Summary: The last nostalgic thoughts of the Lady Galadriel before she
leaves Middle-earth forever.
Disclaimer: yep, none of it belongs, or will belong, to me-no matter how
hard I pray.
Namarie
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
My time here is over. Most of my people have already gone. Celeborn has already left for Imladris, and I am alone here. Here, in this beautiful place beyond that of mortal time, I stand.
My home, my sanctuary is fading; it has been for many years.
In the waning sunlight I stand, alone and silent. The motes sparkle and dance in the air, oblivious to my pain.
A long time ago, I danced on this very spot to the music of my elanor, my golden hair flying around me as my hands and bare feet sang their song of joy. But that was millennia ago. The ancient melodies echo mournfully down my long halls of time.
Lorien was slipping backward, like a bright ship masted with enchanted trees, sailing on to forgotten shores.
I know every mallorn, their silver branches soaring up above me, reaching for the very stars of Elbereth. I remember every niphredil, and every blade of grass. Nothing, however, nothing will ever go back to the way it was before. The wind will never be as fresh as it was in the Elder Days that have gone beyond the western hills. The mallorns will never be as tall nor the soft grass so green. However, with each day, the Sea grows ever wider.
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew: Of wind I sang a wind there came and in the branches blew. Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea, And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden tree. Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone, In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion. There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years, While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. O Lorien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day; The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away. O Lorien! Too long have I dwelt upon this Hither Shore And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?
As I walk down the paths, wrought with time, the old forgotten songs begin to come back to me. Painful memories rise in my mind's eye. The pale, shimmering beauty of a dawn in Tirion, parting with my father in Valinor, the cruel crossing of Helcaraxe, meeting Celeborn in the eaves of the woods of Doriath*, the journey over the mountains to the kingdom of Amroth, receiving Nenya, the White Council, parting with my beloved daughter, the test of the Ring.
The memories flash by; my body feels bent with the weight of them. Bitter tears run silently down my face as my eyes grace this beautiful land that I have worked so hard to protect. But it is time to go now. The eternal waves crash against the shore, I can hear them softly calling my name.
Galadriel! Galadriel!
But the land was silent.
I ride now to Mithlond, where the grey ships lie. Cirdan awaits. The great Ship is sailing.
One last time I turn and gaze at my beloved Middle-earth, falling against the horizon while the white ship carries me back, back away to my homeland.
*There are two versions of Tolkien's story of Galadriel and Celeborn, for more info on this either email me or read it yourself in the Unfinished Tales.
Namarie
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
My time here is over. Most of my people have already gone. Celeborn has already left for Imladris, and I am alone here. Here, in this beautiful place beyond that of mortal time, I stand.
My home, my sanctuary is fading; it has been for many years.
In the waning sunlight I stand, alone and silent. The motes sparkle and dance in the air, oblivious to my pain.
A long time ago, I danced on this very spot to the music of my elanor, my golden hair flying around me as my hands and bare feet sang their song of joy. But that was millennia ago. The ancient melodies echo mournfully down my long halls of time.
Lorien was slipping backward, like a bright ship masted with enchanted trees, sailing on to forgotten shores.
I know every mallorn, their silver branches soaring up above me, reaching for the very stars of Elbereth. I remember every niphredil, and every blade of grass. Nothing, however, nothing will ever go back to the way it was before. The wind will never be as fresh as it was in the Elder Days that have gone beyond the western hills. The mallorns will never be as tall nor the soft grass so green. However, with each day, the Sea grows ever wider.
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew: Of wind I sang a wind there came and in the branches blew. Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea, And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden tree. Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone, In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion. There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years, While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. O Lorien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day; The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away. O Lorien! Too long have I dwelt upon this Hither Shore And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?
As I walk down the paths, wrought with time, the old forgotten songs begin to come back to me. Painful memories rise in my mind's eye. The pale, shimmering beauty of a dawn in Tirion, parting with my father in Valinor, the cruel crossing of Helcaraxe, meeting Celeborn in the eaves of the woods of Doriath*, the journey over the mountains to the kingdom of Amroth, receiving Nenya, the White Council, parting with my beloved daughter, the test of the Ring.
The memories flash by; my body feels bent with the weight of them. Bitter tears run silently down my face as my eyes grace this beautiful land that I have worked so hard to protect. But it is time to go now. The eternal waves crash against the shore, I can hear them softly calling my name.
Galadriel! Galadriel!
But the land was silent.
I ride now to Mithlond, where the grey ships lie. Cirdan awaits. The great Ship is sailing.
One last time I turn and gaze at my beloved Middle-earth, falling against the horizon while the white ship carries me back, back away to my homeland.
*There are two versions of Tolkien's story of Galadriel and Celeborn, for more info on this either email me or read it yourself in the Unfinished Tales.