Numberless as the Wings of Trees by Laurëalúmë  

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Chapter II. Joined Lines

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. 

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. 

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