Galadriel's Song
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 Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have 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?
Doom of Galadriel
We are alone.
The stars are fading, a shadow ever grows in the east. Golden leaves fall in the darkened wood, for the endless winter is nigh.
The ravaging fires are consuming. The grinding ice is spreading. The world is dying.
I cannot tell what will come to pass. The power of my people is waning, I have already councilled their immediate departure, but many will not forsake this land for the west.
Too long have I wandered these hither shores. Too long have I watched the downfall of elves, men and dwarves. No oath did I take, no kin did I slay, yet the doom that claimed my brethren falls also upon my soul.
The leaves whisper in anticipation, a rumour in the dark, evil is coming. The trees feel the shadow, the ground shakes in fear, and the elves hide in their talans, waiting for certain death. They will not follow the river to the sea. Through strife and war they have remained, but their love of this Middle Earth renders them reluctant to sail the water.
Yet some have hope. To the sea, to the sea, they cry with joy, fair Elendë lies over the water, the blessed realm. To the sea I go not. The pain of past days in an immortal land, that has now turned its back on me. Nay, to the sea I go not.
Sundered from my kin, alone in a dying world, I will be consumed by fire and shadow, and the realm of Galadriel will fall.
My time on this curséd land has passed. Valour has forsaken this world, and I desire no longer to be a part of it. Where then will I go? O Elendë! Too long it has been since I last descried your fair shores. I stood upon the edge of the Helcaräxe, the grinding ice, and vowed never to return. How I regret my foolish decision, I was then yet young, and greedy for knowledge, and power. Yet also were my brethren, and there befell their doom. O brothers, how I miss you so.
Millennia ago in a forgotten age, Fëanor, son of Finwë, our most beloved lord, slain in cold blood by Melkor, Morgoth the Enemy, swore a terrible oath. He swore that he would pursue his father's murderer to the death, and to the death he did, until he was finally cut down by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, fire demons of Morgoth. My father, beloved Finarfin, forsook the march, and turned back, I wept, for in my heart I knew I was to never see him again.
Under the stars of Varda beloved, they fought, and under Sun and Moon they died. Finrod, slain in defence of Beren Erchamion in the very dungeons of the enemy. Orodreth, marching his troops onto the field, fell amongst friends onto a barren land of fire and ash. Aegnor and Angrod, faithful to the end, were cut down together in the Battle of Sudden Flame, where the wingéd worms of Morgoth in a tempest of fire, swooped down onto the brave pair.
Where was I?
Hidden in a hidden kingdom, ruled by a proud King. To war he went not, he sat on his golden throne, protected by the magical fence of Doriath. While my brothers, cousins, and friends held their heads high, and marched to their dooms, this King, Elu Thingol, before his corruption named Elwë, waited for his own demise. And sure enough it came, Thingol's own ignorance killed him, for he took into his realm one of the curséd Silmarils, a work of Fëanor, of these jewels many desired, and for them he was murdered.
Alone I travelled north and south, finding death, destruction, and forgotten realms. Lord Celeborn, my beloved, kinsman of Thingol, took a last host into the east, and established a stronghold against the evils of Morgoth. But we were defeated. We knew this. But the will of the elves is strong, as is the defiance of the sons of Finwë, of the daughter of Finwë.
In a last effort to end evil forever, the Valar came to the elves' aid, in a thunderstorm of massive proportion, Morgoth made his war, his last war, and Eärendil the faithful, Maedhros the Tall, and Dior Eluchil, joined the Gods in their revenge. Tulkas the strong, and Oromë of the forests brought the downfall of the greatest evil the world has known. All was well, as the terrible iron peaks of Thangorodrim collapsed, and the pits of Angband broken, and the healing world rejoiced.
But the greatest servant of Morgoth, Sauron, Gorthaur the abhorred, they did not find. And now, evil has returned to these lands, the once great realms of men have diminished, the elves have sailed away. We have not the power to stop the approaching storm. The Gods are no longer concerned, they have drifted from mortal thought. We will fall, and Middle Earth will once again be under a reign of terror. Sauron's war will cover these lands, there will be no dawn, the moon will fade, and a great darkness will descend.
The life of Galadriel is come to it's end. This indeed is my fate, to wither away, after my power is truely spent, and fall from existence, in a foreign land, scorned upon by my elders.
Ai, I am almost spent.
"My Lady?
They are coming..."