Welcome

Seveawen still slept most of the voyage. Then she felt Legolas's warm hand on her face, stroking her cheek. "Seveawen," he whispered. "Open your eyes. You do not want to miss this."

She sat up and scanned the coastline, speechless. Valinor, the Blessed Realm, was welcoming them from across the water. All was green, laced with high snowy mountains like the thrones of the Valar themselves and pocketed with forest. This was no realm of the Elves, but a breathtaking, glittering jewel of emerald and amber and sapphire and silver mithril. Finally tearing her gaze away, she quickly glanced at Legolas and kissed his hand to comfort him, for he was crying.

As the ship slipped into the bay, Seveawen's awe disappeared in favor of fear and dread. Surely she must first enter Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom, and face the Council of the Valar. But she remembered Arwen's words: I know you well, for I have seen you. You are blessed among the Eldar. I sense that the will of the Valar is in both your favor.

There were many figures waiting for them at the edge of the water. Most were tall, draped elegantly in Elven robes, but as the ship neared, Seveawen saw two small figures as well. They had pointed ears like Elves, but were curly-haired with large feet and dressed like fine country gentlemen. With them was a wizard robed in silver—Gandalf the White, called Mithrandir, Grey Pilgrim, by the Elves.

As Seveawen watched, in awe of the fairness and might before her, Legolas first helped Gimli onto the landing. "My Lady Galadriel," the Dwarf said reverently, bowing before one of the graceful Elven figures.

Galadriel smiled, her bottomless blue eyes sparkling with wisdom and joy. The Lady of Light was aptly called so; she glowed lovely and radiant as she greeted them. "Welcome Elf-friend, Gimli son of Glóin." She gently kissed the Dwarf's forehead. Then her noble gaze found the dark-haired young woman behind him. "Seveawen Faithful," Galadriel said.

Seveawen dipped her head and bowed.

The Lady brought her gaze upward with a gentle touch. "Sinome nalye mantielvo," she said in Quenya High-Elven, you are welcome in this place. "Pure and worthy is your heart, my daughter. It has proved so. Morvána Celebrithil is greatly expected and welcomed with honor. Come and rest. Your strength will grow with time."

Seveawen thanked her before turning to the lord and lady beside her. This was Elrond son of Eärendil and father of Arwen Evenstar; the woman beside him must be Celebrian, her pale hair flowing like streamers of white-gold silk. She, too, had waited many years for her husband in the Blessed Realm after taking a poisoned Orc-wound and crossing west to heal. But their daughter would never join them, for her heart was given wholly to Aragorn, and his time of passing had come upon him. Seveawen wished to speak words of comfort to them. There is rarely anything a mortal can say to soothe the aching heart of an Elf, but still she tried.

"Arwen has long known of our fate, my lord and lady," she said softly to them. "I fear her time is fading, but it has not been in vain. All my life have I known her as my Queen. Her grace shall be long remembered."

Elrond smiled gently, but still sorrowfully. "She has made her choice," he said. "Arwen has been lost to us, but what she has gained, if only for a time, is beyond measure. The Evenstar is at peace."

Celebrian took Seveawen's hands in hers. "I know well of her decision," she said, "but we are happy for what she has shared with Elessar. Thank you for your words, as they bring great kindness. Now please," she said, gesturing to the side, "you are weary. You must rest."

Seveawen did feel the weight in her body. She smiled and nodded gratefully as Legolas touched her shoulder. "Come," he said softly as he guided her along. "It will take time for you to take in the strength that the Blessed Realm provides. Here. You are fading again…" He gently lifted her into his arms and began to carry her away.

There had been a definite pattern, Seveawen noticed, with her strength. She had managed to wake and be alert for a short time before slipping back into dark nighttime again. The blackness of fatigue was washing over her now, a queer tangible tide that took the body by storm and quickly shut away all the senses.

She reached up and felt his hair weakly with her fingertips. "Legolas…" Before she passed out and slept again, she had one single question that was burning for an answer. "Am I alive or dead?"

He cradled her head gently in his palm. "You are very much alive. Indeed, you are past mortality. Seveawen, meleth nîn," he whispered, "you are one of the Eldar now."

When Seveawen next awoke, she was sure it was the last time.

Lying limply upon the bed as it pulled her deeper into its peaceful warmth that reminded her so much of a certain someone, she felt her fingers twitch. She felt an urge to get up and stretch her legs. After a while, she finally convinced herself to rise and walk around. She wore only her sleep shift. The realization sent a thrilling blush through her blood as she thought that most likely Legolas had taken her dress off.

Next to the bed, a plate of bread wafers sat quietly. A note was on top—These are lembas, Elvish waybread. They will give you strength. It was signed with the character lambe , for Legolas, swirled tenderly across the paper.

Seveawen smiled. She had not realized until now that she was hungry. Curiously, she bit into one of the crisp cakes, only to find out that its center was soft and lightly sweet. The taste of Elvish food was still new to her.

When she finished, shortly afterward with the unusually filling bread, Seveawen simply wandered around the open, airy bedroom. There was a large mirror there, and she peered into it curiously. She was alive and beyond mortality, Legolas had said. But what did that mean? Seveawen was one hundred and seventeen years old. Did she still look seventeen? Everything will be as it once was, he had told her.

Those particular words brought the color back to her cheeks as she realized furthermore what that promise had meant. Certain things had definitely happened between her and Ohtar, for their marriage had given them five children. Seveawen could even remember their names: Idril, Mirwen, Faelivren, Dírhael and Aldaron, two daughters and three sons. But the events that had brought their children to be were nowhere to be found in her memory. She smiled. If the Valar would permit Legolas to bond with her once and for all, then she could give in to her husband's tender seduction as if the past century of their lives had never happened. She could still give him her maidenhood.

Seveawen brought her mind back to her present dilemma. Legolas's words still offered her no hint as to what exactly she was at the moment. He had said that she was one of the Eldar now. Did that mean she was an Elf?

Peering into the mirror, she swept back a curtain of dark, still-wavy lebethron hair with her hand. Her ear looked the same as it had always been, round instead of pointed at the top. It clearly said that she was human. But Seveawen had become Elf-like in some ways as well. Age had not at all marred her fawn-like skin with any faint reminders of the wrinkles she had once worn; in fact, it glowed in a new, even smoother way, her lips full and healthy. She did look different. Yet she was still the same. Her brown eyes were now bottomless and deep, large, lushly fringed and as luminous as they had ever been. They had captivated Ohtar for fifty-odd years and otherwise had not changed in an entire century. Like starlit water, Legolas had described them, for her eyes had so captured his heart. Even at their parting, they had still been breathtaking. But she noticed that at the edge of her irises, they were now ever-so-slightly tinged with green.

Seveawen stepped back, feeling her limbs go heavy again. She knew from experience that it was only a matter of moments until the rest of her body followed suit. It would do no good for her to be found passed out asleep on the floor. She quickly buried herself back under the blankets as the blackness claimed her once more.