Notes: We are at the end of this crazy ride. I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for indulging my need to write Mermaid Tauriel. I definitely went with a Jane Eyre/TS Eliot inspired ending, hopefully it doesn't disappoint.
Lastly, to be clear, we pick up after the death of King Aragorn Elessar of Gondor and when the last of the Elves depart Middle Earth from the Grey Havens (Mithlond).
F.A. 121
Tauriel did as the Elf-king bade and took to the water. It carried her swiftly until the rivers merged and flowed into the ocean. To the depths she retreats, not to be seen by mortal eyes until her king returns to her. Knowledge of sea-folk passes into legend. The waves cast themselves high upon the rocky shores only to fall back from whence they came, a lover's embrace coaxing the earth ever closer but to no avail.
Over time, many of the Eldar come to the Grey Havens to board the ships there. They sail and depart the circles of the earth, solemn and fair. Their songs meld with the music of the sea so perfectly that the rest of the world seems to sigh with veneration, as one admires trees in autumn before their leaves pass to barrenness. There would be no spring for the Eldar but in Aman.
It carries on this way until at last there are hardly any elves remaining among the races of Arda.
A pair of travelers arrive just south of the Havens on a cold winter morn. One is clad in elven clothes and his braided hair gleamed like finely spun threads of pale gold. The other is of considerably lesser height and dressed just as finely, his beard an impressive sight even to those not of the Dwarven race.
They traverse the empty beach until they come to stand upon the tideline.
"Legolas, how can you possibly hope to find her? By your account it has been nigh on two hundred years since you last saw her."
The elf prince is undaunted. His sight is far-reaching and he can see for miles into the great distance. He looks to the seam of heaven and earth—the horizon—and he simply knows she will come.
"Gimli, the magic of the sea-folk is not to be underestimated. My father was adamant," A look of sadness crossed Legolas's face, "I will not dishonor him by leaving his request unfulfilled."
Still, his companion is skeptical. Gimli stands at Legolas's side as they await the appearance of the mysterious sea-maiden. The dwarf is unquiet. He and his people have traditionally avoided the sea. Hours pass and the sun makes its progress across the sky. Legolas keeps watch until at last his patience and faith are rewarded.
"There!" Gimli cries, pointing toward the sea. Legolas smiles in reply. The same sadness is still etched into the turn of his mouth and bend of his brow. He thinks of Thranduil, how his father should be here now instead of him. He thinks of what he must tell Tauriel and hopes he will have strength enough to give it voice. How he wept when he discovered what the War of the Ring did to the land of his birth and to its king!
Without any warning, a slim figure darts from the rippling surface. Legolas watches the swiftness of the dive, the rise and fall, before she plunges back into the water with hardly a splash. No matter how sharp his eyes are, she is still a blur of deep emerald as her tail disappears below the surface.
It is astonishing how quickly she arises from the rippling waves, emerging sure-footedly as her fin gives way to two slender legs that allow her to pad onto the sand until she is standing before them. Legolas finds himself at a loss for words. There is hope in Tauriel's bright eyes but it is tempered by growing apprehension.
"Mellyn nin," The sea-maiden says, looking at both. Her long tresses cover over her body and preserve her modesty before the elf and dwarf. Gimli is as speechless as his elven companion. It is not her beauty that impresses him though she wore her ferociousness with such aplomb. There is a sense that she carries the sea in her and with but a word she can set its fury upon them. This is what Gimli, son of Glóin , will forever remember.
"You look well, my lady." Legolas finally begins. He gestures elegantly toward Gimli, "This is my friend, Gimli. He was, until recently, Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond."
Again, her piercing eyes meet the dwarf's and her smile is gentler than one might have expected.
"I am pleased to meet you, Lord Gimli. Legolas thinks highly of you, since you have come to sail with him hence."
She looks amused by their shock. Without waiting for their reply, Tauriel turns to gaze at the horizon.
"Come now. I have watched ship after ship depart, all bearing the Eldar and their chosen companions from this world into the next. You must have come for this same end or you would not have come at all."
"Alas, your assessment rings true, Tauriel." Legolas murmurs. He looks deeply troubled and her teasing look becomes more sober. Gimli knows there is some painful knowledge to be passed from one to the other and he steps back in respect.
Tauriel abandons her view of the setting sun. Backlit by the crimson hue, her hair blows in the wind like a wild halo. Legolas inhales deeply of the briny air ere he speaks further.
"My father was gravely hurt by the war against darkness." Hot tears sting his eyes at the bitter remembrance. "I bade him farewell and must go now to the land of my ancient forebears. He will not meet me there, he says it is his duty to dwell in the northern forest until his time is come."
He looks to her and her eyes gleam brightly from the film of unshed tears. When Tauriel takes his hand firmly, he corrects himself. Her eyes are not emeralds but the most indelible of diamonds. She will not weep, for her strength is beyond any earthly force he can imagine.
"Legolas." Tauriel whispers, punctuated by the waves that break upon the shore behind her. "Your father loves you far more than the promise of any kind of eternal paradise."
The prince's tears fall unimpeded. He knows she speaks the truth though it is no easier to hear now that Legolas will shortly be sundered from his adar.
"If they who rule at the other edge of this world will allow thee entrance, you must not scorn it. Go forth and be happy—there has been too much sorrow under the trees of your youth." She brushes his tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers.
"My father is unable to venture here. He thinks his brokenness renders him unworthy of your esteem or regard." Legolas tells her desperately. He cannot stand the thought of his father alone and infirm in the shadows of the greenleaves.
Indeed the populace of the Woodland Realm has dwindled to almost nothing. Those who remain do not inhabit the Elvenking's Halls like they did in times of old. The Wood-elves are now a scattered people. In times of peace, they have no great need of a king.
The confession lingers between them. Gimli maintains his reverent silence as she kisses Legolas's cheeks in farewell. She presents the dwarf with a necklace strung of the finest shells and kisses the roughened skin uncovered by his beard.
When Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Glóin depart from Mithlond, Tauriel watches from her perch on a rock that juts out from the water. There are no more ships at harbor that can bear anyone else. Her beautiful elven-prince and his dwarven lord are the last to go.
Purpose as she has not felt for hundreds of years ignites her spirit. She pushes herself as before, reacquainting herself with the waterpaths that lead to the Anduin, all of the lands she must run with her bare feet when the rushing rivers become narrow creeks she cannot swim through. She has but one purpose now. Tauriel does not stop moving until she pulls herself through the water-gate of a familiar palace.
The Halls are not resplendent like they are in her memory. Tauriel can hear her every breath, such is the mournful silence. She climbs the carven stairs ever upward despite how it fatigues her. It will take far more to hold her back, after she has braved storms, dragons, and the greedy eyes of Edain seeking to capture her. The years since she has seen him are negligible now that she is here.
At last, a door. It opens with a click and allows her entry. A glass goes crashing to the floor and shatters.
"Thranduil!" She gasps.
He cannot see her. He reaches for her, he knows her sound and scent as he steps blindly forward. She wears only her bare skin when she wraps him in her embrace and feels how his frame has thinned. What strength he has left, he struggles to hold onto with shaking hands.
When she lies beside him in the nights, she strokes his hair and sings. It is the sea-song, but no longer one of fury or devastation. Thranduil dreams of the centuries, of Glawardis, of their son, of sunset hues over the Belegaer and knife-edge smiles and everything in between. He clutches her waist, face pressed softly into her warmth. Tauriel sings to him, and his pain does not weigh so heavy on his heart.
"Tailel danner fain erin gloss
iúriel enni. Lebidel
pannel an gaded i dhuin rhîw."
Thranduil interrupts her verse and she waits for him to speak.
"There is a poet amongst Men who warns of the siren's song." He muses. There is an insouciance in his tone from which she can tell he hovers just before sleep. A lock of her red hair has fallen to tickle his cheek. He takes it between his fingers and worries at it gently. Tauriel watches his unseeing eyes, glazed white where once there was striking blue. She cannot mourn his losses, not now, after the bliss of their days.
"Oh? And think you ought to heed this man's advice?" She teases quietly. He relinquishes the strand of her hair and drapes it over her shoulder.
"He warns of voices waking those who listen from their sweetest dreams. After which they drown for they realize they have been cast out to sea with nothing that can save them."
Before she can rebut his implications, Thranduil surprises her by finishing the second verse of her interrupted tune.
"Caimmen eniver le mabed
le chebed dan ethiriassel.
Ben i naergon hen óren nen erui."
When her king finishes, she places her lips on his. "I am not the winter river, nor will you ever have to toil to find me."
When the Eldar become fables told among the children of Men and those of everlasting life pass into the world of the unseen, the song of an Elvenking of old and his sea-maiden forever lingers among the trees of the north.
This song and its translation from Sindarin is from realelvish dot net!
I Naergon Limraedor
The Fisherman's Lament
Tailel danner fain erin gloss
iúriel enni. Lebidel
pannel an gaded i dhuin rhîw.
Caimmen eniver le mabed
le chebed dan ethiriassel.
Ben i naergon hen óren nen erui.
Your feet fell fair upon the snow
as you ran to me. Your fingers,
you opened to catch the winter's river.
My hands sought there
to keep you, yet you flowed out.
In this sad tale, I clutched naught but water.
In the long years of the earth, when the Eldar and their descendants are but fables for the children of Men, the song of the sea can still be heard among the beech trees.