First off, let me apologize for how long it's been since my last update. I was busy around Christmastime, but after that it's nothing but procrastination, plain and simple. Also, I have an important announcement: I've decided that this will be the last chapter, at least for now. It's accrued a pretty good following, and I'm very happy that my story has been met with such positivity, but the muse for this story has begun to leave me. That's one reason why this update took so long-I had to kind of scrounge it up, so I really hope it doesn't read like that. I'll leave it marked as unfinished for now, in case I decide to continue it farther down the road, but it'll probably be a permanent hiatus. But I have a feeling that I've got some fluffy Ski-Alagos drabbles left in me, so some may come, just not regularly. Anyway, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all your follows, favorites, and lovely reviews; and most of all, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this last chapter!
Also, I do not apologize for the clear parallels of Christianity in this chapter. If you have a problem with it, I advise you to take it up with the Tolkien estate, 'cause he's the one that made it that way. :)
The Lady glided across the neatly trimmed grass of the Garden to the culvert gate, her bare toes dipping into the stream. In her hand was a small iron key wrought with decorative silver vines winding around it. Reaching out a creamy half-bare arm, Galadriel unlocked the culvert gate and stepped to the side as it swung open. Alagos exited the tunnel first, a look of respect and mild awe on his face. However, his expression was nothing compared to Ski's: the young Orc-girl, following Alagos into the open air, wore a look of utter astonishment and awe bordering on worship. Her eyes were open so wide the whites could be seen all the way around their amber irises and her jaw was hanging slack.
Galadriel laughed softly at Ski's expression. It was a musical laugh, deep for a woman's but rich and sweet, as the clear tones of silver trumpets and golden bells. Ski drew a sharp breath.
Alagos bowed respectfully. "O Lady of the Golden Wood, we thank you for coming to our aid." He shot a glance at Ski. She was still standing motionless, staring like a fool. Alagos surreptitiously inched his foot out to the side and stood on Ski's toes. She jerked and blinked as if coming out of a trance; regaining her senses, she made a somewhat clumsy bow to Galadriel and added her thanks to Alagos's in her own unpolished fashion. Alagos grimaced slightly at her rough-hewn, masculine manners, but Galadriel didn't seem to mind them. She smiled at the girl and even inclined her head slightly.
The Lady turned and stepped lightly back the way she had come, indicating with a small motion of her hand that the two friends should follow. She led them along the path of the stream until they found themselves in a small hollow, the ground rising gently around and before them. In the hollow stood a shallow silver basin upon a stone pedestal. Beside it was a smaller pedestal, upon which was a tall silver ewer. Behind the pedestals, wide, low stone steps were set into the hill in a gentle curve.
Galadriel turned to face the others. "We are now in the hollow of my Mirror," she said; "and here is where you must leave us, Alagos." The young Elf blinked. "But—but my Lady, I do not wish to abandon Ski…"
"Abandon her?" said the Lady sharply. "You yet feel that Ski is unsafe, though she is in my Garden, in the company of the Lady Galadriel herself?"
Alagos reddened. "No, my Lady," he mumbled, bowing his head abashedly. "I merely feel that it would be discourteous to leave my friend in a strange place, with a person whom she knows not."
The Lady Galadriel smiled at him. "I know. You are noble, young Alagos, and loyal to your friends. But the events that will happen now are intimate and highly personal. They are not yours to witness, but are for the eyes of maids only."
Ski, who had just opened her mouth to protest that she didn't want Alagos to leave, closed it again and looked at Galadriel apprehensively. What was the Elf-lady talking about? "Intimate and highly personal"? I don't like the sound of that! Ski considered balking at the Lady's request and begging Alagos to either stay or take her with him, but Alagos was already bowing to Galadriel in acquiescence. Before Ski could say a word, he had murmured his farewell, given Ski a worried glance as he briefly clasped her shoulder, and stridden off up the stone steps and over the rise.
Ski gazed after her friend with a look of anguished anxiety, but Alagos didn't look back. He had obviously taken Galadriel's words about "female eyes only" to heart. The Elf watched Alagos disappear over the crest of the hill and then turned her attention to Ski. The girl was clearly not at ease being left alone with the mysterious, queenly stranger. The Lady gazed at her in silence, long enough to make Ski start fidgeting nervously. At length Galadriel spoke.
"Do not be afraid, young one. You will come to no harm here. Your journey is nearly complete, but there is yet one thing that must be done to fully purify your spirit."
Ski gulped, envisioning a long and arduous trial by fire, complete with ceremonial scarring. "Uh, no offense, my Lady, but couldn't we just skip that part and go straight to the completion of the journey? I'm really tired, you know, so I probably wouldn't do so well on a spiritual trial…could we maybe just wait till tomorrow—or just, uh…never?"
Galadriel laughed again. "My dear young Ski, you have nothing to fear from this last stage! There is no 'trial'. There is no physical effort required of you. All you must do is examine your spirit. Do you truly believe that you are an Elf?" Startled, Ski answered, "Well, yes, I do. Why?"
"Your pure heart, your belief that you belong among the light of the Eldar rather than the darkness of the Orcs, has already worked changes upon your body. It is as though a light shone out from your soul and drove away the twilight of your form." Ski looked at her hands again, this time examining them more closely. Galadriel was right; the skin was no longer wrinkled with the thick, tough look of dried meat, but was a smooth, pale gray that almost seemed to shine in the moonlight.
"However," continued the Lady, and Ski dropped her arms to turn her attention back to the Elf, "though you are no longer an Orc, neither are you yet an Elf. A true and full transformation can only come to pass through the will of Eru, the One." Lady Galadriel paused at Ski's bemused expression. "You know not of Eru Ilúvatar?" the Elf inquired.
Ski shook her head. "No, my Lady. Is he—or, um, she—one of the Valar? I've heard of them, but I don't know much about them or even the names of all of them. Orcs and Goblins love only Morgoth, and hate the others."
Galadriel stiffened at the mention of Morgoth. "Do not utter that cursed name within the borders of the Golden Wood," she said sharply, and Ski took a step back, eyes wide. "Sorry! I'm sorry—I didn't—didn't know…"
The Lady relaxed her posture at Ski's reaction and put out her hand. "I understand," she said, almost apologizing. "But you must understand this name is evil, and evil is not tolerated in Lothlórien."
Ski nodded, and Galadriel went on. "To answer your question: no, Eru is not one of the Valar. He created them. Eru is Ilúvatar, Father of All; only He can create true life. Aulë created the forms of the Dwarves, but they did not live until Eru instilled in them the Flame; the Dark One made his evil mockeries of Eru's creations, but though they function, move and even speak, they do not truly live, because Eru alone can instill the Flame."
Ski was silent, frowning. "So you mean," she said slowly, trying to understand, "that Orcs and Goblins and Trolls, we—they—aren't really…alive?" She scrunched her brows together. "And that means that I'm not really alive, too. 'Cause you said I wasn't an Orc anymore, but I'm not an Elf either, so I'm not really anything. But how can I not be alive? I mean, I'm talking and stuff…" She trailed off, remembering the Lady's words. "I know you said Mo—the Dark One's creations walked and talked and everything but weren't really alive. But….how? How is that possible?" Ski shook her head, making a frustrated noise.
The Lady gave her a small smile. "You must understand that all the Dark creatures have life, of a sort," she explained. "But it is not Life. They have no spirit, no deeper existence than their daily routine. They look to the future, but not far, and not past the end of themselves to their legacy. They look to the past but rarely, and then only to victories of their race, rather than learning from the failures. They do not think beyond the confines of this world and into the next, as even Men do. In short—they live, yes, but it is a shallow and meaningless life."
"I understand," Ski murmured, thinking back to her family and the other Moria Orcs. They had lived out their days just as Galadriel described. Wait a second… "But then that means me, too?" She felt ready to cry. After all her belief, all her hoping, all she had done to escape being an Orc, now she was being told that wasn't even a living soul in the first place?!
Galadriel lay her hand lightly on the girl's shoulder. "I am not finished," she said gently. "As I said, only Eru can create life; thus, only He can restore yours. It is true that you are now without life, but by the hand of Ilúvatar you will gain it, and become as one of us."
Ski sniffled. "But if Eru is the One that created all life…I mean, if he created the Valar…and if Orcs are just mockeries of Elves and are lifeless—then why would He even care about me? Why would He give me life? Sure, I'm not an Orc anymore, but…" She gestured helplessly. "What makes me so different from all the other Orcs out there?"
Lady Galadriel smiled at her again. "The Orcs are indeed mockeries of Elves," she said. "A twisted and evil version of the First Children of Ilúvatar. But it seems to me that there lies, inside some Orcs at least, a deeply buried Elven soul. They do not have the Flame, but they have the capacity for it; and it is possible that these Orcs can somehow begin to awaken the Elf inside them, and shake off the darkness as you did, young Ski. I believe Eru would give life to you, and any like you, because though you are tortured and burdened by the Dark One's evil, you are still a Child of Ilúvatar. Now, see!" she said briskly. "The stars begin to fade, and the Moon has all but set. The dawn of a new day will be also the dawn of a new life. Come, take off your garments and step into the stream."
The Elf Lady took Ski's arm and gently steered her to the edge of the water, right next to the silver basin on its pedestal. Galadriel reached out a long white arm and lifted the ewer from its pedestal beside the basin, then again bade Ski to undress and wade into the stream.
Ski did as Galadriel said, feeling awkward and ugly in the face of the Lady's awesome beauty, and suddenly very glad that she had sent Alagos away. The water was fairly shallow, coming to just above her knees. She winced a little and sucked in her breath through her teeth at the burning, tingling sensation it caused, but after a moment she became used to it, and it even began to feel rather pleasant.
Skirts tied neatly at her knees, Lady Galadriel stepped into the water with the silver ewer in hand. The stream really was shallow, Ski realized; it only rose about halfway up Galadriel's shins, maybe a bit higher. Ski began to shiver slightly and saw chill-bumps rise on her bare skin, so much more noticeable now that it was so smooth. Even though it was summertime and Lothlórien was warm, the stream was chilly, and the predawn breeze was cool.
Galadriel stepped lightly through the water to Ski and bent, letting the liquid flow into the mouth of the ewer. Once it was full, she lifted it again, and stood looking down at Ski. "Well…what now?" asked the girl, crossing her arms to warm herself up.
"Ask for Eru's aid," the Elf replied simply. "Ask Him to bestow upon you the Flame of life, as He surely already knows. And I will bathe you with the cleansing waters of the Fountain Stream, to wash away what darkness remains."
And so Ski asked. "Eru Ilúvatar," she whispered, "if you would, please give me true life. I don't want to be an Orc or a not-quite-Orc anymore. I'm ready to be an Elf. Please just take away the darkness."
The very moment Ski ended her whispered plea, Galadriel poured the water gently over her head. But before that, even before she finished speaking, Ski felt something baffling. She felt like the Sun, whose head had not lifted above the horizon but whose rays were visible in the sky, had suddenly decided to reside in Ski's abdomen instead of the heavens. The chill of the morning and the water vanished, replaced by a very warm but not uncomfortable heat that began inside and spread quickly outward, like drinking the Orcs' burning alcohol but gentler. She felt the cool of the water as it splashed on her head and ran down her face and back, but it was entirely separate from the warmth and neither diminished the other.
Eyes instinctively closed to the water, Ski heard Galadriel refill the ewer. Twice more the Lady poured the stream water over Ski's head and shoulders, and Ski also bent to splash the water up onto her arms and torso, bathing herself. At last, when she could see the newly risen Sun's light through her eyelids, Ski heard Galadriel speak. "Now I name you Tuiwen," she declared, "for like the bud of a tree, you are new life that springs from the cold darkness of winter." Blinking to shake the last drops of water from her lashes, the newly named maiden opened her eyes for the first time as a true Elf.
The first thing she noticed was that Galadriel was a bit shorter—no, she herself was taller. Not much, really, but enough to make a noticeable difference. The waterline, too, was now at the very top of her knees. She looked down.
Whoa. If her skin had been smooth before, it was positively liquid now, and creamy—nearly as white as the Lady Galadriel's, but not quite. Her toes, gnarled and misshapen before, were now long, straight, and pretty. The nails were even neatly rounded now, though she had no idea how or why that had happened. She looked at her hands; they too were markedly different, with long slender fingers and smooth pink nail beds. She almost couldn't believe this body belonged to her, but when she moved her hands, the new hands moved too. She raised the foreign extremities and gingerly touched her face.
She gasped and almost grabbed the polished ewer out of the Lady's hands, but stopped herself at the last second to ask permission. "May—may I?" Her voice sounded strange: smooth, piping, almost musical. Galadriel, who was smiling broadly, handed her the vessel with an "Of course." When the new Elf took her first glance at her reflection, she made a noise that sounded like eek! After a heartbeat she realized the curved sides of the ewer were drastically distorting the image, so she turned the vessel over and peered into its flat base.
The face she saw mirrored there was her own, and yet not her own. The skin, of course, was pale. Her cheekbones were a tad higher and more pronounced, and her jawline was more delicate. Her lips were shapely and a light reddish-pink. But what struck her the most were her eyes. Before they had been a burning amber, the pupils small and somewhat pointed like a cat's, the whites yellowed and muddled so that in places it was hard to distinguish between them and the irises. Now, though still amber, the color was softer, with more brown and gold. The pupils were round, the whites were bright white, and the irises were perfectly defined. The new eyes were rimmed with thick, dark lashes. "Tuiwen," she whispered to the reflection. "My name is Tuiwen. I am an Elf."
Tuiwen didn't know exactly how long she stood there in utterly stunned silence, gaping at her reflection, but it was long enough for the Sun to rise fully. Galadriel, who had waited patiently in the stream, finally brought the girl out of her trance and led her from the water. Another Elf-woman, whom Tuiwen had not noticed before, stepped over with some thick towels. Galadriel took one and dried her feet and legs, so Tuiwen took one and dried off with it too. Once she was dry, the Elf who had brought the towels also produced a simple white shift, which Galadriel instructed Tuiwen to don. It was a little big, but fit well enough. With Tuiwen now dressed and dry except for her hair—hanging in damp, dark locks around her shoulders—Galadriel and the other Elf-woman began to ascend the steps out of the hollow, the Lady beckoning for the young Elf to come.
She followed in that silence she couldn't seem to break. It all felt so unreal… And yet, it felt more real than anything had ever been before. The Sun was brighter, the colors bolder, the sounds richer. She wondered if this was due to her newly enhanced Elven senses or to the Flame of life now burning inside her. Though she normally would find the silence somewhat awkward, Tuiwen found that it wasn't so now. Besides, she had nothing to say, anyway. At the moment, she just wanted to take in every feeling, every sense of her new form.
The three Elf-women came to a gate in the tall hedge that fenced the Garden. Once on the other side, they kept walking, Tuiwen marveling at the mighty trees that surrounded them. There were mallorns in the forest outside the City, but none were of such size; these must be much, much older. Their leaves were the deep green of summer, but she could see flashes of gold, where the outer leaves were beginning to turn. She could hear but no longer see the stream on their left, and the rising Sun sent their shadows stretching off toward the rushing water.
Not much farther up the path, the three Elves came suddenly upon the figure of Alagos, pacing at the base of a mighty mallorn. When he saw them, he broke off his pacing and approached quickly, but rather nervously. "My Lady," he said when he neared, and bowed to the three of them. His eyes flicked over Tuiwen and his brows knit, but he didn't seem to recognize her. He turned to Galadriel. "My Lady," he repeated, "what of Ski? Is she healed? Where is she now?"
At last, Tuiwen found her words and broke the silence. "Right here, of course!" she burst out, running forward the last few steps to her friend and embracing him in a flying hug, making him stumble backwards. She let go and had to laugh at his shocked, slack expression. Alagos's eyes widened at the sound. The cadence was completely different now, but there was no mistaking that laugh. "Ski! You...you are..."
"An Elf!" she finished for him triumphantly. "And actually, it's Tuiwen now, not Ski. Isn't it a beautiful name?!"
"Aye," the Elf said weakly, "but the name has no beauty compared to your form. Sk...Tuiwen, you are indeed fair." Tuiwen laughed again at that. "Oh, thank you, Alagos! You're so nice! I am pretty now, but next to Lady Galadriel, I still look like an Orc." She offered a brilliant grin to the Lady and received an amused smile in return.
Tuiwen turned back to Alagos. "And see, I'm taller too!" She gave him another tight hug, which he returned this time, giving Galadriel and the other Elf a rather overwhelmed look over Tuiwen's head. Galadriel smiled again and the other Elf-woman gave a sudden cough that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. Tuiwen's hug went on until it could only be either the embrace of a small child or of a lover, and Alagos's face turned bright red. Clearing his throat, he gently disentangled himself from her arms. Tuiwen, however, didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. She flashed an impish grin and her eyes danced with sudden mischief.
"I think it's time for a rematch of our walnut game. Now that I'm an Elf too, I'm going to beat you! As soon as I find some better clothes, we're going back to our clearing and throwing some nuts at each other!"
Alagos glanced at Galadriel questioningly, silently asking permission on behalf of his friend, and the Lady nodded. Alagos looked back down into Tuiwen's joyful face and felt a wide smile grow on his own. He laid his hand on her shoulder and the two started off up the path, Galadriel's maidservant following behind. "We will find you some garments," he promised. "And then, mellon, I shall give you a sound pelting with walnuts."
I bid you all a very fond farewell...for now. :) ~literalmind