Mellyrn is the plural of mallorn.

Alalaes : Thank you, I'm glad you like them! I started writing this story with the firm idea of not giving them a good ending, but slowly... it gets better :)

When I was considering writing a second part, I was reluctant about the "Lothlórien" episode (this chapter and the next). It seems only logical Gilmith would go there in the hope of meeting some of mother's kin and discover more about her Elven heritage, but it implied that Galadriel would make an appearance, something I wasn't so sure I could write nicely (I'm like Gilmith, I'm very intimidated by the Lady).

10. Woods

Days passed by and soon they had rode through Calenardhon, and then they crossed the river Limlight, entering the field of Celebrant. There, westward, they could see Fagorn forest and its tall and old trees - Gilmith had heard many strange tales about it and its mysterious inhabitants - while, eastward, flew river Anduin. Across it rose the dark silhouette of Mirkwood, where darkness had lurked till recently, and the land was still cursed and haunted by foul beasts. Upon beholding this area, Maglor's face became sinister and he hastily announced they should go farther west and turn their back to the shadows. And, at last, North of them lied Lothlórien, a magical forest whose gold-leafed mellyrn filled travellers with wonder, and whose powers neither Gilmith, neither Maglor fully understood.

Their journey was surprisingly pleasant and, during evenings, and sometimes late into the night, they talked - in fact they talked a lot. Maglor had to tell Gilmith over and over the story of how his hand had healed and, although it was rather uneventful, she did not grow tired of hearing it. Several times, she also insisted on examining his hand, running her fingers on his pale and smooth skin, and her glee was so obvious and so endearing to witness, it made him giggle - no such sound had escaped from his mouth since... ages, surely. They also laughed and they sang together, for Maglor was glad to teach her songs while plucking the strings of his harp. Gilmith now knew he was a renowed menestrel among his people and when she told him she had searched throughout the libraries of Minas Tirith to learn more about him and his familiy, it did astound him.

"I knew the Men of the West had preserved most of the ancient lore, yet it is odd to think our struggles have become popular tales for your folk," Maglor said, as he took a look at one particular book Gilmith had brought with her - annals of the old days. "It is nonetheless flattering you spent so much time browsing old scrolls on my behalf, I suppose."

"I'm afraid these scholarly researches have not taught me so much about you, save for your reputation as a singer and poet," Gilmith told him, chuckling. "I must admit it was a little disappointing."

That they were able to tease each other on these matters was a sure sign things had gotten better for them, even though they could not pinpoint the exact cause of the changes that had occured. However it seemed they were allowed some relief and, in moments like these, a funny feeling stirred within Maglor chest, spreading through his whole body and making his legs wobbly. It was the awareness that someone cared about him and that someone wished to be by his side, whatever the future held for him. And instead of considering himself as a burden, he had slowly started thinking he might just be able to make her happy and merely listening to her provided her much comfort already.

Gilmith had lots to say about these fifty years they had spent apart, for, after all, in a kingdom of Men it was a long span of time. She was reluctant at first, perhaps she was a little ashamed of what she believed to have been weak moments, yet she did answer to all of his questions and in the end, he knew everything that had hapened. Moreover he understood just how much she had left behind or, rather, how many loved ones she had bid farewell to - her brother, her nieces and nephews, and anyone she had ever befriended. It was a trial Maglor could easily sympathize with, having himself cut all ties, long ago, and he found he could easily find the right words to soothe her worries.

And so, wavering between joys and sorrows, they rode further North and finally they had come near the woods of Lórien. The night before they were to reach the forest, it was apparent Gilmith had grown restless and as they camped, she could barely eat anything. She was staring at the fire, wondering what awaited her in the land where her mother came from, and she feared she would no be welcomed there, or that perhaps she would find no traces of Mithrellas or of her kin.

"Shall you inquire the Lady of the Woods about this?" Gilmith asked Maglor, as she caught sight of his right hand while he was tuning his harp.

"Certainly not," he answered, curtly.

"Are we not heading to Lórien?" Gilmith exclaimed anxiously.

"We are, yet I won't enter the forest."

"But... that is where my mother came from, for all I know she still dwells there..." muttered Gilmith, confused and blinking at him.

"You shall go there, Gilmith, but without me."

"Have you not said yourself that the lady of the Woods would be of good counsel?"

She shot him a pleading look and Maglor reckoned he had become tensed all of a sudden. He had meant to tell her earlier he would not enter Lórien, but the time had never been right to do so, and it seemed difficult to explain to her just how much he wanted to avoid these woods.

"Yes, she will be of excellent counsel and I still firmly believe you should meet her," he said, peering at her, guiltily. "And you should spend as much time as you would like with your mother's kin, weeks, months... as you wish."

"Would you not benefit from her knowledge?" Gilmith insisted. "And woud you not be able to... rest in these woods?"

"No," he replied and he put aside his harp, "and I do no wish to see her."

Maglor came to sit by her side and he hugged her from the back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. For a while, both of them gazed at the horizon and at the golden mist that rose from the forest. Even from afar, they could see the great mallorn-trees twinkling under the moonlight, with their silver bark and golden flowers, and never had Gilmith imagined trees could be so tall and so magnificent - and how would they shine during the day! For Maglor, however, the mellyrn evoked the forests of Valinor and the blissful days of the Trees...

"Your hand is cured..." said Gilmith. "She perhaps knows why..."

"I need no guidance."

His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed, he seemed so stubborn that Gilmith gave up and sighed, "Shall I enter the woods alone then?"

Maglor nodded, "I will wait for you on the other side, as long as need be."

"I'm not afraid to enter these woods without you, I..."

"You fear I will not be there once you get out?"

"I should not, but..."

"I promise you, Gilmith, I shall be there," Maglor told her earnestly. "I told you, I am done with running away."

Hearing this, she turned around to face him and he noticed she had blushed. She fumbled with his clothes awhile, seemingly straightening it, yet it was just a pretext to keep her hands busy for something else was on her mind. He let her untie and tie again his tunic, amused, until at some point, she raised her head, staring at him straight in the eyes.

"Maglor, I... I love you," she said softly, her voice wavering a little.

"I love you too, dear Gilmith," he whispered into her ear, pulling her against him.

That night they made love again, under the stars, and it felt like their first time, only now any feeling of urgency had left them - they could really enjoyed themselves and were no more afraid of displaying their affection for each other.

On morning, Gilmith rose early to head to Lórien and she dressed well, for she had packed fine clothes just for the occasion. It had amused greatly Maglor to see her adjusting her dresses as well as her braids, but he did not laugh and he had simply helped her getting ready, even suggesting some hairstyles he remembered used to be popular among the Noldorin ladies.

Their goodbye was brief, they exchanged a kiss and Gilmith got on her horse - she knew he would be there, on the other side, waiting for her, and that gave all the courage she needed to ride towards the woods. Maglor watched her leave, gazing at her till she reached the edge of the forest, and for once loneliness was not a weight, as it was only a temporary state and not a curse. There were many mysteries surrounding Half-Elvens and Gilmith might need a long time to find what she was looking for in these woods, yet she would come back to him and knowing this was enough for him to endure solitude a little longer.

Upclose the trees of Lothlórien, the famous Mellyrn, were so beautiful that, gazing at their golden flowers, Gilmith felt appeased and as she entered the woods, she got down her horse. She was walking slowly, and so did her mare, but the creature held her head high and her ears were straight, heedful to the sounds of the forest - if the horse was so calm, there really was no need to worry. The only real problem at this point was that she knew not where to go, inside the forest, and despite a thorough studying of all books mentionning Lórien, she had never found a map of it, or any indications on how to reach the city the Elves had built somewhere in there. The only indication she could rely on whas that the Galadhrim built platforms on top of the trees and so she kept peering high up. Yet she barely caught a glimpse of him.

"Hold on, young lady!"

The command startled Gilmith who stopped abruptly and her mare bumped into her. There was an Elf in front of her, a lean and graceful fellow, with long golden hair, and he had jumped down the nearest tree, his cloak flowing behind him.

"Who are you?" he inquired, approaching her swiftly.

He held a bow, crafted in a fashion Gilmith had never behold, but he was not wary of her, for in his blue eyes all she saw at first was genuine curiosity.

"Gilmith, daughter of Imrazôr," she answered automatically and she was so nervous she forgot to mention her mother's name - the one that mattered most in these woods.

"You are a daughter of the Men?" Eyebrows raised high, the warden shot her a quizzical look.

"My father was a lord of Gondor, yet my mother was an Elf and she was called Mithrellas," Gilmith explained, doing her best not to stutter.

She was not scared, yet she felt immensely intimidated.

"Mithrellas, you say?" And it was impossible to tell if this name was familiar to him or not, for his fair face remained still.

"Yes, she was a companion of Nimrodel and she traveled with her to Edhellond, to sail to the West."

The warden frowned. "Nimrodel never reached the haven and our king perished in the sea, while waiting for her."

"And my father walked upon my mother, in the forests of Belfalas, and he wedded her," said Gilmith, unwavering, and this line she knew well, as she had repeated it over and over, ever since she was old enough to talk.

"Why is she not with you if she is one of us?" wondered the Elf, peering around the woods.

"She vanished, decades ago, thus I came here looking for her, or for some of her kin and... if the Lady would be so kind as to grant me some of her precious time... perhaps she could help me."

Silent fell for a few moments and the warden seemed to relaxed.

"Your tale is a strange one, yet it is undeniable Elven blood runs in your veins," he said, lowering his gaze on Gilmith. "And if indeed you are a Half-Elven, then you were right to come in our forest and wise to seek the counsel of the Lady."

He fastened his bow across his back and added, "Now come with me, Gilmith daughter of Mithrellas, there is a stream we have to cross, and then we shall head to Caras Galadhon."

He then took her hand in his and lead her to the West, while Gilmith's mare followed them diligently.

Rúmil - at some point, it crossed his mind he should introduce himself - and Gilmith traveled all day through the forest and they reached Caras Galadhon late in the afternoon. By then Gilmith was under the impression she was in a dream, for such was the ehtereal beauty of Lothlórien, and never would have she imagined real houses could be built in trees, and now it seemed to be the most appropriate dwelling of all. She also marveled at the Galadhrim themselves, for she had never seen so many Elves at once, and they were all so elegant and graceful that at first she felt it was obvious she did not belong there. Was she not clumsy and odd, among these elegant beings whose laughters even were as clear as crystals?

At length, Gilmith was welcomed by some of the Silvan Elves dwelling in Caras Galadhon, yet she was told there were few of them in the city, for they loved to wander in the forest and sleep under the stars. Before leaving her side, Rúmil promised he would spread the word among the woods that someone had come seeking the wherabouts of Mithrellas's kin and that was all he could do for the time being. At least Gilmith was assured she could stay in Lórien as long as she wished and the Silvan Elves said they would bring her request to the Lady's attention as soon as possible - apparently lady Galadriel and lord Celeborn were attending to some guests, outside of Caras Galadhon.

Once she had overcome her own shyness and dared compare herself to the Galadhrim, Gilmith finally thought she had truly deserved her nickname, Edhelwen, that so far she had deemed to be pretentious. Indeed, their customs and manners were different from hers, however it had now become obvious she shared many of her features with these Elves, especially with those of the Silvan folk. The pale shade of her green irises seemed rather common, whereas in Belfalas most people had had grey eyes, and she noted she was about the same height and shape than most ladies she came across - had it not been for her Gondorian clothes, she would have looked like them all. Perhaps Lothlórien was a little home, if she could mingle so easily among the Elves, and that alone caused her great happiness.

Soon Gilmith also realized Maglor looked like none of the Elves dwelling in the forest, whether they were Sindar or Nandor, and she could have listed all these details, little or not, that set him apart from them. None had bright eyes like his, for none had seen the Trees in the West, and none either was tall and sturdy like him, and none... none was as handsome as he was, although she could not have called any of them ugly. The term of 'High Elves' had been a vague idea thus far, as she only had met one of them, but it was only then she understood what it encompassed - it was like comparing Númenóreans to the men of Middle-earth. And Gilmith wished she could shortly meet the Lady even if only because she too was a Noldo.

When Gilmith was announced the Lady would meet her, merely a few days had passed since her arrival in the forest. She had not yet heard of any of her mother's relatives, for the Elves were still searching for them and so far it seemed none of them dwelled in Lórien these days, but she had befriended the Silvan Elves who hosted her and had learned many things from them - knowing very well they could teach her so much, were she to stay among them longer. And upon telling her she was to have an audience with lady Galadriel, they gifted her with new garments and it was clad in a silky grey cloak that Gilmith ascended the wide wooden stairs leading to one of the greatest telain of Caras Galadhon.

To say that Gilmith was anxious was perhaps an understatement, for she felt her own existence was hung on a single thread, that the Lady had the power to cut if she will to. Would Gilmith have to head back to Gondor in the event that it was decided she was not an Elf? Had she thus far wasted her mortal life, fooling herself to be something she would never be? As she waited on vast terrace, built so high she could see the sky through the large leaves of the mallorn, Gilmith doubted every one of her beliefs - perhaps she was not as similar to the Silvan Elves as she fancied, perhaps she only looked youthful because the blood of Westernesse flew in her veins, perhaps... Yet the appearance of lady Galadriel drove away all her worries, awhile at least.

The Lady was of such spectacular beauty, it would have been easy to feel like an ugly duckling in her presence, yet it seemed the brightness of her gold and silver hair irradiated everything around her. Gilmith was under the impression even she had began to shimmer, as she stepped slowly towards her host, and soon she realized looking at lady Galadriel's face was much like looking at Maglor's face - at least, at the beginning, when Gilmith had barely known him - for the Lady's features were so fine and her eyes so sparkling, it was literaly blinding, like gazing at the Sun. She was tall too, tall like a man, and mighty, although her powers were comforting, strangely enough, and it was hard not to be drawn to her.

"Do come here, child," said lady Galadriel beckoning Gilmith to stand closer to her, "I must admit I am rather curious to encounter another Half-Elven."

It was a good thing Gilmith came from an old line of Númenórean lords and that, a few decades ago, she had met the King and attended royal feasts, for in this moment she had to muster all the grace and the decency she was capable of to greet the Lady.

"It is an honour, my Lady," said Gilmith as she curstied. "I am very grateful you were kind enough to spare some of your precious time to meet me."

"And I am glad you chose to come to Lothlórien," the Lady told her, flashing a smile so dazzling that the poor Gilmith felt blood rush to her face. "I was told your father was Imrazôr, a lord of Gondor, and that your mother is Mithrellas, an Elf who dwelled in these very woods."

"Indeed... and that is all I know about mother, save for the fact that she traveled to Edhellond with one of her what I really meant to ask you is... related to my own nature."

Lady Galadriel nodded gravely and sliding her fingers under Gilmith's chin, she lift her head up and gazed at her quietly.

"Half-Elvens like yourself are quite rare and even unheard of, since the old days are over," she said, as Gilmith did her best not to blink. "Perhaps your father and mother never suspected you could actually be an Elf, they must have assumed mortality had tainted you."

"Shall I die of old age, then?" inquired Gilmith, her voice wavering.

"No, your assumptions were right, young one," said the Lady, shaking her head slightly - and dozens of flickers brightened her hair. "You have inherited many features from your mother, one of them being your very own nature. You are an Elf, or chose to be one, to be exact."

"How could I chose? I... I was given no choice, was I?"

"Other Half-Elvens were given a choice, by the Powers of the West," explained Lady Galadriel. "Yet, in your case, I would suppose the choice was up to you, and it might be that you have decided for yourself, long ago. Just like your brother followed in the footsteps of your father by becoming the Prince of Dol Amroth."

"Then could I... could I take a ship at the havens, in the North, and sail away, wherever my mother went?"

"Indeed, since you are an Elf, you are free to take the path to these faraway lands," said the Lady and her tone was grave. "Of course, rest assured you are welcome to dwell in these woods as long as you wish, till you feel you should leave Middle-earth."

Lady Galadriel gazed some more at Gilmith and her blue eyes saw deep within her heart, as if no secret could escape from her. She could see everything, the doubts, the fears, the sadness of having never known her mother, and also the love she bore her father and her brother, and...

"He came with you?" exclaimed the Lady, her brow furrowing.

"Who—"

"He is alive, after all these years... Withered, weary, yet still alive and still here, on this side of the Great Sea..." whispered lady Galadriel, thoughtfully. "And... you love him, do you not?"

"I do, my Lady," Gilmith replied feebly and, shrinking, she believed she had just lost all of the Lady's sympathy.

"These are old feuds... and I even could not be accounted to be blameless, however... a son of Fëanor, he would not be welcome here."

Lady Galadriel had spoken in low voice and she no more was addressing Gilmith, for she seemed lost in some old memories, reminiscing a tragic past.

"Oh, but he has no intentions of entering these woods," murmured Gilmith, bracing herself, "and I alone sought to meet you, my Lady."

During the ensuing silence, Gilmith wondered if she ought tell lady Galadriel of what she suspected to be Maglor's real reasons not to come in Lothlórien - that he somehow was afraid to meet his kinswoman.

"He fears me not, he fears himself only," said the Lady, answering Gilmith's silent pondering. "What he really dreads is what I could see in the depths of his heart and he will not face the truth about himself, even after all those years have passed."

"In spite of everything, I can assure you, my Lady, that there is good in him, far more than there is evil and his repentance is earnest."

"Perhaps, yet it is not up to me to judge him," shrugged lady Galadriel and her clear blue gaze was once more focused on Gilmith. "No one on this side of the Great Sea has the power to absolve him... Yet I... I do know someone dwelling in these parts of the world who would meet him readily."

The Lady seemed lost in reflections, pacing around with her white robes flowing at her feet, and Gilmith, hesitant, waited a long time before finally venturing a question, "Who would that be, my Lady?"

Lady Galadriel stopped and Gilmith would have sworn she was reluctanct to utter the name, although her expression was unreadable.

"Lord Elrond, my daughter's husband... he who was raised by Fëanorians."

Gilmith gaped, clasping her hands together.

"I do think they should meet, my Lady, and I still entertain the hope we could head to Imladris after I leave your woods," she said and she was trembling a little, because it seemed the Lady would help Maglor, if only indirectly. "However, he... he refuses to even discuss this option..."

"Oh, but there is no need to travel this far, for it happens lord Elrond is staying in these woods as we speak."

"Is he?" breathed Gilmith, completely taken aback. "But... my Lady, I promised him I would not say a word about his presence nearby this forest and... it would be quite a shock for him to meet lord Elrond, I reckon, especially if it were to catch him unaware..."

"Then we could always pretend I did not consult you, dear child, and took this decision myself," said lady Galadriel, a mysterious smile spreading on her face. "It might be a shock, indeed, however you do believe it is what he needs, do you not? A little push, to set him on the right path, for his own good..."

The right path, the road to the West... Would not Maglor believe he truly deserved to sail to the Undying Lands if lord Elrond was to assure him he was worthy of earning the Valar's pardon?

I did not put too much emphasis on Calas Galardhon's description and such, since I assume you are all familiar with it already and I will surely not try to match Tolkien's description of it! Rúmil is Haldir's brother and while I don't asssume the brothers were the only ones guarding the woods, using him spared me creating a name/character.

As for Galadriel's opinion on Maglor... it's quite explicitly said she did not like Fëanor at all, although it does not mean she did not like all of his sons (and she was on good terms with Celebrimbor, after all). Plus Maglor did foster Elrond, so... I suppose she had very mixed feelings about him, at the very least. Let's not forget they did kill an impressive number of Elves in Doriath where she dwelled for a long time and where Celeborn is from. But that could be material for another fanfic seriously.