melian elven asked for something about her namesake, especially if it included a mother-daughter relationship.
There comes a time when the body is no longer free adornment, worn or discarded at will. The horizon tips, and what had been mere surrounding becomes self's substance.
Melian, who has stitched time and trees, now feels for the first time that earthly matter makes its own sense beyond the power of will. This child weighs within her, binding her to bones she'd fashioned for herself and for Thingol. For Thingol, who was born to this strangely happy bondage.
'Tis a dear gift. To be divested of flesh would be... to die. A dear gift to share in, indeed.