Lothlorien had been beautiful. The golden Mallorns were a balm to Envandiel’s soul as she sat under their ancient beauty. Galadriel was a gracious host, and the journey with the Eledhrim of Aurandel and Airingil had been healing.
Envandiel placed her palm against the trunk of the oldest tree in the Golden Wood and looked up into the green and silver of spring shining above her, with lamps twinkling like stars even in the daylight. By her feet, the young wildcat that was her constant companion chased opalescent dragonflies.
“Your mind is troubled.”
Galadriel’s rich tones were unexpected as they broke the silence, and Envandiel turned in surprise.
“Forgive me, my Lady. I fear I am ever restless.”
“Such are the minds of those who bear such a burden.” Regal and ancient, many years older than even Envandiel, Galadriel was one of few that could make her feel like a child again, with the light of the Trees shining from the depths of the Lady’s wise eyes.
“I have travelled. I am here. I am not alone. I should be at peace.”
“You believe your oath unfulfilled.” It was not a question.
Tarannon… will it ever be enough to fulfill what I swore to you?
I miss you.
I am weary.
I am unfinished.
“I do.” Tears pooled in her eyes and Iarril weaved between her feet, purring.
“The darkness of the land will come to an end, yet with its fall much will be lost.” Galadriel held out a scroll, decorated with elegant scrolling. “You should not be here when it reaches close even to this Wood. Such is not your fight. You have seen enough grief. I put this task to you: deliver this to the Grey Havens, and aid them in what they ask of you. When the coming war finds its end, you shall sail. If it ends in peace, you will sail east. If in disaster, West.”
Envandiel’s brow furrowed. “East?” What Elf sails east?
“Many of our kin dwell in the refuge of Edhellon. You shall travel there and receive their wisdom and see those lands. The sea shall bring healing and such a journey shall offer the peace you seek. Perhaps then, this burden will be lifted, and we who remain may at last find the grace to return again to the land for which we long.”
Envandiel bowed her head. “I thank you, Lady. I… needed such guidance but have feared to seek it.”
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “Those who have lived as long as we have, have seen much sorrow. Do not let such grief bring you to fall. There is always a glimmer of hope.”
With that, the Lady departed, her elegant form disappearing between towering white trees. Envandiel scooped up Iarril and held the purring animal close to her heart.
“It is time to journey again, small one.”
And then, perhaps, I can rest.
Truly rest.
