Exploring Westernesse [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Lórellin

Isilmo landed near the outskirts of Lorien. His massive wings kicked up some of the dirt and flattened the grass. Elrohir watched in amazement as he lay Míril down so gently from his talons that she didn't stir. She had fallen into a light slumber from an enchantment by Calairien to help her in the journey.

Elrohir slid off Isilmo's back and thanked him.

"Truly you have been a great aid to us, Isilmo," Elrohir bowed. "Thank you."

"So it seems to be with my line. My father Thorondor bore Fingon, and my older brothers Landroval and Gwaihir often aided your folk in the Third Age of the Sun and Moon." Isilmo bowed back to Elrohir. "Till next we meet, descendent of Luthien."

Elrohir went to lift Míril up and she woke. Blinking her eyes, she wondered where she was.

"You are outside the Gardens of Lorien. Lord Irmo and Lady Estë tend to them." Isilmo gestured ahead of them with his beak. "Look! Here comes your escort."

The man was tall, hair silver and skin very pale. His clothes, grey and black, shimmered with every movement. In his hair were black ribbons with onyx stones at each pleat. He strode forward, seeming to float. His movements were very smooth.

Isilmo told them to go to him. Míril and Elrohir did as instructed, walking forward to meet the Maia half way. When they approached him, he spoke. His voice was smooth and deep, very pleasant.

"Greetings. My Lords are expecting you. I am Artuilion, Maia of Estë and Irmo." He gave a brief nod to them in hello. "Come. Follow me. Healing and rest await you."

Míril took her husband's hand. Together, she and Elrohir walked behind Artuilion into the Willow forest. The first thing they noticed was the quiet. There were no bugs, no birds. All they heard was water dripping, or the occasional small stream. As they drew closer to their destination, large pools of crystal clear water began to crop up. Connected by tiny yet flowing streams, small wooden bridges allowed for crossing.

A slight mist, or haze, lay in the forest as they moved onward. Night was fast approaching, and the small, dim silver lamps were the only source of light besides the moon and stars. Ever onward Artuilion led them. Onwards and inwards. For the first time they heard bird song, with the occasional hoot of a hidden owl. The weeping willow trees beside and around each pool likely hid these animals.

Finally they approached the largest pool yet. Less a pool and more a lake, they saw an island in the center. Thirty five willow trees stood around it's edges, and one small silver-barked Mallorn tree stood in the center.

Artuilion steered them towards a small dock where a raft floated. "Come, we go to the Isle of Lórellin."

They boarded the raft and watched Artuilion slowly and rhythmically push the raft with a pole to take them across the water. After about five minutes, they arrived at the island. Waiting for them were three figures. The first was a woman clad entirely in grey, with hair silver-toned as well. Her face was kind and her grey eyes cast a gentle glance at the newcomers. Beside her was a tall man, robed in grey and blue, with eyes of a very pale blue. He held a staff of birchwood with a blue crystal atop it.

The third was a woman who stood slightly behind them. She was raven-haired, and grey eyed. She wore a brilliant blue dress. On her shoulder sat a Nightingale. Her resemblance to Arwen was noticeable. This one Elrohir and Míril recognized from their stories and songs. This was Melian, one of the wisest and chief of the Maiar, behind only Ilmarë and Eonwë, and perhaps Olórin.

"Welcome, Elrohir, descendent of Luthien." The grey clad woman's voice smoothly floated to them. "Welcome Míril, descendent of Fëanor. I am Estë, and this is my husband Irmo."

Míril and Elrohir both bowed deeply to them. Míril noted as she stood straight again, and her gaze fell upon Melian briefly, that the Maia was all eyes for Elrohir. Míril remembered that Elrohir was her progeny.

"Thank you my Ladies, my Lord," Elrohir inclined his head.

Irmo flashed a small smile. "Elrohir, why do you not go for a stroll with Melian. Estë must care for your wife."

Melian perked up immediately. She held out a hand to Elrohir and he took it after planting a kiss on his wife's forehead. Together, he and Melian strode among the willows to the other side of the Isle of Lórellin.

"Elrohir," Melian smiled. "It is a wondrous pleasure to meet you at last. Your mother speaks often of you."

Elrohir's face lit up. "When do you speak to Celebrían?"

Melian gave a musical laugh. "Often, dearest child. Especially since your sister made the choice my own daughter made."

Elrohir halted in his step. He felt tears coming to his eyes. Arwen, his baby sister. Images of her childhood flashed before his eyes. Images of her growth into the most beautiful of elves of the Third Age. Images of her lovely wedding.

Placing a hand on his arm, Melian spoke with a firm yet still gentle tone. "You are in need of healing also, do not forget that. You will be tended to as well once Míril is settled."

Elrohir felt his tears begin to flow on his cheeks. Between the loss of his sister and three of his children, and the betrayal and death of his youngest, he felt overwhelmed beyond the point of sanity.

Melian drew him into a hug while she touched a tree branch with her right hand. Where she touched, a white blossom grew. She picked it. Drawing back, Elrohir looked at it in wonder.

"This is a dream flower. I often tend to them here in Lorien as they grow upon the willows." Melian handed it to him, placing it delicately into his outstretched palms. "May it be a sign, a promise to you, that you will find healing."

Elrohir examined the gentle blossom. A promise of healing. He truly believed she meant it.