The company finally emerged from the darkness of Moria, returning to daylight after days spent in the oppressive shadow of the mines. The sun, though bright, offered no comfort; it only heightened the sorrow etched on their faces. The group dispersed, each one seeking a moment alone with their grief. Merry and Pippin clung to each other, letting their tears flow freely. Sam stared at the horizon, his eyes red, while Boromir remained silent, his gaze also lost in the distance.
Aragorn kept his distance, watching over his companions, looking out for them despite his own sadness. His eyes settled on Calion, who, standing motionless, seemed reduced to a shadow of himself. His pale, drawn skin emphasized the deep circles under his once-bright green eyes, which now appeared lifeless. He had lost weight, his hollow cheeks betraying the turmoil that gnawed at his mind.
Calion seemed almost absent, disconnected from the world around him. His trembling hands clenched intermittently, as if driven by some inner struggle. He observed the landscape without really seeing it, haunted by thoughts that consumed him. His breathing was short and irregular, and his posture revealed a fatigue that was not merely physical.
Aragorn approached him, but Calion averted his gaze, unable to endure his friend's concern any longer.
Reluctantly, Aragorn gave the order to resume their journey. The surrounding forest, dark and menacing, offered no security with the Orc patrols nearby. The massive trees cast ominous shadows, and the company moved on in silence, still marked by Gandalf's loss.
As they pressed forward, silence weighed heavily on each of them. Gandalf's absence left a profound mark, and they all seemed to walk on instinct, their faces drawn with grief and exhaustion. But the most striking change was in Calion. Normally so resilient and strong, he seemed to falter under the weight of their journey.
Legolas, his sharp gaze noticing it first, observed how Calion dragged his feet, his back slightly hunched. "He's exhausted," he murmured to Gimli, who nodded gravely.
Boromir, always wary yet aware of each member's importance, glanced toward Calion, evaluating him in silence. Even the hobbits, usually absorbed in their own troubles, looked at him with expressions of concern. Frodo, though burdened himself, fixed his gaze on Calion for a moment, a silent understanding reflected in his eyes.
Aragorn, ever close to Calion, walked beside him, adjusting the group's pace so it wouldn't be too fast. "Hold on," he murmured gently, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. But Calion, his face tight and eyes shadowed, gave only a brief nod, his expression as guarded as a fortress.
The trials of Moria had left scars, and everyone knew it. The sight of Calion, once so vigorous, struggling with each step, weighed heavily on the company's morale.
They moved forward slowly, surrounded by the mystical atmosphere of Lothlórien's woods. Gimli, walking near Merry and Pippin, began to whisper, his grave voice carrying lightly through the quiet trees:
"Don't wander too far, young hobbits! They say a sorceress lives here, an Elf of terrible power. All who have crossed her path vanished without a trace!"
The hobbits shivered, drawing closer together. Pippin whispered nervously to Merry, "Do you think it's true?"
Merry shrugged, his gaze alert. "Maybe he knows more than we think..."
Suddenly, figures slipped among the trees. Bows were drawn, arrows ready to fire. Haldir, an Elf with fine features and piercing eyes, stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the group. "The Dwarf breathes so loudly we could have killed him in the dark."
Offended, Gimli tightened his grip on his axe, ready to retort, but before he could speak, Legolas raised a hand in peace. "Mae govannen, Haldir," he greeted in Sindarin. "We come in peace."
The company cautiously climbed the rope stairs winding around the massive trunks of Lothlórien's trees. Though the night was deep, the silvery starlight reflected off the silver leaves, illuminating the finely woven wooden walkways and platforms suspended between branches.
Upon reaching the main talan, Haldir, the leader of the Elves, stood there, impassive, his eyes scrutinizing each member of the fellowship with mistrust. Behind him, other Elves held their positions, bows drawn, watching in silence.
Aragorn stepped forward, his voice tinged with urgency and gravity. "Haldir, we seek refuge. The fellowship has endured a terrible trial… Gandalf has fallen." His gaze rested on the Elf, hoping to find a hint of understanding.
Haldir hesitated, his features remaining cold and unreadable. "Lothlórien is a sacred sanctuary. The presence of the Ring here…" He cast a pointed look at Frodo. "...poses a great risk."
As Aragorn and Haldir exchanged increasingly grave words, the rest of the fellowship settled onto the platform. Gimli, visibly uncomfortable on the suspended structures, grumbled under his breath, while Legolas, in contrast, seemed at ease in this Elvish environment.
Calion leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree, his face drawn. He closed his eyes, his breathing slow, trying to find a moment's respite. Pippin, watching him for a moment, whispered to Merry, "He looks like he's seen a ghost…"
"Leave him be, Pippin," Merry replied in a low voice. "He is exhausted."
Finally, Aragorn placed a reassuring hand on Haldir's shoulder. "Galadriel will understand. I promise you, no harm will come here. She must be informed."
Haldir remained silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Very well, Aragorn. But know that if any sign of danger appears, we will act."
At his signal, the Elves lowered their bows slightly, and a palpable tension dissipated, though the air still held an undertone of caution.
The trees of Lothlórien rose majestically toward the sky, their towering trunks seeming to touch the stars. The mallorn tree where the company stopped was especially colossal, its roots entwining the ground and its branches forming a complex network of walkways and platforms illuminated by ethereal lanterns. Guided by Haldir, the Elves and the company climbed in silence up the wooden stairs spiraling around the trunk, ascending into the heights of the forest. The soft glow of the lanterns cast silver reflections on the golden leaves, and the air carried an enchanting scent of resin and wildflowers.
The spiral steps of the mallorn seemed endless to Calion, each step becoming a real effort. His legs visibly trembled, and he leaned heavily against the trunk's surface, his fingers clenched on the bark. His breathing was shallow, and his face, usually so impassive, revealed intense fatigue. Despite Lothlórien's enchanting atmosphere, he seemed to be struggling with an invisible weight that pulled him down.
Seeing him falter, Aragorn discreetly moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hold on, my friend. We're almost there." Calion replied with a slight nod, but his eyes held a muted pain, and he continued to climb the stairs laboriously.
The other members of the fellowship, captivated by the beauty of the place or lost in their thoughts, didn't immediately notice his declining state. However, Legolas, familiar with Calion's normally light steps, frowned upon seeing him so weakened. His eyes met Aragorn's, sharing a silent concern, but they continued to climb, hoping the peaceful energy of Lothlórien might soothe their exhausted companion.
The company now stood before Celeborn and Galadriel at the summit of Caras Galadhon, bathed in starlight and Elvish lanterns. Celeborn, dignified and imposing, stepped forward, observing each member of the fellowship with a serious gaze. Galadriel, her golden hair falling in silky waves, scrutinized them all, her gaze seeming to pierce their souls.
"Welcome to Caras Galadhon," said Celeborn. "The enemy knows you are here. Any hope of passing unnoticed is now lost. You were ten when you left Rivendell, but only nine stand before me. Tell me, where is Gandalf? I would speak with him."
At these words, Calion lowered his eyes, his face etched with fatigue and sorrow, guilt joining the rest of his emotions. He stood slightly back, as if wanting to hide in Legolas's shadow, visibly weakened by recent trials.
Galadriel swept her penetrating gaze over the company before speaking: "Gandalf the Grey has not crossed our borders. He has fallen into shadow."
Legolas answered, his voice tinged with sadness: "He was taken by shadow and flame. A Balrog of Morgoth… We crossed Moria not by force, and it cost us dearly."
Galadriel's gaze fell on Gimli, and her words were gentle: "None of Gandalf's actions were in vain. Do not let the void of Khazad-Dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. In this world, love is often bound to suffering." She turned her gaze to Calion as she spoke, but he looked down and did not notice her attention.
Celeborn continued, his face marked with worry: "What will become of this Fellowship without Gandalf? All hope seems lost."
Sensing the rising tension, Galadriel calmed the atmosphere: "Your quest hangs by a thread, but as long as the fellowship remains united, hope endures. Rest, for you are burdened with fatigue and grief. Tonight, you will find peace."
Galadriel's gaze again fell on Calion. Her eyes seemed to look beyond appearances, penetrating the shadows of his past and the mysteries of his immortality.
"Calion, Witness of the First Breath," her soft voice resonated, but this time, she spoke not aloud. Her words, like a whisper, slipped directly into Calion's mind. "You are safe here. Rest, you who bear such a heavy burden. These woods will protect you."
Calion felt the weight of his centuries momentarily lift from his shoulders, a rare sense of calm settling over him. Galadriel's presence was both comforting and reassuring. Her words acted like an enchantment, enveloping and soothing him. But instead of granting him the strength he had hoped for, this calm shattered his last resistance. His legs, weakened, buckled beneath him. His eyes clouded over, the accumulated fatigue crashing over him like an inescapable wave.
He had no time to react. His strength failed all at once, and, without a word, he collapsed, unconscious, into Legolas's arms, who reflexively reached out to soften his fall and guide him gently to the ground.
The company gathered around Calion, visibly worried. His features, normally marked by determination, appeared blank, and his skin, usually sun-kissed from years of travel, now held an almost deathly pallor. His once-bright green eyes were hidden beneath dark circles, and his hollow cheeks underscored his exhaustion.
Aragorn, kneeling beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression dark. "I've never seen him like this," he murmured, almost to himself. "Calion has unparalleled endurance, and yet…" He trailed off, his eyes betraying his worry. He checked his companion's pulse, but his skin felt icy, colder than the night breeze blowing through the trees.
Legolas, attentive beside Aragorn, shared his friend's concern, though he remained silent. Merry and Pippin, wide-eyed, exchanged anxious glances, while Sam and Frodo approached cautiously, their hearts heavy seeing one of their protectors in such a state.
"What's happening to him?" whispered Pippin, his voice trembling.
"He's pushed himself far beyond his limits," Aragorn replied tensely. "But it feels as if it's not just his body giving out, but his very soul."
Galadriel, still impassive but with a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, observed the scene. She knew that Calion bore a burden far heavier than physical exhaustion, a millennia-old weight that only she could sense.
Stepping forward slightly, Galadriel's gaze softened with compassion. She raised a calming hand to the company, a gentle glow illuminating her eyes.
"Do not fear," she said in a melodious voice that seemed to resonate in the vastness of the trees. "The magic of Lothlórien is ancient and powerful. Here, Calion can regain his strength. These woods are a refuge for those who bear the world's weight." She turned her gaze to Aragorn, a calming smile on her lips. "He is safe among us."
Aragorn slowly nodded, his worry easing slightly. The hobbits exchanged relieved glances, a bit of color returning to their tired faces. Legolas, reassured by her words, bowed his head slightly in recognition toward Galadriel.
Calion, still unconscious, already seemed less tense, as if the surrounding magic was soothing his troubled mind.
Aragorn and Boromir carefully lifted Calion. Still unconscious, he seemed lighter than usual, as though exhaustion had drained every ounce of strength from his body. Together, they moved gently through the Elvish realm, their quiet steps echoing on the glowing paths. The air was filled with a soft silver mist, and the melancholic songs of the Elves floated around them, a tribute to Gandalf.
They reached a glade, softly lit by a glow from the surrounding trees. Plush bedding lay arranged, inviting them to rest. Aragorn set Calion down with care, arranging his cloak around him for warmth. Then, he sat beside him, determined to watch over his friend despite the visible fatigue on his own face.
The Elvish songs, murmured in an ancient language, filled the air with a gentle sadness. Aragorn closed his eyes briefly, the loss of Gandalf and Calion's state weighing heavily on his heart. But he stayed there, faithful, ready to keep watch as long as necessary.
The days passed, and the camp arranged itself around the glade where Calion lay, still lost in deep sleep. The company, now rested, regained their strength in silence, careful not to disturb their companion's rest. Each morning, Sam prepared simple meals, and the hobbits gathered to talk in low voices, sharing memories and trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. Legolas, with his keen vision, watched the edge of the glade, ready to respond to the slightest sign of danger.
Aragorn, meanwhile, often remained close to Calion, observing his pale, strained face, watching for any sign of waking. He regularly adjusted the blanket shielding him from the morning chill, meticulously checking his pulse. Occasionally, he looked up, exchanging glances with the other members of the company. Each day that passed without Calion stirring deepened their concern.
Gimli, on his part, spent his days carving bits of wood, keeping slightly apart, but casting worried glances toward the sleeper. "He has to wake up…" he sometimes muttered, as if conjuring a spell.
Legolas would occasionally approach, placing a gentle hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Time flows differently here," he would say, attempting to comfort him. "Lórien has powers we don't understand. He will return to us."
The days stretched on, marked by the soothing songs of the Elves of Lothlórien, filling the air with a gentle, comforting melody. Even the birds perched on the mallorn branches seemed to align with the forest's rhythm, singing only at dawn before melting into the day's silence. Each dusk, golden rays filtered through the leaves, bathing Calion's face in a calming glow, but despite this serenity, his state remained unchanged.
At the end of the third day, as twilight colored the glade in shades of orange, Aragorn stood up with a worried look. He gazed once more at his friend's unmoving face before rising, resolved to seek out Galadriel. This time, he hoped for more reassuring answers, for each day without change heightened his unease.
Standing before Galadriel, Aragorn, his face marked by worry, said, "Lady Galadriel, Calion shows no signs of waking. His breathing is slow, his pulse faint… I fear he may not recover."
Galadriel, her luminous and piercing eyes, gave him a soft smile. "Aragorn, I know Calion's true nature more than you realize. What he endures is deep exhaustion, not eternal sleep. Lórien's magic watches over him. He will wake, but he needs time to replenish himself."
Aragorn nodded, relieved despite his doubts. "Thank you, Lady Galadriel. You give me hope. I will wait, as long as it takes."
Lothlórien's soft light bathed the glade, filtered through the intertwined branches of the ancient trees, casting silver and golden hues over Calion's face. Lying on a bed of moss, he seemed still locked in deep slumber, his breath slow and regular, like a whisper. Around him, the fellowship took turns, discreetly watching over him in their own ways.
On the fifth day, a faint flicker appeared behind his eyelids. Slowly, he opened his eyes, but his pupils, still veiled by sleep, registered only indistinct shapes. Overwhelmed by fatigue, he fell back asleep, his breath barely stronger than a sigh.
The following days, these brief moments of wakefulness continued, each lasting a bit longer, though he still lacked the strength to remain fully conscious. Sometimes, he opened his eyes just long enough to glimpse Aragorn beside him or feel Legolas's reassuring hand on his arm. Their soft, silent presence gave him the impression of gradually emerging from an endless dream.
Finally, one morning, after a night of restful sleep, Calion fully opened his eyes. The gentle light of Lothlórien seemed almost unreal, and he took a deep breath, as if to fill his lungs with that comforting brightness. Around him, his companions gathered, each showing a look of relief.
Aragorn was the first to place a hand on his shoulder, his expression softened, touched by rare emotion. "Welcome back, Calion," he murmured, his smile filled with quiet affection. "You gave us quite a scare."
Still a bit groggy, Calion tried to sit up, but his weakened body stopped him. He managed a faint smile upon seeing Legolas, Merry, and Pippin, all gathered around him. "I suppose… I worried you all," he murmured in a hoarse voice.
"You have no idea," Legolas replied, his eyes gleaming with relief. "We thought you'd sleep until the end of ages."
Calion's faint smile deepened at Legolas's joke, but inside, his thoughts drifted to a bitter irony. To sleep until the end of ages, he mused, that seemed more a blessing than a threat.
The hobbits, relieved and a bit emotional, shared radiant smiles. Sam discreetly wiped away a tear, while Merry and Pippin whispered jokes to lighten the mood, letting their deep affection show. "Next time, try not to give us such a scare," Merry teased. "We all need you, even if you pretend to be tough."
Standing back, Frodo looked at Calion with eyes full of gratitude and understanding, as if recognizing in him a shared burden.
Calion smiled faintly, taking in the unconditional support of his companions. Their friendship's warmth washed over him, reassuring him and easing the invisible weight still pressing on his heart. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace, surrounded by those who accepted him in all his complexity.
The days passed, and Calion's vitality slowly returned. In Lothlórien's sunlit glades, he rose each morning with a bit more strength. His features regained color, his once-dimmed green eyes sparkled anew, and his still-weak body regained agility. He now moved among the trees with a newfound lightness, sometimes jumping from root to root as if testing his limits.
Aragorn, Legolas, and the other members of the fellowship watched his progress with a mix of relief and admiration. Legolas often joined Calion on his silent walks, enjoying the return of his friend's agility. They ran along the hidden paths of the Elvish forest, and soon, Calion's movements became more fluid, his gestures regaining that natural confidence that had always marked him. Gradually, he reclaimed the endurance and calm that had always made him a pillar for his companions.
Still, the shadow of his memories lingered, lurking in the corners of his mind. At times, when the others exchanged laughter around the fire, Calion would drift away, silently observing the shadows cast by the flames. Legolas often noticed, seeing the faintly shrouded light briefly appear in his eyes. Calion stood still, his gaze lost beyond the firelight, as if scanning an invisible horizon, wrestling with memories that even the peaceful woods of Lothlórien couldn't erase.
One evening, as Aragorn watched him from afar, he came quietly to his side. "Your strength is returning," he murmured in a tone meant to be light, but his eyes betrayed his concern.
Calion nodded, a thin smile on his lips. "Yes… the body is recovering," he replied softly. "But the mind… Some things no rest can heal."
Aragorn placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, acknowledging the silent battle his friend was waging. "In time, shadows fade, Calion. You're not alone anymore."
Calion nodded, finding in those words a sincere comfort. He knew the shadows of his past would never truly leave him, but surrounded by his companions, in this sacred sanctuary, he felt his steps growing lighter, his thoughts a little less heavy.
As Calion once again withdrew from the group, absorbed by the shadows cast by the lanterns, an ethereal figure appeared in his field of vision. Galadriel, majestic and serene, approached him, her steps as silent as a dream, her gaze gentle yet piercing, fixing on Calion in a way that made him suddenly uneasy.
"Calion, Witness of the First Breath," she said, her voice resonating in the air like a mysterious melody. Calion looked at her, astonished, his face betraying a surprise he couldn't contain. This ancient, meaningful name hadn't been spoken for millennia.
"You… you know what I really am?" he murmured, his gaze shaken, as if his mask had cracked before this woman of boundless power.
Galadriel smiled gently, a glimmer of endless understanding in her clear eyes. "My ring, Nenya, holds the magic of waters and secrets. It reveals to me what Middle-earth hides from others' eyes. For millennia, Calion, I've had visions of you, glimpses of your existence, of your burden. Always, I saw you from afar, respecting the secret you guard so carefully."
Calion swallowed, briefly averting his gaze from Galadriel's, as if fearing she could see into his very soul. "And yet," he said, his voice trembling with rare vulnerability, "I never sought to be known. I have fled the memory of my past, and even here, in Lothlórien, I hide."
Calion looked away, struggling to contain the rising fear within him. He knew he was mysterious, but being discovered like this unsettled him. "I… I never wanted to be known. My past… it has only brought me pain, and I've found rest only by disappearing. Hiding is what shields me from those who hunger for power, and also…" His voice broke slightly, as if hesitating to admit this part of himself. "Also, from my own darkness."
Galadriel regarded him with gentle, deep sadness. "Forgetfulness will not save you, Calion. Nenya has shown me that the oldest pains resurface eventually, no matter how we try to flee. Perhaps it's time not to seek oblivion, but acceptance. Your secret is safe here, but your heart can find much more if you allow it."
Galadriel's gaze grew more intense, as if seeing beyond her words. "I understand, Calion. Ancient powers like those you possess draw envy. Those blessed with them risk being hunted… or becoming instruments of darkness themselves. But by hiding like this, depriving yourself of light, do you truly believe you're shielding yourself from the shadow you dread?"
Calion remained silent. She was right. He bore a fear he had never dared to voice: the fear of becoming what he had always fought. He knew that temptation, should it arise, might lead him into depths from which he could never return. In the past, he had dared to reveal his secret… and it had left him with memories so dark that no millennia-old slumber could erase them, though they lay buried deep within him.
"I once tried to be myself," he finally murmured, his voice broken by held-back emotion. "And the shadows fed on it. I saw what it could spawn."
Galadriel, with infinite patience, placed a soothing hand on his arm. "But shadows also grow in silence and isolation, Calion. Nenya has taught me that oblivion only lulls darkness; it does not heal it. Is that truly the peace you seek? Does pushing away those who could bring you light really lighten your heart?"
Calion remained silent, Galadriel's words resonating in him like a powerful, relentless echo. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. At last, in a trembling voice, he murmured, "You speak of light, Lady Galadriel… but there are shadows one can never truly leave behind." He paused, as if each word took colossal effort, his eyes falling to the hilt of his sword.
Galadriel continued to look at him, her face marked with gentle understanding. Calion took a deep breath before continuing, his voice rough with memories. "My sword… it's more than a weapon. It's a reminder of who I was, and what I lost."
He slightly drew the black blade from its sheath, and instead of reflecting light, it seemed to absorb it, like a living shadow. "It was born of darkness, forged in a moment when… I fell. When my rage and fear took over."
Galadriel's gaze lingered on the sword, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "So, this is what you hide so carefully," she murmured. "The weight of a memory that still binds you to the shadows."
Calion nodded, his face tortured. "There was a time when I dared to be myself, when I revealed who I was… and I feel it cost me a part of myself. I thought my power could be a force for good, but…" His voice broke, and he looked away, as if the memory crushed him. "But I fell. I allowed myself to be swept away, and there are things that no centuries can wash from my soul."
Galadriel stepped closer, placing a calming hand on his arm. "I understand," she murmured, her voice filled with deep compassion. "But these shadows you fear… they do not define you. What you've done, what you carry, has power over you only as much as you allow it."
Calion looked up, his gaze shaken by a new emotion, a fragile yet real hope. "Do you truly believe there's still light in me?" he asked, almost disbelieving.
Galadriel smiled, a smile filled with wisdom and certainty. "More than you know, Calion. Lothlórien would not have welcomed you if your heart were lost. It's not your past that makes your light, but your choice to face your own shadows. Perhaps it's time to accept this burden, not as a weight, but as a part of you that you can overcome."
Calion closed his eyes, absorbing her words like a balm. This sword, this past he had always fled, suddenly took on new meaning. Perhaps, for the first time in centuries, he felt that the shadows within him could be integrated, accepted, without ruling him.
Galadriel, her gaze filled with kindness and depth, let a moment of silence fall, as if giving Calion time for his own reflections. Then, in a soft yet indomitable voice, she murmured, "Calion, you have traversed ages, but this journey is not an endless exile. You play a role in the quest to come. I believe the paths that open before you are not only those of others… but also your own."
Calion raised his eyes, a flicker of perplexity and vulnerability in his gaze. She watched him with such intensity that he felt almost transparent under her gaze, as if she saw not only who he was today, but also the shadow of the being he had once been.
"Perhaps in this quest, you will find what you have been seeking for so long," Galadriel continued, her voice rising with the gravity of a prophecy. "The secrets of your immortality, the memories of your first life, those that lie dormant in the depths of your soul, and from which even shadows cannot forever shroud you."
Deeply moved, Calion felt a fragile yet undeniable hope spring up within him. "To find… the fragments of my first life?" he murmured, hesitant, as if the words were a secret prayer he had never dared to utter.
Galadriel nodded, a mysterious smile lighting her face. "Yes. Perhaps at the end of this journey, you will find peace for your soul. The path will be long and strewn with trials, but know this: if you face your own darkness, if you embrace the light within you, one day you may find that rest."
She took a step back, her eyes shining in the dim light. "Calion, this world is neither dark nor luminous, but the quest you undertake with your companions is a bridge between these two forces. Your burden will not vanish, but perhaps through this journey, you will finally understand why you bear this immortality."
Calion closed his eyes, overcome with deep emotion. Her words, her mysterious promises, awakened in him a hope and a purpose he had never truly imagined. Perhaps, he thought, this journey would finally lead him to something greater, something that would transcend the shadows of his past.