Author note: IMPORTANT! THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN PUBLISHED ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. TO CLARIFY, THIS IS THE VERY LAST CHAPTER OF THE BOOK (54). IF YOU OPENED THIS BEFORE YOU OPENED CHAPTER 53, I RECOMMEND GOING BACK AND READING THAT FIRST. THERE ARE IMPORTANT BITS, PLUS STUFF GETS WRAPPED UP FOR ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE. THEN, READ THIS ;) PSA ends.
So… here it is. Four years, seven months and two weeks after I started it - and I wanna say, ooh, eleven years since a girl (who, yes, looked a lot like me at the time, so shoot me) called Keren (named after an ancestor of mine) walked into my head demanding to one day be put into the first story I could be bothered to write - here is The End.
This story has been with me through two house moves, two serious relationships (and the subsequent breakups), one situationship (kinda still ongoing, yes I am stupid), two illnesses (involving four hospitalisations, one briefly life-threatening blip, one operation and many tests - I'm all fine now), SIX jobs (yay for temping), and one brief dream career (cheers Covid for then sh*tting all over it).
Thank you for following me and Keren here all the way to the end. I've appreciated every review, every follow, every message. But an especial huge thanks to my patrons. I promise that random poem and paltry two chapters of original work will one day turn into something actually publishable!
I will hopefully see you all at the sequel, prequel, thing. But I also want to do another, unrelated, LOTR fic that is lighter, funnier, cuter. Dare I do a girl falls into Middle-earth kind of thing? I feel I have one in me lol. Let me know your thoughts! Should you wish to, give me an author follow so you're alerted when I start publishing them. The sequel will not be nearly as long as this, I promise.
Oh, and a reminder that the playlist for each book will very shortly be up on Sp*tify! They give me all the feels and I'm pretty sure I'll have them on repeat for a little while. Do let me know if any of the songs resonate with you, or if there are ones you recommend I add. Remember to follow the story on W*ttpad too if you want to read the edited, hopefully improved version.
I will let the Prof sign off:
'One writes a story not out of the leaves of trees still to be observed, nor by means of botany and soil-science; but it grows like a seed in the dark out of the leaf-mould of the mind: out of all that has been seen or thought or read, that has long ago been forgotten, descending into the deeps' – J.R.R. Tolkien
Man, he knew what he was talking about. I think this story knows me better than I do...
Chapter eighteen - A sky full of stars
Keren had been so, so tired. Palen had left her in the glade, and before her sister had even cleared the nearby trees she was dozing, her daughter already asleep in her arms.
And then, shortly afterwards, Keren had died.
She was not sure that was what was happening, at first.
She had half awoken to a breathtaking pain, radiating from her chest, so bad it made her pass out, and so she slept again.
But her sleep was strange, for she felt herself pulled - and not gently - up and away, and she was afraid, for never had she felt so alone or frightened of where she was going. She reached out for anything nearby to pull her back, a branch of the oak tree, a blade of Ithilien grass, but nothing obeyed her touch. Where was Legolas in this dream?
She felt panicked, and tried to wake herself up, which she was often able to do. But this time she could not jolt awake, and she felt her beloved home was now a hostile place that would not help her, and the dream would not bring Legolas to her.
She felt another pull.
She knew she had to leave, but she did not want to go. Out of desperation she clung to her daughter, but soon she was untethered and lost.
She passed out of the forest and across the Great River, as the ground fell away. In a blink she was soaring above the city of her birth. It was all taking seconds, and she belatedly realised she was flying - flying like an eagle, over the White Mountains, skimming their tops, leaving Gondor behind, then Rohan, then unfamiliar lands, west and west and west, faster and faster, until she saw something she had never seen with waking eyes - the sea.
As a flash it appeared below her in all its vastness, sun glinting on the surface, but she did not stop. And as she sped away from Middle-earth, gliding high over waters altogether strange to her, she knew that it was not a dream.
Just as the realisation hit her that she was dead, and she was going to learn what lies beyond the world, the light seemed to bend. The day, the hour, the sea, the air, all rearranged themselves, and, shortly afterwards, as she tried to remember what everything had looked like before, she found she could not. She was unafraid now.
Onwards she sailed westwards, until there was land again, and she knew she looked down upon the Undying Lands. There was an island, shaped like an arrow-head from above, and beyond that a mass of land that even from her great height seemed to have no end in any direction. Giant mountains reached up to meet her all along the coast, save for one deep valley. But she did not go down into the valley, instead passing over the highest mountain, and as she did she felt a nudge inside her, a feeling of welcome, and comfort. There was someone who knew her, upon that mountain. She could not see them, but she knew they were flying with her now, to wherever her destination was.
Over Elvenhome she flew, and she had a great desire to stop, to land there, and rest, even if just for a little time. But the person who flew with her would not allow it, and even if she was stubborn and tried to fly down, she had a feeling the land below would never seem to get any nearer. She was not an elf after all, nor maia, nor vala. She was just Keren, a woman who had died before her time after childbirth, like her grandmother and hundreds of millions before her.
And now she would never see Legolas again.
Her flight seemed to stutter and waver, though she knew she could not fall, and the person flying with her took her hand, and held it for the rest of the journey. Together they flew, she and her invisible companion, over cities and plains and forests, meadows and lakes and hills, and Keren wondered if every mortal who died was granted this view of the other world that lay over the sea.
Sooner than she would have liked they began their descent, and she saw cliffs, and another sea, stretching out to the uttermost edge of West, which her eyes could not reach. There was someone below her, standing on a large platform carved into the cliff.
As her feet came to land on the rocky outcrop, she felt the hand fall from her grasp, and her companion leave her. The rest of the way she would need to travel alone.
She looked up at the person who stood before her, and he looked back.
He was very tall, with grey eyes so dark they appeared almost black. His long hair was of ebony, and it fell about his shoulders, revealing pointed ears. An elf. Not a god or a messenger. Just an ordinary elf, as Legolas was.
Keren found she still had her voice.
"Who are you?" she asked. "What is this place?"
"These are the doors to the Halls of Mandos," the elf said, gesturing to the blank cliff face behind him. "Do you know you are dead?"
"Yes," Keren replied.
"Good. So many refuse to believe it, for they are afraid. You are not afraid?"
"No. I am curious," she said. "And sad."
The elf gave her a strange look before speaking again.
"Every soul that stands before these doors is granted entry by one who has gone before, one who is connected to them. I have been selected as your gate-keeper. You may only gain passage if you give me what used to be mine."
Keren frowned.
"I don't understand."
"I have been in these Halls longer than any, and I can never leave, not until the last battle. It is my just punishment. But sometimes they show me pity, for they know at the end of days I am all that stands between the world and the utmost darkness, and they need me on their side. I want to be on their side. By meeting you, they have given me a chance to call something my own again. To keep it with love, rather than use it for war. I say again - that which you bear is mine, and I will grant you entry if you give it back."
He came close to her, and looked with longing upon the stone that sat at her brow, shining, radiant, brighter than it had ever been in Middle-earth, its light and spirit undimmed here.
Keren realised who stood before her.
"You're Fëanor," she said simply, and she felt no awe or fear or hatred. He was just another soul, here to be judged, who had been found wanting.
"Tinúnil," he said, with such love and sadness, and laid a finger upon the crystal at her forehead. "One of the first I made. Trinkets and follies, some thought, before I forged the Silmarils. Already the corruption within me was growing as I dreamt it into being, though I crafted it…" She watched as an emotion she could not read passed across his face. "I crafted this one with love. But it was not for me, not then, for I was not worthy of the voice that speaks through it. I was frightened of it, and so I gave it to Galadriel, who was also ambitious, and proud. After many years it came to you, who at the time was neither of those things. But that was for the good. And now you stand before me, and you have a chance to gift it to me willingly."
Keren frowned.
"No, I don't," she said. "You said if I don't hand it over, you won't let me in. But we both know I have to give it to you, because I have to enter. I was not permitted to land anywhere else."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"But why must you land? Was there no joy in flying? If you do not enter the Halls, your spirit is free to wander the Earth. You could fly forever, and see all of the world. All the places, all the people, in Middle-earth and Aman that there are to be seen. Or you could go to Legolas, and watch over him, be with him forever."
Tears grew in her eyes. Was he being cruel, or kind? She could not tell.
"But I could never land," she said. "Never speak to him, never touch him. He would not know I was there. A - a ghost only I would be. And I would have no chance to find the ones I loved who have gone beyond the world. My family…"
"But you don't need them, not any more. You don't need anyone. It would just be you, and the world. And you would not need to face them." He inclined his head towards the cliff, towards the Halls and the judgement she knew waited beyond. "And you would get to keep Tinúnil."
Keren felt a jolt of fury go through her.
"I don't want Tinúnil," she said. "Not any more. I followed it blindly all my life, and look where it has led me."
Fëanor smiled sadly, and there was genuine pity in his eyes.
"But, Keren, it has led you right to where you are meant to be, here with me, its maker."
There was silence for a short time, and she registered the chill wind, and the crashing waves. She felt so alive - she still felt cold and wet and frustrated, and all those very human things. She did not wish to be a ghost.
"Then I will let it lead me no longer," she said. "I grant you Tinúnil, freely, and I choose to go on to be judged, whatever the outcome."
And as soon as she said it he reached out and took the diadem from her head, the shining stone within, and clasped it in his hands. Then he smiled at her.
"That was well done. Stand your ground."
Before she could wonder what he meant she noticed a door had opened in the cliff, simple and small. At once his stern face was kind and encouraging, so without looking back she walked through it, leaving him alone with his crystal and his ancient crimes.
The passage was low and dark. The door closed behind her, though she could still see, for the walls were lit with flaming torches. Down she went under the cliffs, below the earth.
She felt lighter, now that Tinúnil was gone. She had carried it for twenty years, and it had become such a part of her that her spirit had borne its power here. Only now she was free of her body did she realise how much the weight of it had pressed down upon her.
She walked a little while, until a light showed ahead, one that was not torchlight but something else. She thought her eyes must be deceiving her, for it looked like sunlight.
Tentatively she moved forwards, and the passage widened, until it opened out into a chamber of bare rock, empty save for two things.
There stood a tree, with golden leaves blowing in a light breeze - a tree of Lothlórien. Beyond it, from an unseen source, came the sunlight, and it filtered through the leaves and fell upon the face of the only other thing in the chamber - a person, a woman who stood smiling, eyes closed, revelling in the warmth of the sun. She had red hair, and freckles, and Keren's mouth.
"…Mother…?" Keren whispered, and as she spoke she felt soft grass beneath her bare feet rather than cold rock.
Orwen opened her eyes, and smiled.
"Keren, my darling," she said, and her voice was not from far away, nor distorted at all. It was real, and solid, though younger than she remembered. "At last I can see you."
Tears rolled down Keren's cheeks, and that was when she understood that every tear she had ever shed when she was alive had been from her spirit, not from the body that now undoubtedly lay still and cold beneath her beloved oak.
"Why are you still here?" she asked.
"I was waiting for you. When I came here they told me everything again, and I wanted to speak with you, before you face them." Like Fëanor she tilted her head to further along the passage, to whoever lay beyond.
"What do you mean?"
"Like you, I chose to enter the Halls rather than wander the earth. So I have never seen you, never been with you. After I was gone, I was gone, I could not reach you." She reached out now, and touched Keren's face, tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "I am not like them, I do not have the power to leave here and journey at will. But sometimes She is kind enough to tell me of you."
"She?"
Orwen smiled. "You know who I speak of, daughter. She has been watching over you as she watched over me, at Galadriel's behest."
The answering smile faded from Keren's face.
"Elbereth. Mother, did she do this? Did she bring me here?"
"That is a question you will have to ask her. She is waiting for you, with the others."
"I must go on?" Keren asked. "I must go on and leave you?"
"Yes, my love. I cannot go with you. You must face them alone, as all must. When they judge you, stand your ground. Do what I could not. I failed my daughters. Do not fail her."
Orwen looked downwards, and Keren, following her gaze, finally realised what she had done.
There in her own arms, still and sleeping, was her daughter. She had been there from the moment she had snatched at her in the glade, she had held her tight to her chest with one hand as she had flown. But she had not noticed, in the strange dream-like state. Or perhaps she had noticed, but refused to believe it. Fëanor must have granted them both passage… Fresh tears ran down Keren's face.
"Did I kill her?" she whispered, her heart breaking. "When I tried - when I tried to hold on to her?"
"'Kill' is a heavy word," Orwen replied. "But I cannot see that it was part of their plan. Perhaps they will explain. It is time for you to face them."
"They think I killed my own child?" She clung tighter to her tiny baby. "They think I would do that to her? They think I would leave Legolas without her?"
Orwen cupped Keren's face in one hand, and lay the other upon her granddaughter's head.
"I don't know what they think. But I know you must be judged, as all are who pass through the door, as I was before you. Things have not gone as they expected, and they may be angry, but I say to you: remember this, my prophesied child - your love for him will overcome all. All, Keren. Those words were not chosen lightly."
"But that prophecy came from Elbereth. Whatever I choose, I know it will be of her design, for whatever purpose she has devised. I have no free will, I never have." She began to feel afraid, and desperate, for the grass was disappearing from beneath her feet, and the light of the sun was fading.
"There you are wrong, daughter, for She did not foresee that you would bring her here."
Keren looked down at her sleeping child. What had she done, in her panic, and fear? She had taken her away from her father, a father who could never see them again, even in death.
"Go now, Keren," her mother said, "with my love and protection. If things go as I hope we will not meet again, this time."
"What do you - " Keren began, but the light had faded almost to nothing, and Orwen faded with it, until she stood alone in an empty cave.
Stand your ground. Do what I could not.
Those particular words, so similar to Fëanor's, spurred her on. She knew not what lay beyond the cave other than judgement, but she felt the love of Orwen stay with her. She also felt a strength that was all her own.
The lights flickered in the tunnel, and she knew they were growing impatient, so she clung tightly to her daughter, and walked on.
The passage continued, becoming smooth and crafted. Strange marks and carvings were upon the walls, and the torches were no longer needed, for the markings gave off a light all of their own. Immense power and age lay behind them, and she felt these tunnels had been here, unchanged, since the dawn of time.
The light grew again up ahead as the passage widened and the roof rose. The rough floor gave way to what looked like solid black marble, so smooth she was reflected in it, looking up at herself. Then suddenly she emerged into a cavernous space, and she stopped and stared. She could not see any ceiling, just an empty blackness overhead, though there were no clouds and no stars. The walls continued up and up and up until she could no longer see them. Rows of the eerily lit markings ran up them at intervals of twenty feet or so, and between them were hangings - tapestries of many colours, strangely bright in the dark halls. Light from nowhere caught on the gold and silver thread amongst the blues and browns and greys and greens. They stretched, like the walls, far into the distance towards the back of the chamber, which, from where Keren stood, appeared to have no end.
In the centre of the room was a huge dais and throne, carved of the same black shining stone as the floor. Giant steps led up to it, and towering columns, also with no visible end, went up into the void behind it.
Someone sat upon the throne, robed and hooded. He seemed to shimmer before her, three different versions of him blending into each other. Sometimes he was huge enough to fill the giant seat, sometimes he seemed the height of an elf or a tall man, and sometimes he was not a 'he' at all, but a mass of swirling grey and black.
"Come before me, flighty star-spirit."
The voice shook the earth, whilst at the same time being entirely human. Keren felt off balance and out of sorts. But she walked steadily to the throne, and bowed before him, for as she heard his voice some spark of recognition had awoken within her.
"Do you know you are dead?" The question was asked of her again.
"Yes," she replied. "As is she," she added quickly, looking to the baby in her arms, "but I did not know I could… that I would - "
He raised his hand, and she fell silent.
"We did not foresee this," he said, and his face, both ancient and ageless, looked genuinely sad. "You knew it was one of your tasks, this time, to bring about something the world had never seen. A child of elf and man, born of mortal womb. Not only a product of mutual love and trust between the two kinds of Children, but a sure sign of your strength, the strength of men, the Age of whom has now come.
We challenged you in many ways, to see if you were indeed worthy of such honour, and you passed. We ignored the aid you received, for they put themselves in your path to test you in their own way, and to test themselves. Again you passed. We had great hope, and then she was born, and we rejoiced. She, this child, was not only your reward, but a gift for the world. The things she would have done in Middle-earth, for both elves and men, and all free peoples… She was even to have led those in darkness towards the light, for so greatly would she have inspired joy and hope. And yet you have stolen her and her light away from the world, in your greed, and in your fear - your old weaknesses."
The word echoed around the cavern. Behind the columns, out of sight, she could sense a dense crowd of many people, listening in. Would she become one of them, doomed to stay here forever as punishment for taking the soul of her daughter? But she had not known…
"You don't understand," she said, and her voice came out with more conviction than she expected. "I thought it was a dream. I would never have done this knowingly - to kill her, to leave Legolas alone. It's bad enough I am parted from him forever, but now he doesn't even have our child. Please, I need to know, is - is he…?"
"We are not speaking of your bonded one now, we are speaking of you. You and your choices, you and your deeds, the times you won, the times you lost, your goodwill, your wrongdoings, in this life."
"This - this life?" Keren wondered. "I'm mortal, I have but one life."
Mandos's face was blank. "Then She did her job well, and you have forgotten."
"Forgotten what?" She had no patience with the endless talking and lack of answers.
"Firstly: creation, flighty one. Creation. You were there, at the first spark of something other than the void. But that is nothing special, for every soul who has ever been was there too. I was there, your elf was there, your shore-treasure was there, the wizards were there, the eagles were there, every creature that has ever lived, ever died, ever will live, was there. Billions upon trillions of souls. And together we sang, and created the universe."
Keren did not remember, but as she heard it she felt the truth in it, and she stood motionless as Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar, told her that which she had forgotten.
"Some of us led the singing," he went on. "Me and my kin. The greatest of us, Varda, Manwë, and his brother Melkor that fell, were some of the strongest voices. Others, smaller, less powerful, followed. But they were no less important. You were one of them, one of the followers, as everyone was. And you were flighty. You did not think an equal sound, a balanced world, was best. You became drawn to the discord that was spreading, and you added to it, and you revelled in it. Not from any great evil within you, but rather from a fear of being the same as everyone else, of being counted only as one amongst a crowd, all singing the same song, all dreaming the same dreams. Where was your power, your recognition, you asked. And so you were punished, for because of you and others like you we knew we would always have to fight, to keep the world in balance, to keep things just and fair. Your punishment was chosen by she who loved you the most."
Keren turned and looked all about her, for suddenly fair music echoed through the chamber, like the twinkling of stars. At once it sounded at Keren's shoulder, though it echoed with all the distance of planets many thousands of miles away.
She appeared as a glittering fall of starlight at first, like tiny sparks in the air, flickering and floating. But then she became vast in her majesty, as Mandos was now, filling the cavern - a woman tall and regal, with power in her eyes of white fire, and gems of shining starlight within her dark hair. Her skin was black and flawless as a cloudless night sky, and she was dressed in many shades, from twilight to moonless pitch to earliest dawn. But as Keren blinked suddenly she was much smaller, and changing again. She was now a pale elf, all in white, with long fair hair, and a look of Galadriel. Keren had met her before, long ago.
"Elunis?" she whispered. "You were Elunis?"
Elbereth smiled. "I am Elunis. Or Elunis is me. We can still walk the earth in the raiment of those we love, if we choose to, and I was always close to the elves. We have done our job well if none know who they are speaking to. So I must have done my job well with you." She looked unerringly human as she looked smug, then looked over at Mandos. "Although Námo here chooses not to go and spend time with the living. He is afraid of them, you see."
There was a telling silence from Mandos, but Keren refused to be taken in by Elbereth's attempt to put her at ease.
"Did you bring me here?" There was anger and hurt in her voice, and all the questions she had been longing to ask tumbled out. "Once my daughter was born did you decide I was surplus to requirements? Did you kill me as punishment for what Mandos says I did during the great singing?"
When those two words came out of her mouth she knew some deep part of her must remember it, for they were strange and old, and she knew she must have done what they said. But she could scarce believe it. She - who had been scared to do anything alone before her great adventure, she who had blindly followed what a disembodied voice had told her to do for so many years - she had been a voice of dissent, wanting to selfishly set herself above others? None of it made any sense.
"'Kill' is a heavy word." Elbereth repeated Orwen's earlier phrase. "Your mortal self died. But, yes, I brought you here. To be more specific, I made that body's heart bring you here," Elbereth said, constantly flickering between elf and majestic queen of night. "Or rather, your heart failing - a weakness you carried since birth, lying dormant and hidden. Even the greatest healer would not have found it. That is what took you. This time."
"What do you mean, this time?" Keren asked again.
"The others thought your punishment seemed great, after the singing," the night-queen said. "But I had faith in you - secretly I was giving you a chance to right the wrong you did. To set right the balance you had helped to destroy. I made your punishment a task."
"To bear an elven child of mortal womb, I know," she said shortly.
"No." Elbereth's voice was patient. "That came later. That was a gift for the lifetime just passed, for the others had seen how far you had come by then."
"…I…" Keren was completely lost.
"Your long task, your soul's true work, begins with another of the star daughters. Altogether we were, a mass of spirits who love the stars, who look up at them and wonder, and hope. I led you all in harmony, and together we created the night sky. You, and she, and countless millions of others across time. There we all were, working together, as close as could be, until you and some others strayed."
Elbereth smiled down at the sleeping spirit in Keren's arms.
"When this little one was called from the void into life, I thought that when I took you this time, it would be to where you finally deserved to be."
"Where is that?" Keren asked.
"Elvenhome, within this, the land of Aman - to replace the one who gave up her future there."
Keren was still for a while as she realised who Elbereth meant.
"Arwen?"
Elbereth smiled fondly.
"I knew the one who became Arwen Undómiel was always going to choose mortality to be with the one she loved. Their souls sang the same tune long before they knew what their life together would mean. Someone needed to take her place, to be counted amongst the immortals. And I chose you - for that would be the ultimate triumph. To take one of my own who had strayed, to have so much faith in another soul, a weaker soul," - Keren blinked - "to trust that they could be the one to right the imbalance that they had helped to create… Others thought I was foolish, but I knew there was hope."
Keren's head was spinning. She tried to speak but could not, so Elbereth went on.
"Others of the star-folk have stood where you are now, faced with similar tasks, with mistakes or gifts of their own. I was careful to put you where Lúthien's tale would cross your path often, for she was one of them. She triumphed, and has now deservedly gone beyond, with her bond-mate. Somewhere, in the deepest parts of you that remembered everything, I wanted you to have hope that it could be done."
"Every… everything. You controlled everything - every place, every person, every word, every deed. My whole life."
"Not quite everything, and it was not control, though often you thought that, I know. But you did listen to my guidance, on the whole. I wanted you to succeed. I was helping you to get to Valinor. Yes, it meant your mortal life would end, but I knew that meant you would come here and I could grant you a new life across the sea, and he that belonged with you would, one day, find you there. I was pushing you to where you would be happiest, my beloved star-child."
Keren stood reeling in silent understanding.
"And so you stand here now, having passed all our tests," Elbereth went on. "Not only did you atone for your mistakes at the singing, at last earning your place in Valinor, but you had your daughter too. It was everything I had dreamed for you. But…" She looked close to tears. "Still I cannot grant you immortality, not this time.
You were so close, so close. But at the very end, you failed again. Your daughter herself tested you, in a way we had not foreseen. Her little spirit was new and weak, and when you pulled her away, she came. It took many lifetimes within mortal flesh for you to finally triumph, but then as soon as you were spirit once more you reverted to your old self - you acted through fear and greed, and you snatched one you loved out of life, so you would not be alone."
The tears rolled down the Star-queen's face. Keren felt her warmth and love and pity. But she felt something else from her, something that hurt immensely - disappointment.
"No, I - I didn't know that was what I was doing… I can't have known, I…" Keren managed to speak, but her mind had already moved onto something else, for everything was roiling around in her brain like a turbulent sea. "All… my lifetimes?"
"After the singing I bound your soul to the earth, like the Eldar's," Elbereth said. "I went against my husband in doing so, against all my kin. But I knew Ilúvatar was watching with interest, and He never stopped me, and that gave me hope. It was a punishment indeed, but it was also a chance for redemption. I gave you life, after life, after life - many, many chances to carry out what I knew you could do. And, to help you, there were others too, others I bound - those spirits who you were closest to, I sent them to earth each time with you, and they went willingly. Here in these Halls you would wait for them, here you would all wait for each other, ready to go around again. And they were patient each time you failed, for the love between you all was very great. Come, I will show you. Walk with me."
Elbereth offered her hand, and as Keren took it she knew it had been that hand she had held as she had flown over Aman. They strolled along beside the walls.
"The tapestries that hang here were crafted by Vairë. She is the wife of Mandos, and it is her task to weave, within them, the story of the world. So they stretch on forever, ever-growing, as these Halls do. Most beings who ever lived will find themselves within their fibres somewhere. But you are here many times, you and your companions."
She gestured towards the tapestries.
"Every time, every life, they were there, always in a different guise, some to love you, some to test you, some both," Elbereth explained as they walked. "See, here, and here."
At the places her finger aimed the images glowed, and Keren saw herself within the colourful strands. Thirty or so scenes lit up all over the hall, and in none of them did she look how she had remembered from the life just gone. Here she was tall, there she was male, here she was stunningly fair, there she looked grim and unfriendly. Sometimes she was clad in armour, other times in rags - it was all there, the spectrum of wealth and trades - beautiful gowns of silk, rough woollen shirts, bare feet, clogs, boots, fine slippers. But always, no matter where she looked, she was mortal, and she was young.
There were people with her every time, as Elbereth had said. They, too, always looked different.
"Some were family, some were friends," the Vala explained. "Though they were not always in the same roles."
She came to a stop in front of an image of three people, close to the ground.
"But there were two in particular who always had the same part to play, for out of all of us you were closest to them at the singing, and they loved you best. One would always don mortal form, whilst one would always be of the Eldar. The choice between them would always be your biggest test in each life. You know of whom I speak."
Keren looked down at the tapestry. There within the woven strands was herself as she had been in the life just gone. Tinúnil shone upon her brow, silver and white and gold thread glistening, yet she was dressed in her healer's garb. Either side of her were two familiar figures. Faramir was to her left, with his dark hair and serious face, and there on her right…
"Legolas," she whispered, and the longing in her voice, had she known it, caused Mandos over on his throne to weep. She felt herself disappearing a little at the edges, flickering in and out.
"It is alright," she heard Elbereth say. "You will see them again, next time, when this is forgotten."
She gathered herself, and Varda went on.
"Every time you were guided to both of them. Every time they each offered you the same thing, vastly different from what the other could give. And every time you chose. Mostly you chose the one who could lift you from the crowd, who could give you a palace, or, at the least, comfort, who seemed to be all you wanted. They joined you in the discordance by the way, at the singing, for you were always of very like mind.
Only rarely would you choose your bonded one, the soul literally made for you, for you knew that was the harder path.
You began by singing the same tune, the two of you at creation. When they heard you straying they tried to bring you back to yourself, before I stepped in. They are the one who you would suffer with, and would suffer for. You would happily live in the wild that they loved, because you did not need comfort, or wealth, or to be set above others. They would make your heart ring with the wisdom and love they had carried within them since the singing.
But it was not always simple. Just because you sometimes chose the elf did not mean you succeeded in your task, for he tested you too, in his own way. And both had their own lessons to learn. You have always, the three of you, travelled together, but always it came down to your choice, for only through you could the balance be restored."
Keren sank to the floor, and sat gazing upon the tapestry of the three of them.
"The prophecy spoke of both of them, and neither," she realised as she said it. "It was whoever I chose."
Elbereth nodded.
"Did they know?" she asked. "Did any of them know? Were they all sent back with no memories, as I was?"
"Your souls remembered. Their souls knew what to do, to help you. But it was important that each life was lived for its own sake. So no, there were no memories, for any of you, of the lives before. Though I sent dreams and words to you all, sometimes, to help you along. The elves saw the most, though the raven, he also felt things keenly."
"Poor Hrafn."
"A brother to you he was, in some lives, a servant, or a lover, in others. He felt it, though he did not understand it - the same as all of you. He chose not to enter the Halls, this time. I am grateful for his sacrifice, as should you be, for it meant he could guide you out of the darkest places. But now you are here I feel he will appear at the doors before too long, and join the other who waits for you."
Keren did not want to mention that she had seen Orwen, though it may well be that Elbereth already knew.
"Faramir fought against it," she said quickly, changing the subject. "This time, he - he said he did not want to feel… he felt like something was - "
"Controlling him?" Varda finished for her. "That was his own soul, my dear, longing to be with yours. That was what he fought against, all the time you were alive, and it tore him apart, though he did not know why. The two of you almost came together, and it was his strength of will, not yours, that meant he could walk away, leave you to be with the one he knew would bring about the child the world needed. He has not given you up so peacefully in other times. It was that same strength in this life that meant he could walk away from the Ring of Power, as few could. He has come the furthest, perhaps, out of the three of you, and certainly he has helped you the most, at his own cost."
Tears were upon Keren's cheeks again.
"But Éowyn…"
Elbereth nodded. "Hers is a very strong soul. She came to help, this time, for all wanted you to succeed. Though it almost came to naught. But now they are together, and Faramir passed his own test. Their souls joining will have made your next attempt easier, and when you finally succeed - which you will - they will be happy, and go into eternity together."
"I'm glad. At least some in this mess eventually get a happy ending."
"It is a mess of your own making," Elbereth said sternly.
"And I am sorry for it," Keren answered. "But you punished all of them, not just me. That was unnecessary. Round and around in an endless circle, those who are mortal denied their freedom in death, until I succeed."
Elbereth looked sad. "That was part of your punishment."
Keren met her eyes for a short time, then hung her head in shame.
Elbereth's voice was strict again. "Some of your lives were like the last - humble, skilled, honourable. In others you were like your old spirit-self in human form - proud, and vain, and greedy. But whatever you were, always I wanted just one realisation from you - that you can raise yourself up, think yourself strong, without thinking yourself above others. Power comes from within - it is not others worshipping you, it is not thinking you are better than they. It is a quiet confidence, not a loud boast. It is help, and hope, not greed. And in this life, you finally knew that."
She knelt before Keren, as Elunis again, and placed a gentle hand upon her cheek.
"When you met me in this guise, in Lothlórien, you said something to me that gave me hope that this life was the one, that you would finally earn your place in the West."
Keren sniffed. "What did I say?"
"That Galadriel's high situation of birth, so different from yours, was not the reason for her power. That it was possible to be strong, but humble. You frowned upon those who desired nothing but greatness. I was so very proud of you, as I sent you to her."
"Did she give my mother and I Tinúnil in every life?" Keren wondered.
"No. Galadriel has lived so long she has met some of you in several lives, though only the tiniest spark of her soul was aware of that. It was only this time she felt the call to gift you the crystal, for I decided to grant you leniency, and speak to you directly, for time was pressing when it came to Undómiel's choice, and in each life you were only ever granted thirty years."
Keren frowned. "That is not a long time."
"It was one of the conditions of the others. He, mostly." She nodded towards Mandos, who was watching them from afar.
"And I am still waiting for a sign of repentance," he said, his voice echoing about the cavern. "You faced every trial, every test. You truly earned your place in the West. You were granted the birth of a child of wonder. It appeared nothing could go wrong, this time. But then you selfishly took her, from her father, and from the world, and you have shown no sign of repentance. Instead you pretend you did not know what you were doing. But I say this: I have seen almost everything there is to see in this world, so I see your heart, and at that moment I saw greed within it. You were afraid, and you knew you were dying, so you took her to comfort yourself. Can you deny it? Now you have heard the lessons? Now you have remembered?"
So Keren's final stubbornness and vanity fell away, and she fell into weeping, and clutched at her daughter.
"I tried holding onto other things. I tried to use them to anchor me, for I did not want to go, I did not want to leave Legolas, or her. But nothing reached back, not even the trees that I loved so well. So when I knew I must go, I… She was mine. I'd fought so hard to bring her into being. I couldn't - I couldn't just leave her. Wherever I was going, I wanted her there. But now… I see what that meant, for her, for Legolas, for the world and everyone in it. And I'm sorry. I see that however far I've come since the singing, there is still darkness within me - greed, and cowardice."
She turned to Elbereth.
"I am truly sorry I am still such a disappointment. And I understand that I do not deserve another chance."
Varda looked grave, though her eyes were kind.
"You say that every time," she said, and Keren realised she must have stood here many times before, having the same conversation over and over again. Except this time she had brought an innocent spirit with her. She felt herself caving in.
"And every time," Elbereth went on, "I reply that you will have one. For this can only be over once you have truly learnt the nature of having power without the desire to hold it over others. And once you know where to find courage when power deserts you."
Mandos nodded.
"Your mother is here already," he said, "and soon the raven, waiting to be sent back. But most are still living. You must wait for them here as you always do, before you begin again. But next time, upon your return, there will be no child, no gift to you, for you have shown you cannot yet be trusted with it. That desire within you will not emerge next time. I knew it was too much to ask, I told you…" He looked over at Elbereth with a look of judgement upon his face.
Keren felt anger grow in her belly.
"Why, you crave power yourself!" she said. "Both of you. Over each other, over me, over everything. You punish me for my weaknesses because you see the same flaws in yourself. You have had power over my whole life, over many lives - but you have not earned it, that was just how you were made at the beginning. I happened to be small and you happened to be great. We respect your might and majesty, but what have you done to deserve it, save to be fortunate enough to rule the earth from the very start?"
Mandos stood from his throne, and he towered over all.
"You dare speak thus to the highest powers - ?" he cried.
"Listen to yourself!" was her answer. "'The highest powers'. Ha! You can see everything there ever was and ever will be, yet you choose always to hide with the dead in here." She gestured around the bleak chamber. "Because you are afraid of the world you helped create."
She then turned to Elbereth. "And you have millions on earth even now singing your name in praise, and yet you know you cannot possibly help all of them, but you allow it to continue, you take the glory, you take the power they give you. Cowardice," - she pointed to Mandos - "and lust for power," - she span back round to Elbereth, "and selfishness. The very things you hold me to account for. If you led me in the singing, Lady, then you taught me how to sing those things."
Mandos became a shivering mass of dark cloud that moved towards her at speed. But Elbereth stood still, and quiet, and Keren could not read the expression on her face.
Just as the cloud reached her she heard the queen of the stars cry out.
"Wait, Námo, wait! You know she is right, though none have dared say it."
The cloud shimmered, and suddenly he was a tall man standing right before her, with disturbingly sad, tired, human eyes.
Elbereth came beside him, until they were both facing Keren.
"You speak truth," she said. "But you forget, there is One over us all, who we also answer to. And you have not thought to ask if we, too, are being tested. We are patient with you, and all others, for we would ask for patience ourselves." She gave Mandos a sharp look.
Keren did not know what to say. Her daughter slept on in her arms - one look at her face and she could think of nothing else.
"What will happen to her?" she asked.
Elbereth was once again solemn and sad.
"Her time is passed. That chance is gone. She will go back to the void."
"But Legolas - "
"Will fade away with grief, this time. You must learn the results of your actions, just like all the times before. His spirit will eventually wander here again, and you will see him, but this time he will be more hurt than ever, that you have failed in this way. But he will forget, as will you, when you both go back."
Mandos went back to his throne, but Elbereth remained by Keren's side.
"It is time for my judgement," he said, as Keren knew he had said to every soul who had come before him. "You have understood how you failed in this life. I judge you will return to earth once all of your companions are assembled here. When you embark upon your next life, again you will choose - an elf of tree and sea, or a mortal of stone and shore. Selfless love, or selfish love. A brave choice, or a cowardly choice. You will not recognise them, and they will not recognise you. But your souls, your souls will know. And again, despite everything, you will work together to right the balance. But as always it will be your choice. Only you can take Arwen Undómiel's place. And remember, now she has made her choice, it is ever more urgent that you succeed."
Silence fell across the Halls. A voice seemed to whisper from far away.
Do what I could not.
And Keren stood, and she made her choice.
The Queen of the Valar spoke. "You do not have to choose now, but it's wise to think on your - "
"I will choose neither," Keren said, and her voice rang around the cavern.
A flicker of panic shot across Elbereth's face, though Mandos was unmoved.
"Instead I choose her," she said, and held out her daughter to the star-queen.
All was silent in the Halls, but she sensed all the people, always just out of sight, leaning in close to listen.
"Star-child, what do you mean?" Elbereth asked, and confusion and hurt was written in her eyes.
Do what I could not.
"I choose my daughter," she said again. "But not for myself."
She turned to the throne.
"I reject your judgement," she replied. "Do not send me back again. Send her instead. My daughter is the gift the world needs. It is her light that is needed to right the balance, not me hidden away in the West. She is half-elven, she is immortal - she is the perfect one to take Arwen's place. Let her be the new dawn as the Evenstar's light fades. Let her go back and comfort her father, stop him fading away. Let her do all the things you said she could. Let her have power that is not force or might, but strength of spirit. Let her have the quiet courage that others feel as a warmth in their hearts. And I will stay here. If it's good enough for Fëanor it's good enough for me. That will be my repentance, and she can still be my gift to the world. Send my bonded one our daughter, though I know it means I will never see either of them again."
Elbereth looked long and hard at her, and Keren felt naked and defenceless before her. But she stood her ground.
And then something happened in the star queen's eyes, and Keren blinked, and she was gone.
It was the sound first, that came to her. Gentle waves breaking on a smooth shore. Then she saw she was no longer in a dark subterranean cavern, but wandering along a beach of fine, soft sand. Her daughter stirred in her arms, and she was pink from the blood flowing under her skin, and her little chest rose and fell with each breath. Her ears were pointed and her mouth was pursed in concentrated repose.
Keren knew not what to think. Her daughter had not been sent to Legolas. Instead they were together, the two of them, and they were still in Aman, but alive.
Had he already faded, then? Was it too late?
As she fretted she saw someone, stood far off amongst the dunes, all in white. The figure raised its hand in greeting, and she walked towards them, and thought she knew who it was. As she drew near she bowed before them, and smiled, though she was confused.
"My lady," she said. "Do you have answers for me again?"
Galadriel smiled with joy, and in a most un-elf-like way ran towards her and hugged her tight.
"No answers this time," Galadriel said, still holding her close. "Just happiness. I had long hoped you would call these shores home, but I could not see how it would come to pass."
Keren pulled back a little, and spoke.
"I have not forgotten this time. I remember everything, and I will tell you it all."
Galadriel's brow furrowed in happy confusion, but Keren went on.
"It was only in the darkest Halls of Doom I at last learnt what real power is - the kind of power you worked hard to learn to wield, the kind of power that Aragorn has, and the hobbits. And it overcomes all." She laughed, knowing she would never need to think of that prophecy ever again.
Galadriel smiled. "And what is it?"
"Doing good, without the desire for recognition. Having courage, without expecting a reward. It is love," she said seriously. "Love that is unselfish."
Galadriel nodded, in agreement and understanding, and together they cried with joy and wonder.
"I am proud of you, Ciraen," Galadriel said, and hearing that name upon the shores of Aman, in Elvenhome, Keren knew it finally belonged to her. She hoped, now, that it would hold true, and if Legolas was still alive and whole that he would sail away, sail to her. She shrugged off her former name like a worn old coat, faded, but loved. For Keren was someone else, someone beneath the ground, far away across the sea.
Something else was different, for she noticed now she was at the tall elf's shoulder rather than her breast, and she knew - suddenly and wonderfully - that she was one of the Eldar herself. Her hand tentatively reached up to brush a pointed ear, then she looked down at her body, for she was naked as all the days she had been born. She looked in wonder, for there upon her stomach was a long, thin scar, white and shining now, long healed.
"They left me my scar," she whispered.
Galadriel watched her for a moment.
But she smiled through her tears.
"I'm glad," she said, and through the years she kept smiling, and her daughter grew tall and fair, and her name finally found her - Calairië - the light from the sea. And when one day Galadriel took their hands and told them sails had been sighted, sails with a sigil of green leaves and stars painted upon them, she had run with them down to the sea as though borne upon the wind.
Legolas and Gimli boarded their ship at Cair Andros, and with them were many elves of the Greenwood and Ithilien. Legolas's father was not there, nor had they spoken since Keren's death. He wondered if Thranduil would ever sail, now. Perhaps he would stubbornly fade away, or hide within his treasure forever.
They cast off from Cair Andros, and slowly the large ship made its way south. Crowds gathered to watch it sail by, the final passage of the elf-prince and his friends. The gruff old dwarf stood waving from the railings, but Legolas's eyes were always set on the horizon. Past cities and villages and homesteads they went, until the river opened up, and the open sea lay before them.
"Ready, old friend?" Legolas took his eyes from the waves and looked down at the dwarf as they stood at the bow.
"I was born ready, lad," Gimli said.
For many days and nights they sailed, and sometimes the seas were calm, and sometimes Gimli was thrown about like potatoes in a sack. But always he rallied, and when he grumbled he thought of Galadriel's hair, still in his pocket, and he soon was laughing as he tumbled and fell. They lost track of the passing days, but there came a time, after a long while, when all felt it - the shift in the air, in the hours.
"The straight road," Legolas cried joyfully from where he raised the sails. "The wind has changed. The world has changed! You have been granted passage, Gimli!"
"Well…" Gimli began to say, but could not finish. "I… Well!" Then: "Thank you," he mumbled, to no-one in particular.
The weather grew foul for a time - rain lashed down and winds threatened to blow them off course. Some began to fear that the dwarf was not welcome after all, and they were doomed to be lost at sea forever. But the exhilaration never left Legolas. There was something there, over the waves, that called to him. It was home, it was peace, it was happiness. It was where he belonged. This was what the journey should be - an adventure, and it would make the peace of their destination all the more sweet. His constant energy gave the others hope, and soon they saw there was nothing to fear, for the skies cleared, and the wind blew them westward. The sea became as still as a millpond, and the air grew fresher, lighter. Legolas could feel it - the air of home, that which he had long smell in his dreams. Gulls called from a distance.
"Ai, Tol Eressëa," he said softly. "Long have you called me. Now I am come."
A mist rose up and surrounded them, and all was chill and silent for a time. No-one spoke, and they let the ship drift where it would, for they knew it would not stray now. A day and night passed thus, but then the next morning a pale sun broke through the mist to the rear of the boat, and at the prow there appeared a sight that none would forget.
An island was slowly revealed to them through the haze, and as the fog cleared so the land drew nearer. Legolas stood at the helm, a hand on Gimli's shoulder, and together they watched as they saw hills, then a city, then a harbour at the water's edge.
There were many of his people, come to welcome them, so many that a crowd had formed where the ship was to dock. They stood with smiles of welcome, but there was a strange silence he had not expected, a silence of quiet excitement, of barely concealed anticipation.
Golden hair he saw - the Vanyar, those who had never left these shores for Middle-earth. Dark and silver heads there were also - the Noldor, and the Teleri, ancestors of his people, and many Sindar and Silvan. Elrond was there, and Legolas bowed, a hand to his breast. There was also an old man, cloaked in white, and the sight of him caused the elf to cry out with joy, and the dwarf to weep.
But then Gimli almost choked, for next to Gandalf was Galadriel, beaming in welcome. Legolas nodded his head. She had much to explain to him.
She smiled a little, looking almost coy, then moved aside, so those in the crowd behind her were revealed.
He saw a young elf first, perhaps a hundred or so, just come of age. There was something about her that was strangely familiar. She had silver hair, and was slim and light as a willow wand. But her face… Her face…
His hand upon Gimli's shoulder clenched.
She was so like Keren. Why would someone so like Keren be here?
But then he saw the expression on her face was one of excited curiosity, and something else. Love. He watched as she turned and smiled at someone who stood just behind her.
Legolas saw dark hair, and a pale face. He saw soft lips that smiled, and warm, brown eyes that wept. He saw an elf, of that he was sure, but she was…
"Oh, laddie." He heard Gimli's voice shake beside him, and he turned to the dwarf, knowing what his friend was about to say. "For a minute there I thought… There's a face there that… Ah, but my old eyes are deceiving me."
But together they looked again at that face in the crowd. Then they looked to Gandalf.
The wizard winked.
Gimli roared with mirth.
And Legolas slowly began to smile.
Epilogue
They lived in bliss upon Tol Eressëa.
But Calairië always had an air of something about her, something other, something fey, an impatience of a kind. Ciraen knew that once she had got to know her father she would announce her departure, for her daughter was closer to the Valar than even she had been, and far stronger than she ever was.
Sure enough soon their daughter came to them and said she must go to her work.
"You named me the light from the sea, and that is what I must be," she said to them. "I am ready now. But I will return, when my work is done, and we will not be parted again."
So she boarded a ship, and she became one of the few who had ever sailed eastwards from the Undying Lands, and when she landed upon the western shores of Middle-earth, the last of the half-elven, folk thought a Maiar queen had been sent from across the waves, for such was the power she had, and all who knew her grew to love her.
Ciraen and Legolas stood watching the ship until it disappeared over the horizon, and they wept a little, for they knew it would be many years before they saw her again.
"Did you ever think, beneath the willow…?" he began.
"I thought of nothing save how excited I was to see an elf," she replied. "Little did I know what paths you would lead me down, what adventures you would bring me."
He gave her a strange smile.
"Do you want another adventure, my love?"
She looked up at him. Yes, she did.
So once Gimli's soul had fled to the halls, and they had honoured him, they departed from Tol Eressëa, and sailed to the mainland of Aman where Galadriel now dwelt, and stayed with her, for a time. Then when their feet began to itch they set off, and together they wandered the land, to the many cities of the Eldar, to the plains of Yavanna, the woods of Lórien, the mountains of the Pelóri, the valley of the Calacirya. They were looking for a home, though until they found it they were content to travel where they pleased, finding rest in all the fair places of the world.
Very soon another child came, and he was named Tathar for the willow he was born under, and all said he resembled his namesake, with his brown eyes and silver hair. He grew quickly, and soon he could walk, and run, his little hand clasping onto a finger for balance.
One day Ciraen took his hand in hers, and together they walked through the willow meads, where a little river rolled gently by. He trotted along beside her, pointing at the dragonflies in the long grass, wings shining in the sun.
Legolas watched them fondly from beneath a tree, and something slotted into place within him.
And Ciraen looked back at him and smiled, as if she knew the vision of his wife and child, that Tinúnil had shown him long ago, was now there before him, real and whole.
Curator's note: The following text appears to have been added to the manuscript much later, in a modern hand.
Even today it is said that, though all the world is changed, if you find the willow meads in what was once Aman, and you are weary, then the elves who still dwell there in secret will give you rest and succour, and they will laugh at your coming, and welcome you with open arms, and let you stay awhile. The fairest of them especially will ease your heart, for she is said to be light itself. But truly it is a joy to see any of them, especially if you are lucky enough to spy them running through the trees beneath the stars. Often they will stop and look up at the night sky heavy with brightness, and if the smallest - she who was once mortal - sees you, she will tell you to follow her gaze upwards, and hope.
THE END.
Goodbye, fanfic friends - and some of you really are my friends now, though the Sundering Sea separates us. Much love to you all. Happy new year. I hope we all have a better 2021. Hope is a wonderful thing x
