I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves there grew.
I sang of wind, a wind there came, and in them blew.
Lothlórien
My creation, my pride and joy. She is lost. The winds of time will sweep her away, nothing more than a memory shared by few. It is an unavoidable fate; I must diminish into the west, leaving Lothlórien to fade and fall. The glory of my child, the one safe haven in this world with so much pain, will fail. I have long known this day would come. I have seen it in prophecy, have heard it on Elrond's lips. Celeborn's eyes show the pain and loss that I hide. I promised this land would stand against wind and storm, that I would cradle my people in light. That no shadow would fall across this land. I have kept that promise.
In light I wove a secret land of timeless joy;
My perfect child no mortal hand could dare destroy.
Lothlórien
Even now, I can feel the power of this land receding. With every step the ringbearer takes, Laurelindorean takes a step toward the past. The silver mallorns lose their glow, the golden leaves turn yellow. Elven stones have glimmered feebly. The elves can feel it; they know of Lothlórien's fate as well. Those who have not receded into the west are shadows of the former people of this land. They wait for me to leave with them. I must. I must take them back to the Grey Havens to sail into the Undying Lands. This dying land of men is no longer for me. I will be content with the Golden Wood's memory and revisit my family.
Beyond the sun, beyond the moon
Wonder, wonder
I bring myself to look upon the land that should be golden. It is spring now; golden flowers should bloom as canopies above a golden carpet of fallen leaves. Instead, I see a dullness begin to overwhelm my kingdom. I look at my Ring of Power, thank Manwë for giving me Lothlórien for this long, and wonder what will become of it once the One Ring is destroyed. The ringbearer understands and will be strong; he will perish with the ring, as will all lands of glory and light. Yet that is not for the elves to see. We must diminish or relinquish the light of the Eldar and our passage to the Undying Lands. My time has come. Middle Earth is not kept for me.
Shine forever, beacon of light
Blaze in the air, vanquishing night
I bring myself to my beloved mirror, the Mirror of Galadriel. I fill my sliver pitcher with water, pouring it into the basin. I close my eyes, picture my future and past, and allow the Mirror to draw me in once again. Yet I am forsaken. Nothing glints below the surface yet my expectant face, older now that the light is leaving me. I marvel at the dull color of my once vibrant hair, the age showing when once Nenya hid it. I wait, knowing that my power cannot have left me that quickly. Surely the mirror will work. But no image comes. I am left alone.
Live forever, held like a breath
Deep at the core, blossom in death
I have always wondered what life would be like without Nenya. I am beginning to discover the truth. The One Ring powered all of my kingdom; I would have liked to believe that I myself hold some special spark, some inkling of power in my being, after all, I am a Noldor and Vanyar, yet it seems that Nenya was the only true glory within me. Yet I can be content with the memories of my golden days, the feel of soft wind speaking to me through the mallyrn. The cries of the Nimrodel, asking me to tell it my secrets. I have spoken to the earth, to the living creatures around me, and I have sent power through my verses and singing. Now, what will remain? With the Ring gone, what will I become?
My golden leaves will fade and fall through branching years.
Though sweet the song yet sweeter still shall be the tears.
I do not resent my fate. Nenya had been granted to me, and I must relinquish her with memories. I withdraw from the Mirror, feeling a sudden weariness befall me. Has it happened? Has the ringbearer finished his quest? I sit on a bench, feeling Nenya's power leave me. The stone splits, the metal scorches my skin. Still, I do not remove her. She has been a part of me for Ages, and I will not part with her. I can feel tears fall from my eyes, but they are no longer blessed. They are no longer coveted and powerful. My realm has faded. The memory will live on while Lórien dies, and I know that stories will be passed on of the Golden Wood, the wood that never gave in to the storm while so many perished.
The night must come, the shadows grow, the dark descends.
And all we love, and we know must reach an end.
Lothlórien
I see Celeborn. He no longer looks magnificent, yet he is still glorious. He pulls me from my moment of weakness, drying my tears, and grasps my hand. He sees Nenya but says nothing. I glance toward my Mirror, continuing our silent conversation. No words pass between us, but emotions shoot like sparks from flint. I can feel Elrond's power diminishing, I can feel Vilya and Narya destroyed. The time has come. My forest has lost all luster, yet it is still the Golden Wood. It is still preserved, not yet blown away with the remnants of the elves. I will stay here until the Three depart from Middle Earth.
For worlds will die, and worlds will grow
Out of death life, out of night, day, glory from sorrow
I scoop water out of the Mirror with my hand, knowing that it no longer is enchanted, feeling its coolness between my fingers, soothing where Nenya has burned me. I smile, knowing that all evil has forever perished from this land. Sauron has been defeated. Perhaps there is still hope for men. Perhaps not all is lost.
Though songs of fate onward run
The song of hope, once begun will evermore remain