Chapter Twenty-Two: The Dreamcatcher
She knew it was just a dream, for how could she really be in such a horrible place? She stood in a dark and foul cave, seeing the grey-black sky beyond and watching the red lightening rend the night with its cruel fire. Below was a barren wasteland, and far into the distance, a terrible fiery mountain. She was in Mordor.
At her feet she saw Sam kneeling in the dirt. His shoulders shook in despair.
"Sam, what is it?" She knelt beside him and only then saw what he was kneeling over. Frodo's face was ghostly white in stark contrast to the dark cave.
"He's not asleep," said Sam, his voice breaking in the stillness. The utter anguish was plain in his small voice. He spoke again, and this time he looked right at her. Her heart seized in her chest at his chilling words. "He's not asleep, he's dead!"
Mélanyë bolted upright from her sleep. In a glance she saw that the night sky above the tall Mallorns was clear and dotted with bright stars. She clutched at her chest, willing her heart to slow within her.
"Just a dream," she whispered to herself, "a dream..." No matter how many times she repeated it, however, she still didn't believe it.
The next morning, she sat holding Laspis in her lap. She inspected the blade thoughtfully before running a sharpening stone along its edge. Elrohir's dagger and Lindir's long curving sword had already been given similar treatment and lay in the grass at her feet. Her bow and a full quiver of arrows were strapped to her back.
Ganya appeared through the trees and knelt beside her. She did not look up. "What's all this for?" She ran the stone along the blade, but did not answer. He moved in front of her and looked at her face. Lines of sadness and worry had dimmed her gentle beauty. "What is it?" he asked. She continued her work, and for a long time would not speak.
"Frodo is dead," she said finally, her voice faltering. "It's all over - he's dead." He stared at her, the meaning of her words sinking in.
"How do you know this?"
"I saw him." He saw the faint tracks of tears streak her cheeks.
"In a dream?" She nodded. He put a hand on her shoulder. "But Mélanyë, dreams aren't real."
"It was real to me," she said in a chilling voice. It didn't even sound like hers. She finally met his eyes. "I've had 'dreams' before that have come true." He sighed softly and sat beside her.
"So what are you going to do?" She sheathed Laspis and stood, strapping it to her waist.
"Some of the others are talking about travelling south. Helping the men as much as they can." Ganya shook his head slowly.
"No," he said, "Haven't you been through enough?"
"They are my friends now," she said sadly, "my family. I have to help." He took her hand.
"What about this friend? The one that doesn't want you to go?"
"I didn't want Lindir to go either," she whispered. Ganya sat back as if her words had stung. A heavy silence hung between them. At last Ganya stood and confronted her.
"So you would go and die in some meaningless battle rather than have to live with the pain of losing Lindir."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" He looked her over. Even in the short time he had known her, it seemed to him that she had aged. She seemed older, even taller somehow. He saw that there was very little hobbit left in her. Another casualty of war.
"Yes," he said, "I do." He picked up Lindir's sword and stood. "What about going home?" he asked. She looked him in the eye, and for a fleeting moment he saw the little girl she used to be in her gaze. She quickly turned away.
"I don't belong there anymore. I ran away. What would I say to them?" She picked up the dagger from the grass. "To Elrohir? I wouldn't know where to begin." He put a hand on her shoulder.
"If I know Elrond," he said, "he will be so happy to have you back that he would have forgotten why you left." Mélanyë shook her head.
"No," she said. The finality in her voice cut off any response Ganya might have had. "I'm too different; I'm not the person I was. I can never go back." Ganya shook his head and left without a word.
That night, three armed Galadhrim awakened her from her sleep. She grinned when she saw them, for she had been expecting them. She was starting to get used to the strange dreams she'd been having, and coming to expect them, and to see them later while she was awake. She only hoped she never again had one as horrible as the dream which foretold her own death. Fortunately, that time she had been wrong.
She was led silently onto a high flet that had been built among some of the tallest Mallorns in Lorien. The whole area was softly lit, but she couldn't tell where the light came from. The guards led her to the center of the dais and left her alone. She looked around the empty flet for a moment in confusion before Galadriel appeared silently and mysteriously behind her. Mélanyë bowed immediately.
"No, please," said Galadriel as she lifted the girl up, "you need not bow to me, Mélanyë." Her voice was soft and almost musical. One look into her deep blue eyes told Mélanyë that she was, perhaps older than the trees they now stood among. It also recalled another dream she'd had several days ago. Then she had seen a very different Galadriel than the one whom she now stood before. That other Galadriel, the daughter of Finarfin, had seemed dark and terrible on the shores of Alqualondë.
"You were there too," she whispered to herself. Then, shaking off the dream, she recalled why she had been summoned. "I know why you brought me here," she said. Galadriel listened patiently as the girl went on. "I know that Ganya has requested of you to forbid me to leave the Golden Wood. But you must understand. This is something I have to do." Galadriel looked deep into her eyes and smiled faintly before answering.
"Although I do believe that Ganya is right and that you should stay with us for now, nothing that anyone, not even I can say will change the fate that already lies before you. It is what you have chosen."
"My fate," said Mélanyë, "Is it bad?"
"That depends on what you mean by 'bad'. If you mean painful or difficult, you would in the end receive greater rewards for your trials." She saw Mélanyë open her mouth to respond, and continued, "And no, I cannot tell you what is to come."
She approached the girl and placed a hand on her head. "It is customary for the Queens of the Eldalië to give gifts to those setting out on dangerous quests. Although I am not sure you yourself know what you are seeking, I see that you have already been given a gift." Mélanyë looked up with sudden understanding.
"My dreams," she said.
"Use them wisely, Mélanyë, They are windows not only to the future, but to the past as well."
"But does that mean that Frodo is already dead, or that it may yet happen?" she wondered aloud. She looked to the Lady before her, who remained silent.
The next morning a host of the Galadhrim, and a few from the other realms made ready to depart. Mélanyë stayed by Cóume as they prepared to leave and he took it upon himself to watch out for her as they travelled. "It's the least I can do for an old friend," he said.
As Mélanyë was strapping on her bow and her sword Ganya approached. He bore a deeply grieved expression and a leather bound book, which he handed to her.
"I don't know when I'll see you again," he said, "So I should give this to you now." She took the book reverently, almost afraid she would crack the delicate cover. She opened it and flipped through the pages, each one totally filled with a neat flowing script. "Lindir wanted you to have it," he said as she continued to inspect the book. "He said he wrote it while you were away with the dwarves a few years ago. He was going to give it to you when you returned to Imladris, but said that if anything happened I should make sure you get it."
As he spoke she saw on the cover a family crest that was so worn by time that she could barely make it out. The image was a circle of rope enclosing around a dark ocean beneath a starry sky. Puzzled, she began again to flip through the pages. She stopped as she read one of the passages.
"This is in Quenya," she said in surprise. "You said Lindir wrote this? But he was a Sindar." Ganya shook his head.
"No," he said, "he was not. He was a Teleri. A long time ago, when he was younger than you, he lived with his family on the shores of Eressëa. His parents were slain by Noldor at Alqualondë." Mélanyë stared in shock, the gravity of his words sinking in. She slowly sat down, clutching the book to her.
"My mother was a Noldo," she whispered. Ganya did not speak, but left her alone. Slowly, almost if she were afraid to do so, she opened the book to the first page and began to read.
*To read the book along with Melanye, go to my profile and read the story 'Ancalime'. *