Prologue: Homecoming

You are a handmaiden of Lórien, Melian reminded herself as she stepped into the throne room of Manwë. Once you were Queen of Doriath, but what is that compared to the glory of being a Maia of Valinor, one who had danced before the throne of Ilúvatar, himself? Such a small thing, a queen, and yet...

Melian faltered, the pain of memory lancing through her fëa almost like a physical blow. Around her Manwë’s court, a mixture of Maiar and Eldar, waited silently, watching, neither helping nor hindering her as she forced herself to keep moving. There was no warmth of greeting in their eyes, nor did any bow to her in respect for who she was, or rather, she amended wryly to herself, who she once had been. She had foolishly thought to hide in Lórien upon her return, shunning all who might have a claim on her, but in her heart she knew that would not happen. There was a reckoning to be made first.

At least, she thought grimly, I have not been summoned to appear within Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom, as had Melkor long ages past. One had to find one’s blessings where one could, she supposed. Taking a deep centering breath, Melian continued forward, somehow managing the curtsey due to the Elder King and his Consort upon reaching the foot of their thrones. She forced herself to look up and almost quailed for she realized that all the Valar, even Ulmo, sat before her on their respective thrones. Worse still, she noticed that Manwë himself wore the Crown of Arda, an intricately wrought crown of mithril with a single large diamond set in the center, glittering with sapphirine brilliance in Arien’s light that streamed through the high windows on the east side of the great reception hall.

Rarely did the Elder King wear this particular crown of state, preferring instead a simple coronet of silver on most occasions, even the most solemn ones. That he wore this particular crown did not bode well for her she deemed.

Varda, on the other hand, wore her usual crown of stars, having never bothered with a crown of state, although Aulë had fashioned one for her that matched Manwë’s crown. Each of the other Valar, though, wore simple coronets, if they bothered to wear any crown at all. None looked particularly happy to see her, especially Mandos.

Melian kept her eyes on Manwë, waiting for him to greet her. For an interminable moment the Elder King looked gravely upon her, the two Eagles gracing the back of his throne cocking their heads to stare at her, measuring her in their own fashion. Then, Manwë smiled, ever so slightly.

“Na mai tulë, tári Melyanna. Na mai tulë mardelyanna, nettenya.”

Melian struggled to keep the shock she felt from her expression. Ever since Elu had forbidden the language of the Noldor princes to be spoken within his realm she had studiously forgotten it. It took her a brief moment to realize that Manwë had spoken Quenya for the benefit of the Eldar who were attending the court, not as an insult to her. None of the Elves there, she now noticed, were Sindar or even Silvan. None would have any reason to know the language of Doriath.

“I am a queen no longer, sire,” she said in the same language. “And as for Valinor being home…”

Images of Menegroth flashed through her mind and she wondered if she would ever call any place “home” again.

“You have returned to us, my sister,” Manwë said compassionately, “and we rejoice that it is so, though the circumstances of your return be direful.”

She nodded, acknowledging the Elder King’s concern. She turned her gaze to Mandos, sitting sternly on Manwë’s right.

“Elu—“

“Remains with me for a time,” Mandos said.

She nodded, expecting no less. “May I speak—“

Mandos shook his head. “You will not be able to speak with Elu Thingol until the time of his reimbodiment.”

She had thought as much but hearing it from Mandos’ lips was like experiencing her husband’s death all over again. Mandos’ stern features seemed to soften somewhat.

“You both need time apart to reflect on things, I deem, Queen of Doriath. Allow Elu this time alone. When he is ready, he will come to you.”

“In the meantime, my dear,” Varda spoke for the first time, “what are your plans? Where do you go? Will you return to Lórien to dance upon the green as you once did? Will you be once more a handmaiden to my brother Irmo or will you go to Tol Eressëa to live amongst your husband’s kin as their queen?”

Melian shook her head. “I am queen of no realm now, Lady, nor anyone’s handmaiden. I am—”

But what she was she did not know and the thought of it nearly undid her and she found she could not continue. Tears, tears she had never shed even when Elu lay dying in her arms, began to flow and to her embarrassment she found she could not stop.

It was Nienna who came to her rescue, rising from her throne and coming to place a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“You need time to grieve, Melian,” the Vala said softly, nearly weeping herself. “Come with me. There will be time for dancing later.”

Melian looked up at the Vala, still weeping. “I will go with you, my lady, but I fear I will never dance again.”

Now Manwë came down from his seat to stand before her, bending down to give her a kinsman’s kiss and wiping away her tears with his fingers. “Forever is a very long time even for us, muinthel nîn,” he whispered to her. Then he stepped back and in a louder voice said, “Go now with Nienna and find what comfort you may.”

Melian curtsied again and allowed Nienna to lead her away. She was no longer weeping but in her misery she barely looked up, so she did not notice the Maiar and Eldar bowing as she passed them.

****

Na mai tulë, tári Melyanna. Na mai tulë mardelyanna, nettenya: (Quenya) Be well come, Queen Melian. Be well come to your home, my sister.

muinthel nîn: (Sindarin) my sister.

1: Summons

“Melian.”

Melian looked up from her weaving and smiled at her great-great-grandson’s silver-haired wife. “Celebrían. What brings you here on this fine day?” Melian stood to embrace the elleth, daughter of her husband’s kinsman, Celeborn.

Celebrían laughed and stepped into Melian’s arms. “Why, I came to see my favorite daernaneth, of course,” she said, then stepped back, the light of mischief in her eyes. “And I brought a friend.” Celebrían moved to one side so Melian  could see who was entering behind her.

“Hello, my dear. You’re looking well.”

“Olórin!” Melian smiled with delighted surprise as the two Maiar embraced. “It’s been too long. What brings you to Tol Eressëa?”

Olórin smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I had nothing better to do today and —“

Melian laughed, playfully hitting him on the arm. “The day you have nothing better to do is the day we all should start worrying. But come, sit, both of you, and tell me the news.”

Melian motioned the other two towards a bench along one side of the workshop where she and Olórin took a seat but Celebrían smiled and shook her head. “Actually, I am on my way to visit with friends. I merely met Mithrandir on the way, so I will leave you two to gossip without me.”

Olórin feigned shock at the elleth’s words. “Gossip! I’ll have you know, my dear, that I have never indulged in gossip.” He turned to Melian, who was fighting not to laugh. “These elflings show no respect for their elders, do they, my dear?”

Now it was Celebrían’s turn to feign indignation. “Elfling! Why I haven’t been an elfling in...in millenia!”

Now Melian was laughing. “Oh my darling, no matter how old you are, you will always be elflings to us.”

“Hmph. Well, this elfling has better things to do than stand here being insulted. When you’re finished gossiping,” Celebrían stuck her tongue out as Melian and Olórin laughed even harder, “you’ll want to join us for the evening meal, won’t you, Mithrandir?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dear Celebrían. I have yet to meet your own two elflings, an ellon and an elleth I understand.”

Celebrían smiled indulgently. “Yes. Elros and Esteliel. They just turned twenty.”

Olórin nodded. “Then I will be there, never fear.”

“And you will come, too, won’t you Daernaneth? The twins would love to see you again.”

Before Melian could answer, Olórin said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Melian is there, but we cannot stay the night. We must sail with the midnight tide.”

Melian looked at her old friend in surprise and Celebrían’s eyebrows went up but she merely nodded. “Then we will see you both at eventide. Don’t be late.” And with that, she left the two Maiar to themselves.

“Olórin?” Melian asked.

“How have you been, Melian?” said the other Maia, forestalling any questions from her.

She gave her friend a wry look. “Fine, be that way.”

Olórin affected an innocent look that fooled no one. “And what way is that?”

Melian laughed and stood up. “Would you care for some tea? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“Tea would be fine.”

Melian nodded and went into a small kitchen area off the main room. She spent a few moments putting together the tea things before returning to her guest whom she found staring at her latest project, nearly completed.

“The tea will be ready soon. Meantime, tell me what truly brings you to Tol Eressëa.”

For a moment Olórin did not speak but continued examining the tapestry on the loom. It was a scene from Middle-earth showing the meeting of Finrod with Balan and his people.

“This is quite good.”

“Thank you. Now quit stalling.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Olórin said with a smile.

“Olórin...”

“Hush now, muin nîn. I truly was planning to come for a visit when Manwë asked me to deliver to you a message from him.”

Melian looked at her friend in surprise. “Manwë!”

Olórin nodded, motioning towards the bench and the two Maiar sat down again. “Yes,” he said simply and then gave her a piercing look. “Manwë wishes to speak with you and asked me to escort you to Taniquetil.”

“Indeed. Escort me, you say? You mean, make sure I came even if you had to drag me all the way.”

Olórin frowned slightly. “I have never understood this antagonism between you and the Elder King, Melian, but Manwë seemed quite diffident about it all. It was almost as if....”

Melian started to say something but realized the tea water was ready.

“Ah, tea,” Olórin said brightly. “Just the thing.”

Melian sighed in exasperation but gave Olórin a wry grin as she stood up and went to make the tea. Shortly after she returned bearing a tray filled with the paraphernalia of tea making, which she set down on a small table, handing the other Maia a cup before sitting down herself.

“Manwë and I have had our differences, but I assure you I have no intention of disobeying a direct order from the Vicegerent of Arda under Ilúvatar. I just wondered at his choice of emissaries. Why didn’t Manwë simply summon me himself?”

“Perhaps because he respects you too much.”

Melian let out a short unladylike snort but made no other comment as she sipped her tea.

After a moment of companionable silence, Olórin said quietly, “Do you remember the first time we met, after your return from Doriath?”

Melian nodded. “I felt so lost and at loose ends, and not even Nienna or Estë could comfort me.”

“I know. I used to watch you wander through the woods, all in Silvan grey, like a ghost, lost and alone, full of unending grief. I wanted to comfort you but did not know how.” His eyes twinkled with bright ironic humor. “I was much younger then.”

Melian laughed out loud at that, nearly spilling her tea. She could always trust this Maia to bring the best out of her, however unwillingly.

“Yet comfort me you did,” she finally said once she had gotten herself under control. “And I will always be grateful for that.”

And she would, too. She remembered those first few centuries with Nienna and her maidens. She had spent much time in weeping and in mourning, for she had lost much — a beloved daughter, a spouse, a kingdom. She remembered wandering for hours through the woods of Lórien, drifting like a ghost, as Olórin had said. She might still be drifting if it hadn’t been for the Maia sitting companionably beside her sipping his tea. When, after five yéni, Mandos had still not released Elu to her, she had despaired that he ever would. It was Olórin who had comforted her and given her hope.

The release, shortly thereafter, of her grandson, Dior, and his wife, Nimloth, along with their twin sons, had helped somewhat to assuage her grief for a time, but when they had gone to live with their Teleri kin at Alqualondë at the request of Olwë, she had been left alone again. It would be well into the Second Age before Elu was released from Mandos and during that time of waiting it had been Olórin who had helped her in her loneliness and had offered her his friendship, a friendship she had treasured ever since.

“So, mellon nîn, what does Manwë want with me?” Melian asked after a while.

“Hmm. Well as to that, I have no idea.”

Melian gave Olórin a skeptical look.

“Truly, my dear, I have no idea. But when Manwë summoned me, he was not alone. Varda was with him, and Námo.” Melian’s eyebrows rose at that. “Yes,” Olórin nodded. “My thought exactly. I spoke only with Manwë, but they were all very solemn and yet, there was an undercurrent of excitement running between them as well.” He gave Melian a knowing look. “If they had been elflings,”—Melian giggled involuntarily at the thought —“I would have said that they were definitely up to something.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose I should go and see what they are up to.”

Olórin laughed lightly. “Indeed yes.” He took a sip of his tea and when he spoke again his tone was gentle. “Have you seen Elu lately?”

Melian smiled openly. “Oh yes. We saw one another at Vinyarië. He’s become very indispensable to Olwë, you know, acting as go-between with the Beleriandic elves living on Tol Eressëa with their Teleri kin. The Sindar and the Nandor still look to Elu as their king even though Elu himself has refused to take up the crown again, preferring to remain in Alqualondë as Olwë’s viceroy.”

“But you did not.”

Melian shook her head. “By that time I had had enough of courts and governing people. But I wished to remain close to my family, so I moved here to Imladris ’Wain.”

“Are you happy?”

“Oh yes, very. But come, enough about me. Let me warm up our tea and you can tell me what is happening in Valmar these days before we must leave for Celebrían’s. I want to hear all the gossip.”

Olórin just laughed as he handed her his teacup.

*****

Daernaneth: grandmother, on the assumption that, like humans, elves would forego tacking on multiple “greats” to the word and simply use “grandmother” for brevity’s sake.

Elleth/ellyth: female elf/elves.

Ellon/ellyn: male elf/elves.

Muin nîn: my dear.

Mellon nîn: my friend.

Vinyarië: New Year’s Day.

Imladris ’Wain: New Rivendell, an imaginary settlement on Tol Eressëa situated northwest of the central city of Kortirion, founded by Elrond and settled primarily by those elves and their families who originally came from Imladris with Elrond.

II: Gathering

As the eventide approached, Melian and Olórin made their way towards Elrond and Celebrían’s house, wending their way through the single street that wound through Imladris ’Wain. It was a small settlement northwest of Kortirion, outside of Alalminórë proper, nestled in a small valley between low-lying hills overlooking the Bay of Eldamar. It had been founded by Elrond and other Imladris elves when they arrived at the end of the Third Age. The village bore no real resemblance to the original Imladris, for the geography was not the same. Still, those who made their homes here seemed content. Melian herself had moved here from Avallónë where she had been living with Celebrían until such time as her husband should join her.

As the two of them walked through the growing twilight, they saw elflings playing in courtyards under the indulgent eyes of their parents, who, upon recognizing the two Maiar, would bow or curtsey as they passed and murmur soft greetings, though the little ones continued in their play, oblivious to what had attracted their parents’ attention.

Melian and Olórin returned the elves’ greetings, stopping once to admire a new-born and congratulating her parents before moving on.

“A prosperous settlement,” Olórin commented. “Elrond has done well.”

“Yes,” agreed Melian. “Most of the elves who settled here originally came from Imladris but others have since joined them. I like it here.”

Olórin gave Melian a sideward glance. “Frankly, I was rather surprised you remained with the elves at all.”

Melian stopped, forcing the other Maia to stop as well. “Oh?”

Olórin nodded but did not immediately answer, instead looking around at the soft lantern lights beginning to glow with the growing dark. Finally he looked at Melian, his gaze piercing but not without compassion. “Nienna and I wondered if you would not choose to become disincarnate instead, for the pain you felt seemed at times to be overwhelming.”

Melian grimaced at the memories of those first few centuries after returning to Aman. “It’s true there were times I thought to do so, but I knew I could not, at least not until Elu was released from Mandos. And then, by the time he was...” she shrugged, her smile wry. “I guess I just couldn’t break the habit of being incarnate.”

Olórin snorted but his eyes welled with merriment and understanding. “Come, we don’t want to be late.”

They entered a cul-de-sac at the end of the street that opened up onto a courtyard in front of a large stone-built house. In fact, Melian knew that it was the largest house in the village, fitting for the lord who ruled them, and his family. A fountain played merrily in the twilight before the front door which was open, warm lamplight streaming out in greeting.

“I think we’re expected,” Olórin said with a grin.

As they entered the dwelling they found Glorfindel standing there as if waiting for their arrival. His face lit up with delight. “Celebrían told me you were coming,” the golden-haired elf said as he bowed over Melian’s hand and kissed it before taking Olórin’s arm in a warrior’s clasp. “So I decided to invite myself to dinner, since neither she nor Elrond could seem to bother.”

A deep laugh came from down the hallway connecting the entrance hall with the rest of the house and they saw the former Master of Imladris striding towards them, his arms open in greeting. “But only because we knew it would do no good to tell him to stay away.”

Glorfindel pretended to glower at his friend, then stuck his tongue out for good measure.

“Well, some things never change,” Olórin laughed.

Elrond shook his head in mock despair at Glorfindel, who affected an innocent look that was actually convincing. “Indeed, some things do not. Melian, I’m so glad you have come.” Elrond gave her a kinsman’s kiss, which she returned. “And Mithrandir, you are always welcome here. Celebrían and I wish you would visit more often.”

“Alas, my duties prevent me from doing so, but let us enjoy the time that we have together.”

“Indeed. Come, we are gathered in the dining room. Elros and Esteliel have been beside themselves with anticipation at seeing their Daernaneth Melian again. I fear they will make themselves ill with excitement.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Melian said as she took Elrond’s proffered arm while Glorfindel and Olórin followed.

As they approached the dining room Melian heard two squeals of delight, followed by two bundles of joy running into her, nearly knocking her over in their enthusiasm.

“Daernana! Daernana! You’re here! You’re here!” two voices accosted her at once. Elrond frowned in annoyance at his children’s lack of decorum, but Melian merely laughed and bent down to hug them tightly.

“Yes, my little ones, I’m here.” Then she stood back the better to see them. The ellon, Elros, was as dark-haired as his adar, though his features were somewhat finer. He was tall for his age and Melian suspected that he would be taller even than Elrond someday. His twin sister, Esteliel, however, was silver-haired like her naneth, but she was definitely Elrond’s daughter in all other ways.

“My! You’ve both grown since I last saw you.”

“Daernana!” Esteliel said in an exasperated tone she reserved for recalcitrant adults, “You saw us just last week!”

“Did I now! That long ago? No wonder you’re so tall!”

The twins giggled.

“Children,” Elrond said and his tone of voice alerted the twins that the time for levity was over. “This is a friend of ours,” indicating Olórin. “His name is Olórin but we call him Mithrandir.”

“Hello, my dears,” Olórin smiled down at them. “I’m very happy to meet you at last.”

The twins stared at Olórin in some surprise but did not say anything at first. It was Elros who finally spoke, his voice soft with wonder. “You’re a Maia like Daernana, aren’t you, sir?”

Olórin’s smile grew broader. “Indeed I am, and like your Daernana, I’m especially fond of elflings.” Olórin knelt down so as to be at eye level with the twins. “Would you like to see something wonderful?”

Elros and Esteliel nodded, mesmerized, while the adults looked on. Celebrían had joined them in the meantime, wondering why no one was sitting down for the meal. Melian smiled a greeting to her, then turned her attention to the children, curious, as they all were, about what Olórin considered “wonderful”.

Olórin nodded towards a lit candle sitting on a sideboard. “See that candle? Watch closely.” The Maia made no move but stared at the candle along with everyone else, when suddenly the flame grew larger, eliciting a gasp from the elflings, but then part of the flame separated itself from the wick and began floating towards them. As it neared, the twins involuntarily stepped back but stopped in wonder as the flame turned into a butterfly, and then into several butterflies that flew about the children’s heads, much to their delight, before dissolving into nothingness. Esteliel jumped up and down clapping her hands in delight, while Elros, quieter than his sister, stared at Olórin in open awe, bordering on hero-worship.

Olórin glanced up at Elrond, who gave him a wry look. “You never did that for my other children. Elrohir and Elladan will be jealous when these two tell them all about it.”

Olórin laughed as he stood up. “No doubt, but I’m sure they’ll get over it.”

Amid the laughter that followed Celebrían said, “Perhaps we can all sit down now before the food gets cold. Elros, Esteliel, come and take your place.”

As they entered the dining room, Melian asked, “Will not Elrohir and Elladan be joining us? And where is Erestor? I’m surprised he isn’t here to greet Olórin.”

Elrond answered as he pulled a chair out for her. “Erestor is in Kortirion on some business for me and will be sorry to have missed seeing Mithrandir again and Elrohir and Elladan have taken their families to visit their grandparents.”

Melian looked up at Elrond in surprise. “I didn’t think they would return to Alqualondë so soon after Vinyarië, having just been there.”

 Elrond smiled at her. “They are not in Alqualondë and they are not visiting Celebrían’s parents.”

It took a moment for Melian to realize what Elrond was saying. “Ah, yes, of course. It’s rather a long way for elflings, though, isn’t it?” she said.

“My sons thought the trip would be...beneficial for them all,” Elrond answered with an amused glint in his eyes.

Melian hid a smile as she nodded in understanding. Elrohir and Elladan were ever restless and spent much time exploring Valinor. Their own brood of elflings were equally restless. A visit to Elwing’s tower, likely to last a number of years, would indeed be beneficial for all concerned.

While the ban prohibiting the exiled Noldor from living anywhere but Tol Eressëa held, that did not necessarily hold true for the Sindar and Nandor who had come to Valinor after the War of Wrath, though most preferred living either on the island or in and around Alqualondë. Nor did the ban preclude anyone, the Noldor included, from visiting various parts of Valinor, especially Valmar or even Ilmarin.

For those elves who came to Mandos from Middle-earth, even the Noldor, once they were reimbodied, their innocence was restored and they were free to live where they wished. Many of the Noldor, such as Finrod, returned to Tirion-on-Túna, but some chose to live elsewhere. Gil-galad, for instance, had removed to Kortirion where he was claimed by all who lived on Tol Eressëa as their high king.

As the servants waited on them Elrond turned to Olórin. “Celebrían told me you and Melian must leave directly after dinner. Surely you can stay the night.”

“I would like nothing better, mellon nîn, but Manwë was quite insistent that we be at Ilmarin by dawn.”

“And Mithrandir came all this way just to escort you back to Taniquetil?” Glorfindel asked Melian.

But it was Olórin who answered shaking his head. “No. I was coming here at any rate on other business when Manwë asked me to speak to Melian.”

“And what other business do you have, if I may be so bold to ask?” Glorfindel countered, though his tone remained respectful.

Olórin smiled. “My original business is with you, Glorfindel. You and Elrond.”

The two elf-lords started, their expressions of surprise nearly identical, causing Celebrían to laugh. Elrond was the first to recover.

“And what business would you have with us, mellon nîn?” he said in a casual tone, for he had noticed that the elflings were suddenly quiet, with looks of confusion on their faces, as they attempted to cipher out what the adults were saying to one another.

Olórin’s expression became momentarily grave as he took note of the twins as well, but then he forced himself to smile. “Business that should not be discussed while enjoying such a fine meal. Business that can wait until after, but I must speak to the both of you tonight before we set sail.”

Elrond nodded. “Then we will speak no further of this until you are ready to do so Mithrandir. But what of you, Melian? Why has Manwë asked for you?”

Melian shook her head. “I have no idea, nor does Olórin, but Manwë could have simply spoken to me mind-to-mind and I would have answered in kind, so either what he has to say to me isn’t all that important, or so important that he can only speak to me about it face-to-face.”

“A night of mysteries,” Glorfindel said with a deadpan expression. “I do so hate mysteries.” The others laughed and soon the conversation turned to more congenial topics.

When dinner was over Elrond led Olórin and Glorfindel to his study while Melian and Celebrían went into the gathering room with the elflings where they sat before a brightly burning fire. This was where the family would come together with friends to sing and dance and tell tales. Celebrían took a lap harp and began strumming on it softly. Melian watched her as she sipped some wine. Elrond’s wife was radiant, her features glowing with health and happiness in the firelight. It had not always been so.

For the longest time after Celebrían had arrived on one of Círdan’s grey ships, the granddaughter of Finarfin was a pale, listless woman who was definitely fading. Prior to Celebrían’s coming, Melian had since moved back to Valmar where she had taken up some of her former duties, though she still refused to dance. Elu had been released from Mandos for some time now and the initial reunion had been both joyful and awkward. Joyful for they truly loved one another and the time apart had been hard for them both, but it had also been awkward, for Melian began to realize that while in the Halls of Waiting Elu had moved beyond himself and his mistakes. He had regained his original innocence, which Melian was hesitant to destroy with her own feelings of pain and resentment that still lingered within her. She, unlike Elu, did not have the benefit of Mandos’ healing, for she was a Maia and such healing was not for her.

At first she and Elu had stayed together, first in Lórien and then later in Alqualondë when Elu decided it was time to reunite with his brother, but as time went on she began to realize that there was nothing that truly kept them together, for Lúthien was lost to them and even their daughter’s descendents had their own lives to live.

Shortly after Celebrían’s arrival, though, Finarfin himself traveled to Valmar to seek out Melian and ask her to help in the healing of his granddaughter. Melian agreed and soon found herself traveling to Tirion-on-Túna to become Celebrían’s companion.

When she first saw Celebrían, she was shocked at how faded the elleth had become and she feared that the poor child would become another Míriel, but with careful tending, Celebrían began to blossom, to take an interest in life and her surroundings again so that by the time Elrond arrived at the end of the Third Age, she was nearly whole and healed. Melian had thought to return to Valmar before that, but word reached her from Manwë that Elrond had sailed without any of his children and wanted her to remain by Celebrían’s side when she received the news. Melian knew that such news might cause a serious relapse in Celebrían’s recovery, so she agreed. The meeting between Elrond and his wife had been heartbreaking and the fact that only her naneth had sailed and that her own adar had remained behind had made it worse.

To put it mildly, Celebrían went a little mad. She refused to allow Elrond near her, and Galadriel had no patience with her daughter’s “hysteria”, as she called it. Melian didn’t blame her, but Galadriel’s attitude hadn’t helped. It had been a difficult time for all and it was long before Celebrían forgave her husband for “abandoning” her children, as she called it, especially her daughter. Melian’s own feelings were mixed, for she could sympathize with Celebrían, yet unresolved emotions over the loss of Lúthien threatened to make Melian’s attempts to help Celebrían fail at times.

Oddly enough, it had been the two periannath accompanying Elrond, Galadriel and her old friend Olórin who had proved to be the most help, especially Frodo, who spent hours talking to Celebrían, telling her stories of her children, covering both major and minor events — Elrohir and Elladan at the Council of Elrond, and later teasing “Estel” about being called “Strider” by the hobbits; Arwen showing Frodo the king’s banner she had been embroidering in secret, a secret she shared with him alone; Elrohir and Elladan joining Aragorn on his journey along the Paths of the Dead and the deeds they performed during the War and afterward; Aragorn’s coronation and subsequent marriage to Arwen. Even the older perian, Bilbo, occasionally added a word or two about her children’s exploits, for he had lived in Imladris for many years and had grown to know Elrond’s household intimately.

For some reason, these tales, told with such earnestness by the two hobbits, had helped Celebrían come to terms with her children’s choices, but it was long before she agreed to come to Imladris ’Wain and take up her duties as Elrond’s lady. It was really only when the Ice Wars forced Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir to flee Middle-earth along with many of the remaining elves, and so were reunited with their family, that Celebrían finally allowed herself to be healed, or as healed as she was ever likely to be. She never fully accepted her daughter’s decision, but knew that there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was to take joy and comfort in the knowledge that the rest of her family was finally together and, more importantly, safe.

Elrond and Celebrían had celebrated that fact by having the two elflings who now cuddled against her listening to their nana play the harp.

After an hour, the men joined them in the gathering room, but what business Olórin had had with them remained unspoken. Olórin and Melian remained for another half hour before they said their goodbyes, much to the disappointment of the twins. Both Maiar had to promise everyone that they would return very soon and visit for longer.

“There’s some place I wish to see before we head for Tavrobel,” Olórin said quietly as they left the house.

Melian glanced at her friend with a questioning look but Olórin merely smiled. Shrugging in compliance, she allowed Olórin to take the lead. They had not gone very far when Melian began to guess where they were going. Not far from the outskirts of the village was a small building set in a lovely garden, a garden tended by all who lived in Imladris ’Wain. An eternal flame burned before the open doorway of the building, which consisted of a single room, where there were three small beds upon which lay the bodies of the three Ringbearers, seemingly asleep, though Melian knew that the fëar that had dwelt in these bodies had long since fled, to where, she could not say, but she said a quick prayer that wherever they had gone, her own daughter was with them. It was the Yana Cormacolindoron, the Shrine of the Ringbearers. Melian knew that Elrond had insisted on placing their biers here outside Imladris ’Wain, rather than in Kortirion or even Ilmarin, as many, even some of the Valar, had insisted. Olórin and Galadriel, though, had sided with Elrond, and in the end Manwë had decided in favor of placing the shrine at Imladris ’Wain. Indeed, when the time came to hallow the last resting place of the Ringbearers, Manwë himself came to perform the ceremony.

Bilbo lay between Frodo and Sam, all three clothed in elvish garb. None of the bodies were corrupted, even after all these millennia. There was no light in the shrine, yet a gentle glow permeated the walls and surrounded the bodies, exuding peace. The two Maiar stood silently for a time gazing at the three bodies, each lost in his or her own thoughts and memories.

Then, as one, Olórin bowed and Melian curtsied deeply and with reverence before leaving. Within the hour they reached the port of Tavrobel and boarded the swan-ship that would take them across the Bay of Eldamar.

****

Ada/adar: papa/father.

Nana/nana: mama/mother.

Daernana/daernaneth: grandmama/grandmother.

A/N: Imladris ’Wain is of course completely imaginary, however, the description of Tol Eressëa’s geography is based on the map of the island found in Karen Wynn Fonstad’s The Atlas of Middle-earth.

Whether or if Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir ever sailed to the Undying Lands is nowhere mentioned in the canon, however, for purposes of this story, I have had them leave Middle-earth at the beginning of the Ice Age which destroyed the previous civilizations of Men and Elves. This Ice Age ended suddenly 13,000 years ago when the south polar ice cap melted, causing massive tidal waves throughout the world. The glacial period in the northern hemisphere came to an end some 2,000 years later, allowing for the subsequent rise of the Sumerian civilization, which herald the dawn of our own modern civilization, about 6,000 years ago.

III: Request

Dawn on Ilmarin was a sight to behold. Standing on a balcony, looking out towards Tol Eressëa, barely visible from this great height, Melian watched as Arien rose out of the sea, the sun sending tendrils of color through the night sky, delicate and glorious all at the same time, the stars fading reluctantly before the majesty of the last fruit of Laurelin. A gentle breeze blew through her hair and birds of every hue flew through the air, singing the day into existence.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice spoke behind her, deep and calm and full of joy that could barely be contained. Melian turned and curtsied before the Elder King, the light of Ilúvatar that shone in his eyes making the sunlight now spreading across Aman seem dim in comparison. “I never tire of it,” Manwë said as he joined her on the balcony.

“Nor I,” Melian agreed quietly. “I remember when we first saw Ithil rise, how splendid it seemed. Yet, nothing prepared us for the coming of Anar.”

Manwë smiled at her gently. “No, I don’t suppose anything would.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a few moments longer as Anar continued on her course, bringing light and warmth to Aman once again. Then Melian dared to ask the question that had burned within her since Olórin had come to her, rather than waiting for Manwë to speak first.

“Why did you summon me, sire?”

Manwë glanced at the Maia standing next to him and indicated that she should follow him into the small reception room behind them. “My brother Irmo misses you, you know,” he said instead of answering her question. “He misses your dancing and singing most of all. We all do.”

“I have not danced since Doriath fell,” Melian answered. “I have had no reason to in all the millennia that have passed since. And you haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him quietly yet firmly, somewhat appalled at her own audaciousness.

Manwë laughed. “Ever persistent, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Willful rather,” said a musical voice echoing Manwë’s laugh.

Melian looked to see Varda entering with Námo close behind her. She blushed and silently cursed herself for her presumption, even as she curtsied to the other two Valar.

Varda approached, her eyes bright with amusement, bending down to offer Melian a kiss. “One of your more endearing traits, meldanya nettë,” she whispered in Melian’s ear. Melian blushed even more but managed a slight smile at the Queen, though she felt her smile flee when her eyes lit upon Námo standing behind Varda, his expression unreadable. Then, much to her surprise, the Doomsman of Arda slowly winked at her, a smile flitting so briefly across his face that Melian wasn’t sure she even saw it.

Elflings indeed! Melian thought, remembering Olórin’s words, but before she could decide how to respond, Manwë gestured towards some chairs in the middle of the room, otherwise empty of any other furniture, though the walls were hung with some of Vairë’s tapestries. There were three chairs in a semicircle with a fourth facing them. As Melian sat in the fourth chair she had the uneasy feeling that this meeting might be more an inquisition than a conversation.

Reading her mind, Varda laughed lightly. “It’s not what you think, my dear. Fear not!”

Manwë nodded. “You asked why I have summoned you, but in truth it was not I who summoned you, but Another and I am merely privileged to be His herald in this matter.”

Melian gasped softly as she realized the implications of Manwë’s words. “You mean—?” but the thought left her speechless. “But what—?” she tried again, but Manwë raised his hand and Melian fell into silence.

“I do not know the reason for His request, I can only tell you that He wishes for you to go to Middle-earth to deliver a message.”

Melian stood up in shock. “No! When I left Doriath I vowed never to return to Middle-earth. I did not make that vow lightly, I will not break it now, not even for Ilúvatar.”

“Melian,” Varda pleaded. “Think what you are saying.”

“I know exactly what I am saying, my lady. Did I not refuse even Yavana when she asked for the Maiar to help her heal Arda after the defeat of Helcaran? I refused even to join in the last battle of the Ice War, when nearly all of Aman was emptied of Maiar to bring an end to the Glacial Age in Middle-earth once and for all. I will not return to Middle-earth. I will not.”

She fought not to cry, and on one level felt appalled by her words and behavior. Celebrían and Elrond’s elflings would not act so. Embarrassed and confused she walked away from the three Valar, finding herself staring uncomprehendingly at one of the tapestries adorning the walls. It took several seconds for her mind to register what was before her, a scene from a later period of Arda’s history showing Men constructing a large stone circle of giant megaliths in the middle of a broad plain. She did not recognize it or its significance. Trying to fathom what the scene might mean she barely felt the presence standing behind her.

“You’ve never forgiven me for Lúthien, have you?” Námo said to her quietly. She turned to look at the Vala in surprise, for it was the last thing she thought to hear from him. His expression was impassive and she was unable to determine what he might be feeling. “Nor have you ever forgiven Eru for allowing it.”

Melian found she could not look him in the eye at these words, for there was some truth in what he said and it shamed her to realize that it was so.

Now Manwë joined them. “I met her, you know. Did she ever tell you?”

Melian looked at the Elder King in surprise, shaking her head.

Manwë nodded. “Just briefly, mind you, but I was curious to see what manner of creature a Maia and an Elf had engendered. I wanted to see for myself the person who could so move my brother as she had.”

“She confounded me,” Námo said simply, his tone one of perplexity that bordered on awe, staring at the tapestry as if he could find the answer he sought within the weave of its cloth. “None has ever swayed me from my tasks, nor from that which Ilúvatar has entrusted to me, and yet—” he shook his head, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant memory, then looked directly at Melian. “Lúthien was her mother’s daughter. Her love for the mortal was absolute, as was his for her. Not even death could keep them apart. If Ilúvatar had not granted her desire to be with Beren I assure you she would never have left Mandos until all of Arda had been remade, for she would have scorned ever to be re-embodied and you would have still lost her.”

“Lúthien’s destiny was too tied up with that of Beren’s for her life to have ended any other way than it did,” Manwë continued. “It was Ilúvatar’s will that it be so.”

Melian could no longer fight back the tears and as Manwë held her she began to cry, all the sorrow and pain of the past rushing upon her, the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“Mauya len lerya yendelya, Melyanna,” Manwë crooned softly, gently stroking her hair. “Lúmë ná ar lúmë vanwa. Áse lerya.”

After a few moments, the tears slowed and Melian struggled to regain her composure. Feeling her stiffening in his embrace, Manwë released her, his expression gentle. Varda came to them then and took Melian’s hand.

“Come and sit down, melinya,” the Queen of Arda said, her voice full of sympathy. “I have sent for some refreshments. I think we could all use some, don’t you?”

Melian allowed herself to be led back to her seat. A table had appeared with a decanter of cut crystal filled with míruvórë and four matching goblets. Varda poured some of the nectar into each goblet and handed one to Melian who sipped the heady drink slowly, savoring its honey flavor. For some time no one spoke, each concentrating on their own thoughts. Finally, Melian put down her goblet and sighed.

“Why me? Are there not others who can relay a message just as well if not better?”

The three Valar exchanged glances. It was Varda who answered. “As to the why, we can only guess, but we deem that the relaying of this message is too important to leave to just anyone.”

Melian raised her eyebrows, her look skeptical.

“Events are being put into motion the likes of which not even the Valar could foresee, for these events are not found in any of the Themes which we helped propound,” added Manwë. “Ilúvatar is on the move. He means to do a thing that none here ever thought would, indeed could, happen. I said earlier that Ilúvatar wished for you to go to Middle-earth, but the truth is, He needs you to go.”

“N-needs? How could Ilúvatar ever need anything?” Melian asked in shock.

Now all three Valar were smiling, even Námo. “How indeed?” responded Manwë. “Yet it is the truth. So I ask thee who was once Queen of Doriath: wilt thou go? Wilt thou put aside thy oath for Ilúvatar’s sake...and for ours?”

The formal tones of the Elder King brought Melian up short and for an agonizing moment she was at a loss as to how to respond, but taking a centering breath she rose from her chair and, executing a deep curtsey, replied with equal formality, “Yea, Lord, I will go, for thou dost bid me.” And her words were as much directed towards Ilúvatar as they were to Manwë.

Much to Melian’s surprise, the three Valar breathed sighs of relief, as if they had doubted the outcome of this meeting. Melian knew just how they felt.

****

Meldanya nettë: my beloved sister.

Helcaran: Name of the Ice King, one of Sauron’s lieutenants who escaped the destruction of Barad-dûr. He was ultimately responsible for the Ice Age which destroyed the human and elvish civilizations of the Fourth Age; from helca (ice, icy) + aran (king).

Mauya len lerya yendelya, Melyanna. Lúmë ná ar lúmë vanwa. Áse lerya: "You need to let your daughter go, Melian. It’s time and past time. Let her go". [literally: It is necessary for you to release your daughter, Melian. Time (it) is and time past. Release her.]

Melinya: my dear, contracted from melininya.

A/N: It is unlikely that Melian and the Valar would have spoken during their conversation, and if they did speak aloud, they would have spoken in Valarin, rather than in Quenya or even Sindarin. Unfortunately we know little of that angelic language and what words from Valarin we do know have been adapted into Quenya. For ease of writing I have had them speak aloud throughout, but the words of comfort that Manwë communicates to Melian would most likely have been given by means of ósanwë, and I have attempted to indicate the depths of such intimate communion by putting Manwë’s words into Quenya rather than into English.

By contrast, I imagine the conversation between Melian and Olórin in the previous chapter to have been conducted mostly aloud and in Sindarin, for old time’s sake — and out of habit — if for no other reason.

IV: Message

“You should return to Middle-earth unclad,” instructed Manwë as Melian prepared to leave. “until you are ready to meet with the person to whom you will give Eru’s message. The Enemy is alerted by the heightened activity of other Maiar in Middle-earth. It is possible that you will encounter interference. To that end, I will send with you two of my warriors who have had previous dealings with the Enemy.”

He nodded to Námo who went to the door and ushered in two mail-clad Maiar with swords strapped to their backs. One was raven-haired and the other had auburn locks, both had steel-grey eyes, but otherwise they might as well have been twins. They bowed to Manwë, then straightened to attention.

Manwë nodded to them. “This is the Lady Melian. You will see that she encounters no interference from mortal, elf or Maia in the execution of her task.”

The raven-haired warrior bowed. “It shall be as you command, lord.”

Manwë smiled at Melian. “Their presence may be unnecessary but I will take no chances. This is Manveru,” Manwë indicated the raven-haired warrior who bowed, “and his brother, Erunáro.” The auburn-haired warrior bowed, then gave Melian a brief, friendly smile, which she returned. “Next to my herald, Eönwë, they are the fiercest of my warriors.”

“Who is the Enemy now, lord?” Melian asked, for she had not paid much attention to the affairs of Middle-earth lately. “Helcaran was destroyed lo these many millennia ago. Who now takes his place?”

Manwë grimaced. “Melkor did his job too well, for all of Arda was marred by him, as you know. Evil will always rise. This one claims to be the Prince of Arda” — Manwë nodded when Melian gasped at the audaciousness of the title — “and was one of Helcaran’s lesser servants, but no less dangerous. Certainly no mortal could contend against him and win. Not even the Eldar have the strength to do so. We have been instructed not to interfere with this ‘prince’ for now. Apparently Ilúvatar has other plans.” He gave Melian a wry look that was not at all comforting, but she managed an equally wry smile in return.

“Good,” Manwë said as if he saw something in her in which he approved. “May Ilúvatar speed you on your way.”

Varda embraced Melian. “The blessings of the Valar go with you.”

Melian returned the embrace. “Thank you, my lady.”

Námo approached her last, his face impassive as always, but then his eyes suddenly became alive and piercing, and in her mind Melian heard, *Remember this, Melian: Beren chancing upon your daughter in Neldoreth was no accident.* Then he bowed over her hand and kissed it before turning away. Melian struggled to remain calm as she curtsied to the three Valar and numbly allowed the two warrior Maiar to escort her out before she had a chance to respond to Námo’s words.

****

Middle-earth had changed. The lands she once knew were gone or altered to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Here in this place that Manveru called Palestine — such a strange sounding name to her — there was little that was green. Desert claimed this part of the world, though oases dotted the sere landscape. To one such oasis the three Maiar went, Melian leading, for only she knew where she was going, or rather, only she heard the inner voice that led her on. The two warriors kept their swords sheathed but Melian could see that they were constantly alert and ever on guard.

“Here,” she said as they reached the outskirts of a small but prosperous looking village. “It is here that I will find the one to whom I am to speak.” Melian turned to the other Maiar. “Do you know where we are?”

The two other Maiar glanced around as if getting their bearings. Manveru finally spoke. “I have been to this part of Endor many times lately. Ilúvatar seems to have a special fondness for the people who now live in this land, though,” and here he smiled wryly, “I have yet to figure out what He sees in these stubborn, rock-headed fools.”

Melian raised her eyebrows in surprise but Erunáro just laughed. “What he means of course is that he’s rather fond of them himself, which is why he’s constantly asking Manwë to assign him here so he can protect them from the Enemy.”

Manveru gave his brother a pained look, but then blushed. “They do rather grow on you after awhile,” he said to Melian apologetically and Erunáro only laughed harder. Melian smiled and placing a hand on his arm said gently, “I know what you mean. I felt the same way about my Lord Elu’s people.”

After a brief pause Erunáro cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if I’m not mistaken this region is called Galilee. That body of water to the east is called the Sea of Galilee, though it’s really only a very large fresh-water lake. The real sea is to the west. They call it the Inner Sea.” He pointed first in one direction, then the other.

Melian nodded. She noticed the fishing boats sailing on the lake and then watched a many-oared galley ply the waters of the Inner Sea. Although neither body of water was actually visible to anyone in the village, for low-lying hills blocked the view in either direction, that was no impediment for the Maiar.

“This land is under foreign occupation,” Manveru added and nodded towards a group of armed men marching through the village. They wore red cloaks and carried short swords. Melian thought they had something of the Easterlings in their look, cold and cruel. “The people have been oppressed for some time,” Manveru continued, “and are longing for someone to rescue them, free them from their overlords.”

Melian only shrugged, for in truth she had no real interest in the fate of these frail creatures. She wished only to deliver the message, whatever it might be, and return to Aman where she belonged. This dry land and its people were too far from her beloved Doriath in both time and space to mean anything to her. “This way,” she pointed and the two warriors followed her through the village, unseen by any save for the occasional dog that seemingly barked at nothing, much to the distress of the mortals around it. The three Maiar ignored both mortals and dogs.

Melian finally stopped before a small two-story house, typical of the houses throughout the village. She could hear the familiar sound of a shuttle being passed back and forth across a loom and the tuneless humming of the weaver. She came into the house unseen. Manveru and Erunáro flanked the open doorway, remaining on guard. A young girl sat at a small loom at the back of the single room that appeared to be a workshop, with the loom in one corner and other implements of some kind unknown to the Maia scattered about. The girl and her family must live above, Melian surmised when she spied a ladder along one wall leading up through a square hole in the ceiling to the next level.

Melian stood for a moment looking at the mortal who was bent over the loom attempting to untangle some threads before resuming her work, her face hidden behind her hair. She could not have been much older than fourteen or fifteen, Melian thought. Indeed, the girl was probably younger than Elros and Esteliel, though Melian knew that mortals matured more rapidly than elves, for it was obvious that she was in the first bloom of womanhood, no longer a girl-child. As she finally sat up Melian saw the girl’s face and gasped.

Lúthien!

For a brief yet endless moment Melian’s mind froze at the sight, then reason began to take over. No. Not Lúthien. There were differences, subtle but there. The girl was clearly mortal, and yet...

Prompted by her inner voice she moved to where the girl could see her and then clad herself in visible form. “Shalom, Miriam,” Melian said softly, the girl’s name coming to her, as did the knowledge of the girl’s language, from the same inner voice that had led her here.

Miriam jumped, giving a cut-off squeal, when she saw Melian become visible. Her eyes widened and she tried to back away, stumbling over the chair and into the corner in fear.

“Don’t be afraid, child. I won’t hurt you,” Melian continued speaking softly.

For a moment Miriam merely stood there, shock holding her in place. Then, speaking barely above a whisper, she stammered, “Y-you are one of the malach’im, aren’t you?”

Melian smiled reassuringly, suddenly reminded of little Elros asking a similar question of Olórin. “We call ourselves Maiar, but malach’im is as good a name as any. Yes, I am one of the malach’im. I have come to give you a message.”

“M-message? Me?” Miriam remained where she was, half-crouched against the wall.

“Yes, you. But I’m not going to give you the message with you with your back against the wall. Come, let us sit together.” Melian motioned for Miriam to join her on a bench that stood to the left of the doorway. “Come, child,” when the girl hesitated. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”

Miriam visibly swallowed and slowly made her way across the room to sit hesitantly next to Melian, not meeting the Maia’s eyes, out of fear or shyness, Melian was unsure. Smiling, Melian reached out and gently began stroking the girl’s hair, so like her daughter’s in shade, allowing the child time to get use to her presence. After a few moments Miriam’s heart, which had been beating rapidly, began to slow and her breathing became more even.

“That’s better,” Melian said. “See? No harm has come to you. Are you ready to hear the message now?”

The girl glanced up shyly and nodded.

Melian began to speak, but while the voice was hers, the words were not. “You are favored above all of your kind, Miriam, for the One has chosen you to bear His Son, the one you call the Messiah. His name will be Yesh’ua, for he will be the saving of many.”

Struggling to keep her composure before the mortal, Melian felt herself blink at the words she had just spoken. One part of her was minding the girl’s reaction but another, smaller, part was floundering, wondering what she had truly said. A long-forgotten conversation with Finrod, shortly before his fatal meeting with Beren, surfaced, a conversation that spoke of a Hope half-believed by some of the mortals who had so recently found their way into Beleriand. She had dismissed Finrod’s talk of Eru entering into Arda, for she did not believe that Eru would deign to speak with the Secondborn, so easily swayed by Morgoth’s lies, nor could she fathom how it would happen.

Until now.

Miriam had been silent for a moment but then, blushing furiously, she dared to whisper, “How can this be, lady, for I’m still a...well...um.”

“Still a virgin?” Melian supplied gently with a smile. Miriam merely nodded and would not look up.

“I don’t know, child,” placing a comforting arm around the girl. “But nothing is impossible for Ilúvatar.”

“Who?”

Melian paused to consider her last words and realized she had inadvertently used the Quenya name for Eru. A moment’s thought supplied her with the word she needed. “Ah, I believe you would say Adonai.”

“Oh.” Miriam remained silent for another moment or two while Melian continued stroking the girl’s hair, marveling at how much like Lúthien the girl looked. Even her eyes were the same stormy grey-blue color, a testimony, no doubt, of the girl’s mixed heritage, for Melian suspected that this part of the world was a crossroads where different races of men met and fought and loved.

“W-will it hurt?” Miriam asked, interrupting Melian’s train of thought, a trace of fear shadowing her eyes and Melian realized just how very young the girl truly was. Her heart went out to the mortal maid and all her maternal feelings, which she had put aside when Lúthien was lost to her, suddenly began to surface. She gathered Miriam into her arms and rocked her softly, kissing her forehead lightly.

“I do not know, child, but I do not think it will. Does it hurt to love someone?”

“Sometimes,” came the answer, surprising from one so young.

Melian nodded in agreement. “Yes. Sometimes,” and there was a universe of sorrow in that admission.

For several moments Maia and mortal were quiet, Melian still rocking the girl as if she were an elfling in need of comfort. Then Miriam pulled away and Melian saw something in the girl’s expression as she straightened that nearly left her breathless. There was a strength of will emanating from her that few mortals would or could ever achieve and she wondered at that.

“I am the Handmaiden of Adonai,” she said quietly but with a sense of pride that was not at all arrogant. “Let it be done to me as He wishes.”

And suddenly, while staring in awe at this young mortal woman, who reminded her so much of Lúthien, Melian saw the long ages of Men stretching back into the dim mists of the past to one clarifying moment — the meeting of the mortal Beren with her daughter, there in the forests of Neldoreth, and Melian understood at last what Námo had meant: that meeting, seemingly by chance, was not. The union of mortal with one who was both Elda and Maia had always been Ilúvatar’s plan. For how many generations of Men had Ilúvatar patiently waited to bring her to this decisive moment when she would come face-to-face with the ultimate consequence of her daughter’s decision? It staggered one’s imagination, even that of a Maia.

Melian thought of her first meeting with Elu and the love she had felt for the silver-haired elf, and how that love had borne fruit in her beloved daughter, whose descendant now sat beside her. I’m glad I decided to stay in Middle-earth, then, she thought and started at the silent laughter that flooded her being from beyond the Walls of Eternity.

*Do you think, Daughter, that your remaining behind in Middle-earth rather than returning to Aman was all your own idea? Elu finding you dancing in Nan Elmoth was not mere happenstance, my child. I made sure of that.* And the laughter echoed through her and through all of Eä, so that even the two Maiar warriors still standing on guard looked about in wonder.

Miriam’s eyes widened, as if she, too, could hear the divine laughter. Then, ducking her head, she asked shyly, “What now?”

What now, indeed? Melian thought. Should she leave or stay? What more could she do for or say to this amazing creature sitting before her twisting her hands nervously in the folds of her gown. With a start Melian realized what Ilúvatar’s intent had been in asking her to return to Middle-earth. With the clarity of foresight she saw herself staying with Miriam, unseen but sensed, for the remainder of the girl’s days. She briefly regretted that she would be unable to keep her promise to visit Elrond and Celebrían’s elflings more often, but they would understand, and given the length of mortal years, she would be gone at most for only a few decades. Glancing around the dimly lit room for inspiration as to how to answer Miriam’s question, Melian spied a small harp sitting on a table near the ladder.

“Do you play?”

“What?” Miriam started, then glanced in the direction in which Melian pointed.

“Do you play the harp?”

Miriam turned back to Melian and nodded. “A little. Papa’s teaching me.”

Melian smiled in encouragement. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned.”

Miriam hesitated for a moment then stood and brought the harp back to the bench. She began tuning the strings and then, smiling shyly as she looked up at Melian, she asked, “W-what should I play?”

“Whatever your heart inspires you to play, child. Do you sing as well?”

Miriam nodded and then softly, almost hesitantly, she began to pluck the strings. At first the notes seemed random to Melian but as the girl became more confident, a simple melody began to sound on the strings, and then Miriam sang, high and sweet, like the nightingale to which Beren had compared Lúthien:

“T’romayn nefeesh et adonai...”

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord...

“v’tagal ruhee baylohay yeeshee...”

and my spirit rejoices in God my savior...

And as the girl sang her song of praise, Melian suddenly found herself standing and without thinking, slowly, but with long-remembered grace, she began to dance. And at that moment it seemed to the Maia, as she swirled softly around the room, that all of Arda — nay, all of Eä — went silent for the wonder of it, as the Flame Imperishable welled up from Eternity to gather them both into an embrace of never-ending love.

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Malach’im (Hebrew): angels; the Hebrew malach and the Greek angelos both originally meant “messenger”.

Adonai (Hebrew): My Lord, used by Jews to avoid pronouncing God’s personal name.

A/N: Obviously this version of the Annunciation is nowhere like that of Luke’s, although I have attempted to remain true to the original gospel account. However, it is my confirmed opinion that Luke has given us only the — er — “Reader’s Digest” version of events. Hopefully, anyone reading this story will not take offense at whatever liberties they deem I may have taken in “filling in the gaps” of Sacred Scripture.

And why Melian as the angel of the Annunciation you may ask? Well, do you honestly think that Eru, in this or any other universe, would have been so callous or insensitive as to have sent a MALE angel to Mary on such a delicate mission? But, you say, Scripture says that the angel of the Annunciation was Gabriel, clearly a male name. True, but remember who was writing these stories — men. It would have been inconceivable for Jewish males to imagine a female angel and so all the angels in Scriptures are male in appearance. After all, even in today’s more enlightened milieu, can you really imagine invoking the name of the Archangel Michelle against the wiles of Satan?

As for the names of the two warrior Maiar, those who are conversant in Quenya may recognize these as Quenya versions of well-known Hebrew names — Manveru: contracted from _man ve Eru_ “Who is like God”, the actual meaning of the name Michael; and Erunáro: “Fire/flame of God”, the actual meaning of the name Uriel, who is the Archangel of the Sun in Milton’s Paradise Lost.

The opening lines of Mary’s Magnificat are given in transliterated Hebrew. The English translation is taken from the New Jerusalem Bible.

I hope you enjoyed this little tale, and welcome any comments you may have. My thanks to Alassiel for beta-reading the story.