frodo's life, I made the short journey from Avallónë to tend to him. I rode beneath the morning stars and found Olórin sitting in the garden. While Frodo slept within the house, we walked down to the shore. A ship appeared on the horizon with the dawn, and I hoped that it might bear Celeborn, Elladan, Elrohir, or any of the Galadhrim. Yet I perceived that it was no elven swan ship, but a far smaller boat. As it drew near, we discerned the solitary figure at the prow. By the grace of the Valar, Samwise Gamgee had found the Straight Road and been admitted into the West.  

His curls had turned to grey, but his brown eyes, honest and thoughtful, were undimmed. Joyful was his reunion with Olórin upon the beach. We led him up the hill, through the garden, and into the little house. Frodo was ailing at that time, and Samwise sat by his bed, watching him quietly. When Frodo's eyes opened, he said, "I've waited for you, Sam. I knew you would find your way here in the end." 

In the company of his friend, Frodo's strength was renewed for a time, and they walked slowly but contentedly about the land with Olórin, or with Elrond, or alone together, talking of the Shire, their friends, and their shared days. On a morning as green and golden as the Spring of Arda, Frodo collapsed. The Elves bore him to his little house and laid him in his bed, where Elrond, Olórin, Samwise, and I held vigil. After a time, Elrond and I took our leave, then Olórin, and then only Samwise remained. When at last he emerged from the house, it was as though a weariness had descended upon him that all the nourishment of the Blessed Realm could not lift. He passed into the keeping of Mandos three days later with Olórin at his bedside. 

The bodies of Frodo and Samwise were buried beside that of Bilbo in the little garden. Upon their grave I cast some of the earth that I had brought with me from Lothlórien, just like that which I had given to Samwise in parting by the shores of Anduin. Whereas this soil surpassed that of the Shire and any other land in Middle-earth, it had less virtue than the hallowed ground of Eressëa, and yet I wished for it to adorn the hobbits' grave. The elves of Eressëa tended to the little house and garden, which they named Perianmar, Halfling Home. Olórin repaired there at times, but with the death of Frodo, I went there never again. 

I dwelt for the most part in Alqualondë with my mother and father. One morning, more than one hundred years after the hobbits' passing, word came of a most strange arrival in the haven on Eressëa, a being short of stature and stout, with a long, coarse beard. I sailed at once to Avallónë and there met Gimli, who, with Legolas his friend, had built a ship and come into the West. The Valar had accorded him this special honor for his part in the Quest of the Ring and in the reconciliation of Dwarves and Elves. The Elves of Aman were amazed by the dwarf, and for them there was no bitterness or distrust of the Naugrim. Gimli blushed and bowed low when he beheld me, and we exchanged many fair words. He and Legolas told me much news of Middle-earth, of how elves and dwarves together had aided in the rebuilding of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, how the Dwarves had driven the remaining orcs from Khazad-dûm and begun to restore its ancient glory, how elves of Eryn Galen now dwelt in the fair land of Ithilien, and how Aragorn had made peace with the men of Rhûn and Harad and reclaimed the Kingdom of Arnor in the north. They told me also of the death of Aragorn in the manner of the Númenóreans and of the crowning of his son, Eldarion, as king. Eldarion, Son of the Eldar.  

"What of Arwen?" I asked.

"The Queen Arwen was dearly loved by the King, her children, and all of her people in Gondor and Arnor," said Legolas. "Her reign was joyful, my lady. Gimli and I were in the citadel at the time of Aragorn's passing, for he knew the end was nigh and wished to bid us parting words. After she emerged from his chamber, the Queen bade farewell to her daughters and entreated her son to be a just king in the sight of the Valar. Then she rode out alone from the city, westward, and none knew whither she went."

Arwen had died, and her spirit had gone to the fate of Men. I remembered then the vision of her death upon a bed of faded mallorn leaves that had come to me in the gardens of Lórien in my youth. Legolas spoke also of the great beauty of her son, in whom her likeness endured, even as Dior, son of Lúthien and Beren, had been of rare and surpassing beauty. Eldarion was also steadfast and just like his father Aragorn, wise for his years, and learned in Elven lore like his grandfather Elrond. I wondered if, within this king of Men, there was also something of myself. 

Through my intercession, Gimli was permitted to set foot on Aman and enter Valinor. The Pelóri filled him with great wonder and praise for Aulë, whom he named Mahal, and I brought him to the vala's halls, carved beneath the lesser mountains in the middle of Valinor. These were not unlike to Khazad-dûm, for the Dwarves were Aulë's children. Yet the caverns that Aulë had wrought in those hills when the Valar came to Aman far surpassed any in Middle-earth, even those beneath Helm's Deep. There still the Noldor labored joyfully under Aulë's tutelage, mining metals and gems and working in the smithies to enrich Valinor and pass the long ages. There, Gimli was granted an audience with the vala, and long and glad was that meeting, for not since the crafting of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had one of the Naugrim spoken with Aulë, and never again would one enter the Blessed Realm. Thereafter, Gimli dwelt with Legolas on Eressëa until his days, brief in the eyes of the Eldar, drew to an end. Legolas's grief was great, and after burying his friend, he took to roaming the vast forests of Oromë in Valinor, often in the company of Olórin, and came rarely among his kin in Eldamar.

In time - years and centuries meant little to the Eldar anymore - ships bore ever more Elves from Middle-earth to their long home, among them even Avari who had shunned the first invitation of the Valar in the deep past. All were welcomed, for in the end we were no longer Vanyar or Teleri, Tatyar or Nelyar, but Quendi, the Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar, bound to spend the ages together and await the same distant doom. Elladan and Elrohir sailed, and great was the joy of Elrond and Celebrían at that reunion. Many elves of Lothlórien and Eryn Lasgalen forsook their woods in sadness, even proud Thranduil, and yet in Valinor they found trees beyond their imagining. Celeborn was borne by one of the final ships, and the weariness of his heart was lifted by the beauty and wonder he beheld as we wandered the land of the Valar together. 

Last of all sailed Círdan, whose memory went back to the starlit darkness of Cuiviénen, on the fairest ship that ever his hands wrought. Then the Straight Road was closed, and the cord that tethered Aman to Middle-earth was cut, save only the thread that led to Mandos.

Leave a Comment