That Which Cannot Be Put Into Words*

Galadriel sat calmly surveying her realm. In her mind’s eye she could be anywhere within its boundaries with ease. With effort she could be nearly anywhere in Middle-earth. She had been keeping watch over the Fellowship, a concept that could be taken more than one way. This day she was merely observing, out of curiosity, their comings and goings.

The youngest had wandered off alone into the woods and in her thoughts, she followed him, this child of the Shire with the blood of the fey folk in his veins, though he seemed to know it not. When first they had arrived the youngest, the Ringbearer and Estel had borne more than grief at the loss of Gandalf: they had borne guilt. The Lady had labored much to use the healing nature of her realm to bring them succor. For this little one it had been granted that he would meet the one whose blood flows within him and Cullassisul* had indeed brought healing to her child.

Now, with a light and open heart, he walked the Lady’s woods. Peregrin grew stronger with the rays of the sun, the songs of birds and the laughter he could evoke from the Fellowship. The hobbit Meriadoc drew healing by learning; listening to the history of Arda from Legolas or Estel and those of her folk who speak the languages of the world beyond Lothlorien’s borders. Samwise had his hands in the soil, assisting some of the Elves with planting the gardens and so being given hope that there would yet come another Spring. The Ringbearer, what healing could be his whilst still bearing his burden, took comfort from seeing his kinsmen regaining themselves.

A smile touched Galadriel’s lips. The youngest hobbit was soon to come upon one of her people’s youngest in a glade amongst the towering mallorns. What would happen, she wondered, between he of but a moment’s time and she of an age of this world?

The sunlight drew Pippin along to the opening in the woods. He had grown a bit cool, walking in the dappled light and thought to warm up a bit in light not filtered through leaves. That and he could hear the playful sound of moving water and thought he would like to sit and listen to its music. He had walked three steps into the full bright sunlight when he noticed her . . . an Elf lady sitting beside a brook that was dancing merrily over smooth stones of many colors. Their eyes met, but he quickly looked at her cheek instead. He had ofttimes felt strangely when looking one of the fair folk in the eyes. It had become easier with Legolas, but even with him Pippin often felt Elves were seeing too clearly into his heart and mind. Oddly, he sometimes felt he was seeing into theirs.

She had heard him coming and known it had to be one of the hobbit children, for children they were to her and her kindred, though she knew these were adults of their kind. Only Elves moved more quietly through the woods than did the little folk, and now he stood a few paces in from the trees at the edge of the glade, surprise showing clearly on his features. She had a glimpse of green eyes before he flicked his glance away. Perhaps, she thought, he is shy.

“Now what?” Pippin thought. “I’ll look a fool if I just stand here.” Then a touch of sadness came to him, why shouldn’t he look a fool? He was one. “But . . . well, I should be friendly at least,” his thoughts continued, “they have all been most kind to us.” He smiled at the Elf.

She smiled at him. She could feel that he was uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. What should she do, she wondered. If she rose and began to approach him, would he flee? Best to stay as she was. “But I know not his language,” she thought. “I would like to become aquainted with this one who has come so far and through such trials, all to give support to his kinsman who . . .” She stopped her thoughts. She was uncomfortable even thinking about what had been brought into her land.

Pippin looked at the Elven lady. She was as fair as the sunlight that glinted off her hair and sparkled upon the waters at her feet. For a moment she seemed to embody everything that was this strange land he and the others had entered. That in her dwelt the light, the timelessness, the peacefulness and the music. Without forethought, Pippin sang.

A tremor ran through her. She had not known any of the small ones had such a voice. It was like birdsong. Like the singing of the breezes. Though the words were strange his song fit well in Lorien. She closed her eyes and let the singing flow within her until it ceased.

He was blushing now, he knew he was. “Whatever came over me?” the question squirmed about in his head. “As if my singing is anywhere near to what singing here is like. I know, I’ve heard it.” But his thoughts quit their badgering. She was singing. Pippin looked at her and she was looking at him and she was singing. Their eyes met a few moments before Pippin let his eyelids slide closed. There was a richness in her singing that was not heavy, a sorrow that was not sad. There was earth and tree, sun and starlight. He was carried away on the music.

Galadriel smiled. The Elf sang, the Hobbit sang, and the whole of the afternoon passed as the child of the gentle Shire and the child of the Golden Wood became friends.

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*The title is part of a quote from Victor Hugo. “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words, and that which cannot remain silent.”

*Cullassisul is an OC of mine first encountered in “While We Dwelt in Fear”. She is the fairy whom a long-ago Took ancestor married, as alluded to by Tolkien.