Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Author's Note:
LXI: Departure from the Golden Wood
Caras Galadhon, 3019 TA, February 15
For two days, the Fellowship deliberated earnestly on the path they should take and the strategies they might employ in their quest to destroy the Ring. The gravity of their mission weighed heavily upon each member. Aragorn, now assuming the mantle of leadership in Gandalf's absence, found his mind fraught with uncertainty. He observed, not without concern, the subtle shift in Boromir's demeanor, recalling the Man of Gondor's unsettling interest in the Ring during the Council of Elrond.
Aragorn's initial decision as their leader was to preclude Xena from further accompanying them on their journey. This choice stemmed from the recent discord between her and Legolas, which had unsettled the group. It took a day or two for Legolas to regain his usual composure, to appear somewhat reconciled with the harsh words Xena had cast upon him. Neither sought the other out for reconciliation or further discussion, their last conversation having ended on a note of deep discord with Legolas's poignant remark about Mirkwood's inability to protect its Queen.
Aragorn, though troubled by this turn of events, remained firm in his decision. Legolas was more than a fellow member of the Fellowship to him; he was a trusted friend whose well-being was of paramount importance. Aragorn understood that Xena's words, whether influenced by the curse or not, had struck a chord of profound pain in Legolas. With the fate of Middle-earth hanging in the balance, he could not risk further internal strife. The task at hand was too critical, and any division within their ranks could jeopardize their entire quest. Darkness loomed ever closer, and their unity was key to ensuring that it did not prevail.
He approached her, seeking to understand the cause of the recent strife. "Xena," he began cautiously, "I must ask, why did you speak those words to Legolas? Was it truly your intent, or something beyond your control?"
Xena, her gaze distant, struggled to find an answer. "Aragorn, there is no simple explanation for what I said. It was a moment of anger, perhaps influenced by the curse, but I can't be certain." Her voice was tinged with regret.
Aragorn, with a stern yet understanding look, advised her. "You must seek to understand this curse, to find a way to overcome its influence. Should our paths cross again, I hope to find you free of this affliction." His words were firm, yet not unkind.
Xena nodded in agreement, aware of the gravity of his counsel. They exchanged a farewell, a mutual respect evident despite the circumstances.
Aragorn understood that neither Xena nor Legolas was solely to blame; they had been unwitting players in a darker game, possibly orchestrated by the curse. While he bore no anger towards Xena, the risk to the Fellowship's unity and mission was too great. Xena accepted this reality, acknowledging the necessity of their separation.
Before the Fellowship departed, Xena sought out Gimli and the Hobbits to bid them goodbye. Each farewell was heartfelt, marked by a blend of sorrow and hope.
To Gimli, she said, "Steadfast friend, I regret that I cannot journey further with you. Your courage and loyalty have been a light in these dark times."
Gimli, gruff yet visibly moved, replied, "You'll be missed, lass. Keep your sword sharp and your spirits high. We'll meet again, I'm certain of it."
With the Hobbits, her goodbyes were gentle and encouraging. "To each of you, I wish all the strength and courage of the Shire. May your journey be safe, and your hearts remain warm."
Merry and Pippin, their eyes shining with unshed tears, promised to recount their adventures the next time they met. Sam, ever the loyal companion, offered a hopeful smile, while Frodo, bearing the weight of the Ring, spoke softly, "Your presence has been a boon to us, Xena. May your path lead you to peace."
Come dawn, as they began to gather and pack their sparse belongings, the Elves of Lothlórien, graceful and kind, approached them. With a generosity characteristic of their kind, they presented the Fellowship with gifts to aid them on their journey. These included provisions of food and garments specially crafted for their needs.
Among the provisions were remarkably thin cakes, browned to a golden hue on the outside, with a creamy inner texture. These were lembas bread, an Elven waybread of great sustenance. Gimli, ever curious and somewhat skeptical, decided to sample the lembas, only to find himself having partaken more than necessary. The Elves gently informed him that even a small portion of this bread could sustain a person for a whole day.
The Elves then began to distribute the garments they had prepared for each member of the Company. With skilled hands and an eye for detail, they had fashioned a hood and cloak for each, tailored to fit perfectly. These garments were made from the fine, silken fabric of the Galadhrim, light yet warm, and of an exquisite craftsmanship. Each cloak shimmered with a hue reminiscent of silver-veined green leaves, blending seamlessly with the forest surroundings.
As the Fellowship donned these gifts, a sense of unity and purpose was renewed amongst them. The generosity of the Elves of Lothlórien not only provided them with practical aid but also a reminder of the support and goodwill that existed in Middle-earth, a beacon of hope against the growing shadow.
Pippin gazed with wide-eyed wonder at the cloaks given to them by the Elves. "Are these cloaks magical?" he inquired, his voice tinged with awe and curiosity.
The leader of the Elves, with a gentle smile, responded, "What you call magic may simply be the craft of the Galadhrim, Pippin. These cloaks will serve you well."
After breaking their fast near the fountain, the Company prepared to depart. A sense of melancholy hung over them, for the time spent in Lothlórien, though impossible to measure in days and nights, had felt like a sojourn in a home away from home. Haldir arrived to bid them farewell, his Elven grace ever present. "Come! Your path now leads south," he instructed, his tone both guiding and sorrowful.
Their journey through the heart of Caras Galadhon was marked by a haunting quietude. The once lively greenways stood empty, yet the rustling leaves and the melodic voices of unseen Elves singing in the treetops filled the air. The Fellowship, however, moved in silence, each lost in their thoughts.
Approaching the white bridge, Haldir led them to where three small grey boats were moored, ready for their journey. Efficiently, the Elves had packed their provisions into the boats.
"Come! All is now prepared for your departure. Board the boats with care," Haldir instructed, his voice echoing softly across the water.
The members of the Fellowship arranged themselves as follows: Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam occupied the first boat; Boromir, Merry, and Pippin the second; while Legolas, Gimli—who had formed an unexpected friendship—and the majority of their supplies were in the third.
As they embarked, Legolas extended a hand to assist Gimli, while Sam carefully found his balance. Meanwhile, Aragorn and Celeborn exchanged a few final words, their conversation a blend of counsel and farewell.
As the Fellowship rowed their boats down the river, leaving the shores of Lothlórien behind, they encountered a majestic swan gliding gracefully towards them. Its large, white form cut through the water, leaving ripples in its wake, as its neck curved elegantly forward.
A song, distant and melancholic, floated towards them from the Elves on the shore, accompanying them as they sailed away. The faces of the Fellowship were a canvas of mixed emotions – sadness at the departure, yet joy in the memory of the gifts bestowed upon them by the Lady of the Light.
Galadriel's voice echoed in Legolas's mind as he recalled her words. "My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim, befitting the skill of our woodland kin." The elf had smiled graciously, accepting the exquisite bow with heartfelt thanks.
Galadriel then had turned her attention to Merry and Pippin. "To you, I give daggers of the Noldorin, already tested in battle. Fear not, young Peregrin Took, for your courage shall rise when needed." Her smile had been both warm and encouraging, lifting the spirits of the young Hobbits.
Sam, rowing steadily, reminisced about the Lady's gift to him. "For you, Samwise Gamgee, Elven rope made of hithlain," Galadriel had said. Sam had thanked her, although secretly he had harbored a wish for a gleaming dagger like those given to Merry and Pippin.
"Frodo Baggins," Galadriel had spoken gently, "I bestow upon you the light of Eärendil, our most cherished star." Frodo had accepted the gift, a light to guide him in the darkest of times.
Gimli's moment with the Lady of Light remained vivid in his memory. "What gift would a Dwarf seek from the Elves?" she had inquired. Gimli, ever the proud Dwarf, had initially declined any gift, expressing his desire only to behold the Lady's beauty one final time. But then, hesitating, he had made a seemingly impossible request – a strand of her golden hair. To his amazement and deep gratitude, Galadriel had granted him not one, but three hairs.
As the Fellowship journeyed onwards, each member clung to these memories, the gifts serving as a reminder of the grace and kindness they had found in Lothlórien, a source of strength for the trials that lay ahead.
As the boats glided silently down the river, Aragorn cast a lingering glance towards the others before turning his gaze forward. His thoughts drifted back to the shores of Lothlórien and the poignant farewell with the Lady Galadriel. She had stood before him, her ethereal presence a comforting yet solemn reminder of the weighty choices that lay ahead.
Galadriel had gently touched the Evenstar pendant that Arwen had given to Aragorn, her voice soft but laden with meaning. "I have naught greater to bestow upon you than the gift you already bear. "Am meleth dîn. I ant e-guil Arwen Undómiel…pelitha." Her words, spoken in the tongue of the Elves, meant "For her love, I fear the grace of Arwen Evenstar… will diminish." Her honesty was both a blessing and a burden, a testament to the depth of her foresight.
Aragorn and Galadriel had shared a moment of mutual sorrow, their eyes mirroring a profound understanding. "Aníron I e broniatha ar periatham amar hen. Aníron e ciratha a Valannor," Aragorn had responded with a heavy heart, expressing his wish for Arwen to leave Middle-earth and sail to Valinor, to be among her people and escape the shadow that grew over their land.
Galadriel's reply had been both a counsel and a prophecy. "That choice is hers to make. And you, Aragorn, must also choose your path — to ascend to the greatness of your forefathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into shadow… along with all that remains of your kin." Her words had laid bare the monumental decisions that faced him, a crossroads that would not only determine his fate but also the fate of all those he held dear.
Xena, maintaining a respectful distance, trailed behind the Fellowship as they crossed the bridge, her heart heavy with the need to bid them one final farewell. Her gaze occasionally drifted towards Legolas, who, though clearly aware of her presence, chose not to acknowledge her. This silent treatment stung more than any words of anger or rebuke might have; it was as if her actions had irreparably severed the bond they once shared.
As the boats of the Fellowship began to drift away, Xena noticed Lady Galadriel standing beside her. They exchanged a silent nod, a simple yet profound acknowledgement. Words failed Xena; for the first time, she found herself unable to justify her actions, weighed down by regret and uncertainty.
To her surprise, Lady Galadriel presented her with a cloak similar to those given to the members of the Fellowship. Xena accepted the gift, her expression a mix of confusion and gratitude.
Lady Galadriel, observing her inner turmoil, spoke with gentle wisdom. "Your path, Xena, remains unaltered, though it may seem obstructed for now. Take the time you need to reflect and heal. Do not let a single misstep define your entire journey."
In that moment, Xena could not fully grasp the depth of Galadriel's words. However, she sensed that in time, their true meaning would reveal itself, guiding her as she continued on her own path, separate from the Fellowship yet bound by a shared destiny. With a heart burdened by what had transpired yet hopeful for redemption, Xena watched the Fellowship fade into the distance, their journey carrying them towards a fate unknown.
As the Fellowship continued their journey, each member wrapped in their own thoughts and memories, Aragorn's mind lingered on Galadriel's words. They were a guiding light and a solemn reminder of the challenges and choices that lay ahead on the path to Mordor.
The Fellowship, now journeying by river, approached a mighty, roaring waterfall. Their eyes scanned the landscape vigilantly, but they encountered no foes that day or the next. Time passed in a monotonous grey blur, marked only by the rhythmic sound of their oars. On the third day, the landscape began to transform gradually. The dense trees started to thin out, eventually giving way to open land. To their right, the western shore was devoid of trees as well, revealing expansive plains of green grass.
As evening approached, the group of eight decided it was time to make camp. They maneuvered their boats to the shore, disembarking into the embrace of the wooded bank.
Aragorn, surveying their surroundings with a leader's eye, addressed the group. "We shall cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and proceed on foot. We are nearing the lands of Mordor from the north."
Gimli, ever the candid Dwarf, grumbled in response. "Ah, yes, a delightful journey ahead through a maze of razor-sharp rocks! And beyond that, the welcoming expanse of festering, odorous marshlands as far as the eye can see!"
Aragorn, acknowledging Gimli's description, turned to the others. "That is indeed our path. I recommend you all take this time to rest and gather your strength, Master Dwarf."
Gimli muttered under his breath, while Legolas, moving closer to Aragorn, spoke in a hushed tone. "We should depart at once."
Aragorn, however, remained resolute. "No, we must wait for nightfall. Orcs patrol the eastern shore, and we need the cover of darkness."
Legolas, his expression one of deep concern, persisted. "It's not the eastern shore that troubles me. A shadow, a sense of impending peril, grows in my mind. Something approaches; I can sense its presence." His eyes scanned the dark pine woods, his gaze resting on a solitary, ominous statue hidden among the dense foliage, a silent sentinel in the gathering dusk.
((Upcoming Chapter Sixty-Two))
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