She had been overawed by the beauty and peace of Lothlórien. Knowing that Irielloth had walked those very glades of forest so many centuries before had made it even more poignant. With an Elven guard from Lothlórien, the five travelling companions had ridden over the Misty Mountains to Rivendell, where she was joined by Eradan. The two hobbits had remained only long enough to pay their respects to their great uncle Bilbo, whom Lothíriel had the great pleasure to meet for the first time.
Merry and Pippin travelled west along the East Road to Bree and onto The Shire riding with some of Elrond’s people departing for the Grey Havens and a ship to the Undying Lands of Aman. Knowing that many of these Elves would be meeting Maglor soon had filled her with love, but also longing. She missed him. She was acutely aware of that her sense of loss was insignificant to that of her host, Lord Elrond, who faced an eternity of separation from his only daughter, Queen Arwen.
Loss of a loved one, this was her greatest failing, her inability to face it. Maglor was lost to her but he had a future with those he loved. When Maglor had been taken by Pallando and did not return to her, Irielloth this time did not forget. She was with child when she learned from Elrond, her beloved foster son and great nephew, that Maglor had been captured or killed by the enemy. Only Elrond knew she still lived and only he knew of her love for her former enemy. She wanted none of her kin to know fearing what hatred it might bring upon her unborn child. Elrond counselled her to leave for Aman and so she had waited there, with their son, receiving no word of her love until Ëarendil shone his light upon her and she saw him reflected through the light as Lothíriel danced.
And now Maglor was with Irielloth, whole as he had been when he left her. This loss to herself was one Lothíriel could accept, but the one great loss of her life, that of her mother, this still eluded her. She had spoken openly with Lord Elrond, trying to find some way of unlocking what was so deeply buried in her mind. They spoke about many things of the past, especially Maglor’s tragic history and all those of her ancestors he had known. Her mother might remain unknown to her, but she had begun to learn much of her grandmother, Idril, knowledge that was furthered by the wonderful months she had with Eradan as he escorted her with Legolas and Gimli to Dale and Erebor to meet her aunt, Estriel, Eradan and Idril’s daughter and wife of King Bard.
Gimli had been looking forward to showing his great elf friend the grandeur of the Halls of Erebor within the Lonely Mountain. Legolas’s genuine wonderment at what he saw had filled Gimli with such pride and went far in improving King Thorin’s opinion of the Elves of Greenwood. The weeks she spent with her friends and relatives had assuaged the keenness of her separation from Éomer, not even the urgent missive asking for Belegond’s whereabouts dented her enjoyment of her northern family. Lothíriel was not just busy socially; she had thrown herself into understanding everything possible in the world of commerce. It had been most instructive.
She left the largest part of the mithril she had mined with Éomer with King Thorin with the promise that he would bring the result himself with King Bard and Queen Estriel to their wedding on the first day of the new year, when Gimli would also bring many of his kin to Rohan to establish a new dwarf colony in the Glittering Caves. Understanding the mining techniques and requirements of the dwarf realm in Erebor would prove invaluable in smoothing the integration of the new colony into the economic fabric of not just Rohan but also those unpopulated lands to the west of Rohan in Enedwaith.
It had been hard to tear herself away from the delights of Erebor and Dale, but she needed to face the most difficult part of her task for Aragorn: Arnor, the ancient Kingdom, the abandoned capital city of Annúminas and the ancient ruins of the Fortress of Fornost. But first, their route had taken her and her two principal guards, Legolas and Gimli, through Greenwood and to the Elvenking Halls of King Thranduil, who been most insistent that she came, one of the very few of Mankind who had ever been allowed to enter the kingdom. It had also provided the King with an excellent excuse to extend a welcome to his son’s best friend, Gimli and a good reason for Gimli to accept, for Gimli was still distrustful of Elves, despite his great love for Legolas and Lady Galadriel.
Whether out of respect for Lothíriel or love for his son, King Thranduil had been most charming and generous. The Elvenking Halls had deeply affected Gimli and his friend’s awe of nature’s striking beauty had touched Legolas in his turn. The Halls, crafted as they were from living wood, had been a marvel to Gimli. Dwarves had notoriously little respect for the natural world, preferring metals and gems, and he had been grateful that Lothíriel had insisted on spending more time there than he had wished, so he could also learn how to nurture such regenerating artistry for his own colony. Legolas hoped that the former bonds of great friendship between the Elves and Dwarves would not be forgotten, even though the time would come when both races and the two friends themselves would be separated from each other, a prospect Legolas was finding challenging in ways he had not anticipated.
Thranduil had been drawn to Lothíriel from their first meeting, having recognised that, though she was not one of the Half-Elven, she was deserving of a place on the ships bound for Aman. They had often spoken in Minas Tirith at the time of the Coronation, and he perceived the same darkness she carried as that he found within himself. He had similarly blocked all memory of his wife, Legolas’s mother, who had been killed in the great Battle of Dagorland alongside his beloved father, Orophir. He had gone to a place beyond grief, and he too had cut all memory of her from his mind.
It had been a constant source of discord between father and son over the centuries that lay between her death and the present. And yet he found with Lothíriel that he could talk about this, hesitantly at first, but soon more openly. She understood him, and he trusted her.
However their time together in Minas Tirith had been short and restricted by the demands on her time. Legolas had at first watched with some trepidation his father’s interest in Lothíriel and had confided as much to Aragorn. He had been greatly relieved to hear that those who knew her best were confident that her interest lay very firmly elsewhere. It did not take him long to guess whom he meant, much to Gimli’s joy. While Gimli’s heart had been lost to Galadriel, he held Lothíriel above all other females of the race of Men and his attachment to Éomer matched that he had for Aragorn.
Legolas believed that, while his father had been disappointed to hear she had chosen the Fate of Men to stay with her beloved, he had accepted her choice. Through Lothíriel, Legolas had begun to understand his father better. Only through her pain had he begun to see that far from not loving his mother, his father had perhaps loved her too much. Legolas found hope that his father might finally be able to open his heart once more to love and he had noticed a very real change in his father during their stay.
Their last night in the Elvenhalls of King Thranduil fell on the festival of the Evensong of Elbereth, a night that was sacred to the Elves. Legolas asked Lothíriel if she would sing Maglor’s ode to his wife. She understood why he had asked, she too had felt the change in his father. Lothíriel and King Thranduil had spoken again that afternoon about the nature of loss and their inability to accept grief. They spoke about her choice and what it meant to be an Elf or of Mankind, who had rejected death as a gift of Iluvatar and therefore feared it. She had asked him if he felt it was possible that he would find his wife again, in the lands of the Valar.
Maglor had told her that those pure in spirit and love were allowed to return, reborn to the world of the Elves. She wondered if this was why Elves almost never re-married once they had lost their love to death and the Halls of Waiting. She pondered that this might have been the real cause of the strife of the Noldor, that their King, Finwë, had remarried so soon after his first wife’s death following the birth of Fëanor, and if that was why he sacrificed his own chance of rebirth in his first wife’s favour, so that she could be returned to the world and he would not have to choose between his two wives, as his second wife, Indis, also lived in Aman. Thranduil admitted to her he had been too afraid to contemplate anything with such hope. Hope had been taken away from him with his father and wife’s passing to the Halls of Waiting, but with Sauron’s defeat, hope had slowly been rekindled in him.
She sang Maglor’s song for him, from the highest point of the Halls, where a tributary of the Forest River tumbled into a deep pool which opened to the stars, reflecting their light in its pure waters. The rock of the pool was veined with bright crystals which shone in the light of the moon and the stars. As she sang Maglor’s song, her heart turned towards her love for Éomer and it became more powerful, more real. The very forest was listening, all the Elves of the Woodland Realm heard her song and were uplifted by it. The water of the pool began to move as she began to dance. She danced as she had danced for Ulmo, she danced with the water. Her dancing inspired the Elves began to song, one which stirred hope in the heart of King Thranduil that he might be blessed to see his wife again. Coming to sit beside his father, Legolas saw tears in his father’s eyes for the first time, tears he realised were tears of love for his mother. With those tears the deep rift between them both melted away as his own began to flow.
King Thranduil had insisted on joining the party heading upstream along the banks of the Forest River. Lothíriel, Legolas and Gimli were to meet Eradan and an armed guard of his kinsmen in the deserted city of Framsburg, former home of the Éothéod, Éomer’s ancestors, but now little more than a desolate hamlet. Eradan had preferred to stay with his daughter and two grandchildren in Dale knowing that Lothíriel would be safe from any assassins within Greenwood, but now they would be crossing the breadth of Arnor, first to Fornost and then even further west to Lake Evendim and the ancient capital of Arnor, Annúminas. From there they would travel to Mithlond, the Grey Havens, to meet with the great Elf lord, Círdan, before travelling directly East to Michel Delving and a much looked for reunion with their hobbit friends.
The whole journey was expected to take two months and they would be vulnerable to attack. However, with Legolas, Gimli, Eradan and the large contingent of the most skilled Rangers of the North, Lothíriel felt perfectly safe, especially as she had also been carrying her new mithril sword since Rivendell, where it had been forged for her by the most renowned swordsmith remaining in Middle-earth, one who had trained under Celebrimbor himself. It was the same Elf who had re-forged the shards of Narsil, into Andúril, Aragorn’s sword, the Flame of the West.
Her parting from King Thranduil had been more emotional than either expected. They knew they would not see each other again. She gave him two tightly bound packages and asked him to give one to Maglor for her. The other was for him, but it was not to be opened until he had truly settled into his new life. Only then was he to see what she had left for him. She did not tell him that she feared if he was not content with his life, her gift would cause him much pain. It contained detailed drawings of much of the Elvenking Halls. He would of course remember every detail; it was a gift he could show his love, when he met her again, and any future children he may have.
Her gift to Maglor had an even greater hidden purpose. Not for what it had contained within, but some instinct deep within her impelled her to insist that he delivered it to Maglor in person, ensuring that Thranduil would meet the one she loved more than any in Aman. When Thranduil honoured his promise to Lothíriel within months of arriving in Aman with his people and the two Elves finally met, they formed a close and lasting friendship, as Lothíriel had hoped.
Yet more than this, soon after their reunion a beloved daughter entered the lives of Maglor and Irielloth. Thranduil had felt her presence as soon as she was born but stayed away until she was fully grown, wanting her to make her own choice freely with no expectation. As a good friend of the family, he knew they would meet at the celebrations the Elves held for their children when they became of age to explore a life on their own. And so, he waited, patiently, until finally the invitation was received.
His people were surprised that he decided to travel to Maglor’s home unescorted, not because there was any danger, but that it was a five-day journey and he would need to find food and rest in the wild by himself. Conversely, the King had been looking forward to the time on his own, to explore the land between their two regions in peace without the burden of Kingship. Less than a day from Maglor’s home, as he walked contentedly through the surrounding woodlands, he felt the stirrings of love in his heart, drawing him deeper into the woods. As though in a trance, he roamed and then, there she was, gliding towards him, equally impelled to take that path that day, as she confessed to him after they had married. She too had felt his growing presence as she changed from child Elf to the Elf who stood before him in the woods. She had found him. They did not even ask each other’s name before she threw herself into his arms crying with joy. Theirs had been a deeply connected love, one that had survived the Halls of Waiting and rebirth, only waiting for the bond to be reforged in life once more.
When Thranduil finally opened Lothíriel’s gift to him to show his beloved wife, he wept in gratitude for her foresight.
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The two months in Arnor had passed more quickly than Lothíriel had expected. Arnor was a beautiful region yet sparsely populated. It had once been a rich land. The ancient forests had been cut down centuries before to make way for agriculture and the forest had not regrown. The land was ripe for cultivation; it just needed people. She saw how Fornost could be rebuilt to become a focal point and place of protection for the central plains, but it was in the majestic ruins of Annúminas she saw the greatest potential. As with Osgiliath, she regretted the devastation that had been wrought on what had once been a city of great elegance and splendour. Its setting on the shores of Lake Evendim was of unparalleled beauty, only Aldburg had made a greater impression on her.
Her mind saw a seat of learning to compare with that she had proposed to King Aragorn as the purpose for Isengard. The hills of Evendim to the north of the crumbling city were teeming in wildlife and timber, and freshwater fish were plentiful in the lake surprisingly unspoiled by war. They passed through rich but untamed pastures on their way south to the Grey Havens, which would continue to be a significant port even once all the Elves of Middle-earth departed. It was here, in the Grey Havens, she found herself with only six weeks before the date of her wedding to Éomer and no closer to finding what she was looking for. Yet she was about to meet the one whom Mithrandir had described as the wisest Elf on Middle-earth: Círdan, the Shipwright. She had hope.
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She was well versed in Círdan’s history and how deeply affected he had been by the fell deeds of the Elf she loved the most. She humbly came before him, in full acknowledgment of the evil Maglor had committed to those under his protection. Círdan had lost many he had loved to the sons of Fëanor. Like Galadriel, he had found it difficult to forgive his past deeds, but when he saw how far Maglor had changed and how he had consistently proved his repentance, he had found it within him to forgive. Lothíriel sat beside him for many hours, learning more of the tales of ancient Beleriand. She had not considered herself worthy to be granted an audience with him, much as her heart had wished it. He, in his turn, had been intrigued to meet the mortal who had helped bring such peace to the Elves.
She sang for him. The song of Maglor was the most beautiful of all the songs she had ever sung but this was not the song she chose. It was one that came to her as she sat with Círdan beside the ocean, as the waves melodically lapped against the rocks below. It came from Ulmo, for Círdan, and he listened to the message. It was as though Ulmo was singing through her, and at that moment Círdan understood her uniqueness. She was a vessel through which the Valar could express themselves if they so chose. He realised she did not know this herself, nor would she care to know. She did not believe herself to be so special. He had judged humility to be one of Alatar’s greatest gifts, as with Radagast and Mithrandir who came after him.
‘What do you still seek, Lothíriel?’ he asked her. She did not respond for a long time, but that mattered not, he was the master of patience.
‘Justice, not vengeance. The two are not the same. I thought I was searching for love, for the love of my mother. But I am not, though I needed the foundation stone of love to become strong enough to accept my responsibilities. I now have love in abundance, and yet still I search.’ She had wrinkled her forehead in concentration, something was bothering her, just beyond reach.
‘What made you forget? The memory is still locked in your mind. Was it the shock of loss? Of seeing death?’ Círdan gently coaxed her memory back to that Hithui almost ten years before.
‘No,’ she almost whispered. ‘No,’ she said her voice becoming stronger. ‘I was burning. Ulmo sent a wave over me to stop the burning and to send me to sleep, to forget the pain of the fire that had raged within me, the fire of Alatar. I was too young; my body wasn’t ready. I killed all those men, all those men, on my own.’
The realisation of her memories flooded over her, bringing her to slide to the floor on her knees. Her mind burst open and she stayed completely still while she re-lived in great rapidity those traumatic days, from the moment her brothers handed her to Cirion to her rescue. She said nothing for a long while. Eventually, she closed her eyes and nodded in a sign of acceptance of the memory, in all its horror. Círdan observed her quietly in great sympathy. ‘I know where to find him,’ she said calmly.
‘Justice, not vengeance,’ she continued, her voice becoming steely. ‘I will remember that, my Lord Círdan. Thank you for showing me that which I had forgotten. I fear we must leave sooner than I had wished.’
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The four hobbits were waiting impatiently for their arrival in Michel Delving, although, to be fair, it was only Pippin and to a lesser extent Merry who were exhibiting overt signs of impatience. Sam had been engaged in a most interesting discussion with the Mayor, Will Whitfoot, for most of the hours they were waiting, and Frodo was content to watch the hobbits of the town go about their business. Although they would meet in the town, they could not stay there, the hobbits of the Shire did not take too kindly to strangers. While Lothíriel and Gimli would stay at Bag End with Sam, his wife Rosie and Frodo for one night to break their journey to Bree, the Rangers and Legolas all preferred to be stationed in discreet hiding places away from hobbit settlements.
Bree was the only place in Middle-earth where hobbits and men cohabited freely, and the friends would be welcome to celebrate their reunion at the Prancing Pony, the finest establishment in Bree, with no disapproval from other hobbits. The town was in great excitement that the daughter of a prince was making a prominent visit to the town on behalf of their new King, Aragorn, their old Strider. The townsfolk had heard rumour of it only four days before. She was trying to keep it a secret of course but the landlord at the Prancing Pony, old Butterbur, had kept forgetting their reservation and one of the Rangers kept having to tell him every day the same details to make sure the rooms would be ready for their important guests. The Rangers were accorded more civility and respect now that all of Bree knew they were the King’s kinsmen.