The embassy to the Galadhrim has not long to rest at Mekhem-bizru before setting out once more before dawn, headed down the course of the Silverlode to Lothlorien. As before, Seregrían and Bosi ride together in front of their escort, hoping the display of Elf and Dwarf riding in league may speed their passage into the Golden Wood. It is not long before the party reaches the banks of the Nimrodel and crosses the sweet-sounding waters to enter the frontier of Lothlorien.
No sooner do they gain the other bank then they are confronted by Elves, who seem to appear out of the very trees around them, bows drawn and stern of face. One archer stands in the path, blocking their way and calls out, “Daro, u-haer! Man eneth lin?”(Hold, no farther! What are you called?)
The reply comes, “Estannen Seregrían, istriel i Imladris. U-daur lend nin, i-geli gruith nin!” (Call me Blood-queen, scholar of Rivendell. Stay my passing and feel my fury!)
The archer looks quizzically, “Indeed, we are tasked to meet you and your companions, Seregrían of Rivendell, and speed your passage through Lothlorien. But from this point onward, you and yours must consent to our law, and have your eyes bound so as not to mark the paths through the wood.”
“We do not consent,” Bosi growls, “for our errand lies with your Lord and Lady, and not to be led around like a comic troupe bumping into trees!”
“As I said, you will not stall our passage,” Seregrían joins. “Would you deny the Lord and Lady our errand, whom they themselves would judge in crisis?” Bows are raised, Bosi’s hand drops to his axe, and Seregrían stares down the archer who, though daunted by her blazing silver eyes, holds fast his ground. Things are about to turn ill, when a voice enters her ears and her thought:
[Let the scholar and her friend pass unhindered, for we desire to meet with them with all speed!]
Seregrían shakes her head as if to clear her ears. She has felt osanwe, the Elvish gift of speaking with thoughts, though it has been untold years since any Elf, even Master Elrond, has spoken thus to her. And as she looks at the archer, it is clear he heard the exact same thing.
“It would seem,” the archer says, “that new tidings have come, and the Lady would bring you to her in haste. Very well, follow our lead, but only you and the Dwarf Bosi – the others must turn back, that is the wish of the Lord and Lady.” Seregrían nods to Bosi who, reluctantly, dismisses the escort. Once they are alone, the Elven patrol leads them on. Soon, the towering trees and walls of Caras Galadhon loom before them and they pass through the gates. Seregrían has returned to Lothlorien.
The Elven escort leads the two on the winding paths beneath the mallorn boughs, sunlight filtered into a green and golden glow about them. Seregrían is moved in thought; as comfortable as she has become with the darkness of Moria, the cool lights of the trees are truly the “heart of Elvendom on Earth”; and a new contentment begins to grow in her mind. Bosi, on the other hand, looks around with mixed wonder and disdain, clearly not comfortable beneath the trees.
Eventually the pair reach Talan Celeborn, the seat of the Lord of the Wood. As they ascend the winding path to the heights above, Seregrían can see Bosi’s growing discomfort. On impulse, she does something she never would have considered doing even a short year ago: she reaches out and takes Bosi by the hand.
“Lift your heart along with your spirits, Bosi my friend,” she says. “I felt as you do now, the day I first entered the Mines. But now you must steel your resolve, for the fate of Dwarves, Elves, and others we have yet to meet, may rest on our deeds here. I stand with you, as I said so.”
Bosi replies, looking down at their joined hands, “You are right, of course. Your heart is Dwarvish, Khazush, despite your Elvish nose. But your eyes are no longer yours, I fear; you are becoming something new, and that may be a boon – or a bane…”
The vast talan opens before them, and they stand at last in the presence of Celeborn and Galadriel, the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. Pleasantries and salutations are extended on both sides, both bow their respect to the noble Elves – and while Bosi and Celeborn confer, once more in Seregrían’s mind comes that voice, and her fists and jaw clench as she responds in kind:
[Welcome once more to Lothlorien, Nauthira.]
[I fear you misspeak, My Lady, for that name belongs to none here.]
[Nonsense. It is thy mother-name, that thou dost choose to bury along with thy hopes – until just recently…]
[Is there nothing, and no one, to whom I can confide any longer!?]
[I know much of what has come to pass, young one, without word from any other. We shall speak plainly, and in private, when this embassy concludes successfully. Yea, we shall render all aid we can to the Iron Garrison – and to thee.]
