Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings trilogy was written by J. R. R. Tolkien.
I make no monetary profit from this tale
Summary: An Elven lament
Author's notes: Thanks to the Elf Maidens at Haldir Lovers for the fic title - part of a competition and winner of said Haldir Lovers Fanfiction Competition, Rúmil's Choice Award, March, 2006. Yay! :)
The Elvish is not a direct translation, but as best as I could piece together Elvish words. Kudos to www.councilofelrond.com for their fabulous Elven (and other) language dictionaries and phrases :)
Rating G
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~ Milya Aerlinn lû Súlimë ~~
{Lightly Sings the Wind}
With a heavy heart, I sigh. Tears well in my eyes as I walk through the Golden Wood. With a gentle hand, I touch the trees. I sense they weep with me. With all of us. My cheeks, now wet as rain soaked Earth. There be not one dry eye amongst us. I sit by Cellorian, my favourite tree. He was but a sapling when I was a babe. Over forty thousand full moons have passed since then. For almost four thousand Winters, Cellorian has stood tall and proud. I know he will not falter. I pray to the Valar for such strength. I throw my arms around his sturdy trunk and cry. His soft, dark bark, a welcome comfort. His gentle spirit consoles my quivering soul. He is a dear friend in times of need, a pillar of strength when I feel weak, pulling me together when I feel torn asunder. And although he is my favourite tree in Lothlórien, I love them all dearly.
I gather myself and stand, kissing my dear friend goodbye. I am thankful to receive no disturbance as I pay my respects to the sacred, hallowed lands of my birth, my homeland a place I feel connected to the very Earth. I look around and see my fellow Elven kin preparing for our final voyage. I see my beloved brothers, faces wet as mine. I walk to them and hold them. Even our regal Lord Celeborn's eyes are bloodshot. No words need be said. The eyes are the windows of the soul, and our souls grieve.
I am told there exists a place called Lórien in Valinor, and I am sure it is very beautiful, but I find it hard at this moment to call it my home. Lothlórien will forever be etched into my heart and soul, a place of beauty, love, serenity and deep magick.
We begin the long procession to the sea, our voices carrying on the winds. My voice breaks more than once. I am not the only one. I feel Haldir's gentle hand touch my shoulder, giving me strength to walk on. Both men and Hobbits see us on. Many thank us, bid us farewell and some even gave us gifts. A dear Hobbit child gave me a wreath. She told me it was made from branches and leaves from Lothlórien and Rivendell. I placed my arms around the little girl, kissed her head and thanked her with all the sincerity of my heart and soul. I promised her that I would treasure this sacred gift ~ and that I would, forever more. I knelt down to her and gave her my Elven brooch. She clutched it in her hand. The beautiful child wiped away my tears and told me not to cry as the magick of the Elves would never leave Middle Earth. She told me her name was Sinda and her mother had named her after the Elves. I told her my name and introduced her to my brothers. Even Haldir was touched by Sinda's gestures and words and he has never been one for children ...
As we walked on, I gave one of the leaves from my precious wreath to each of my brothers and placed the garland upon my head. I feel the tree spirits speaking to me once more and I realise they are still with me. They always had been, though in my grief, I had not heard them. And I know now, even when I have sailed afar, their eternal spirits would forever be. Silently I thanked the insightful Hobbit for her gift. I believe she knew in her soul the true value of such a precious present.
After days and nights of travel, we arrive at the beautiful Grey Havens. The exquisite grey ship stands serene in the harbour, the most magnificent vessel I have ever seen. It is indeed beautiful, magickal and worthy of kings. It is named Olórë, translated into Westron ~ Dream Magick.
Again tears flow as we stand at this final port. After a while, Lord Celeborn is the first to walk toward the ship. His Lady Galadriel, the Lady of Light set sail for the Undying Lands a year and one day ago to this very day. I look around at the timeless stone pillars and time honoured statues of this wondrous place, before turn and follow my brothers. Haldir helps Orophin onto the boat as he trips, nay due to clumsiness, but a heavy heart. I comfort my oldest brother and place the wreath upon his head.
"Thank you, Rúmil. Your strength is a pillar for us all."
"You give me far too much credit, My Brother."
Orophin shakes his head and I see him smile for the first time in many months. He begins to give the sacred garland back to me.
"Wear it for a while," I told him. "It is for us all to share."
Gently he places his arms around me. "Thank you again, Dear Brother."
When we are aboard, Olórë, the enchanted ship of Círdan sets sail. I take one last look at the white sands of Middle Earth, before they appear replaced by the deep green sea. I place my hands upon Olórë’s silver wooden frame. He feels sturdy, but he too pains. I feel his timeless soul. He was crafted from trees of Lothlórien, willingly giving themselves for his birth. He honours them and cherishes them as he does us. I take a deep breath. Refreshing ocean scented air fills my lungs. The sky blanketed with cloud, though I sense it will not rain. Although I am sad to leave my beautiful home, the forest of which I will always feel a part, I know that we are trenscending the physical world and entering a place of eternal peace, harmony, love and spirit.
The sea is quiet, my kin are silent, the stillness reaching deep into my soul. Night has fallen. The clouds have parted. The moon is new. The stars shimmer on this dark, moonless night. The cool night air gently blows through my hair. I close my eyes and become one with the sacred, serene silence.
My eyes open slowly as I begin to hear very soft singing. The voice is gentle, feminine, lovely. At first I think it is one of my brethren, and then I smile.
She caresses us with her gentle touch. Softly, she sings to us, colsoling us and guiding us along our sacred voyage upon the waters to the Undying Lands, to Valinor, gently carrying Olórë into the West.
Milya Aerlinn lû Súlimë … Lightly sings the Wind
*