Winds, heavy-scented with spruce, swept down from the northern heights, flattening the grasses and tufts of wild barley, and re-sheathing the Elven arrow in its tussock. The pale and deep golds of birch and mallorn leaves whirled about the still figure in their midst, catching on russet curls.
Frodo’s head still rested in one hand, the other crossed to his left shoulder. A tumble of dark hair concealed his face. Leaves gathered into the bow of his knees and against his back, and I turned away from the scene’s finality.
Then I stepped out of the wood and hailed him. A breeze swept the locks from his face and I saw his wet cheek, his glazed expression struggling towards welcome. He rose to his feet before I could protest, and greeted me with a smile.
‘I had not realized the late hour,’ he said, raking his tousled hair, scattering the clinging leaves.
‘You were in deep thought, Frodo, and I disturbed you. You will forgive me, I hope.’
‘There is no need, please - I am happy to see you again, My Lady.
‘Your voice reveals grief but I do not hear the words. You know much loss already in your short life. Which loss brought you to this mourning?’ He regarded me thoughtfully.
‘The loss of freedom,’ he finally answered, ‘the freedom to trust.’
The shadows that striped the lawn earlier merged and deepened into the umber forest. A brief trill sounded as a small bird wheeled into the trees, hastening to its roost.
‘Come friend Frodo, we must go to our fires, and you shall share ours tonight as our guest.’
‘You are kind, Lady, but I must return to the others and cannot accept. I fear I am already late,’ he answered, looking about as if a shortcut might present itself.
‘You are further from your camp than you think, and have come ill provisioned,’ I said, observing his light tunic and waistcoat. Even if you ran the entire way here, you shall not be able to return in the same fashion, without water, food, and attire against the night’s frost.
He started to protest further, but I insisted, saying, 'I shall send a messenger who will arrive at your camp long before you.' I slid an arm around him and drew him to me. How yielding he felt, muscles resisting only a little when I held him closer. ‘So, you will accept my offer, Master Frodo?’ But, glancing down, I saw his look of consternation.
I released him and immediately he went and with his two hands began to angle the buried arrow smoothly from the earth. In a moment the top of the shaft came of its own into his hands, broken as it was from mishandling. Frodo sighed as he rocked back on his heels, left with the feathered vanes, then stood up, shaking his head.
‘Do you hunt?’ I asked casually, hoping to ease him.
‘I – we do not hunt so much in Hobbiton - where Bilbo and I lived. But Merry’s people hunt in the autumn for – for boar. I did go with them - on occasion. We used arrows, stouter than this one and… as youngsters, we learned marksmanship…’ He was distracted still.
Thus, I was alone with my image, quite clear, though fleeting. The hobbit knelt at the edge of a field, a quiver half full upon his back. High color touched his cheek and he craned his neck over his left shoulder as if someone called his name. In his right hand, a bloody knife. Around his neck he wore a scarf of brown dobby weave - and I wondered had he come yet into his legacy.
I entered the darkening wood but Frodo did not follow. I looked back to where he hesitated, his head tipped up to regard the first stars. They lit his eyes to white fire and his face to the white of cold marble.
‘You are hesitant because you know us not,’ I said.
‘Yes, partly that… Tell me, Lady, do your people know of – what I carry?’
‘Other than Celeborn and I, no.’
‘The freedom I spoke of earlier grows less. I am sorry -‘ he began.
‘I understand. Do not feel ashamed of your caution and doubts. These conditions are necessary for your quest, though they do not suit your nature. I perceive that you are open and generous in your thoughts even toward strangers.’ He stood there in the half-light, looking down, his eyes slanted and sad in the shadows, like one of our white deer strayed from the protecting hills and glens into lands unknown.
‘My nature,’ repeated Frodo. ‘I begin to wonder what remains of it, what it ever was.’
‘You are weary, Frodo. I cannot promise you safety tonight, no more than any can while you bear what you do. But I propose that you and your task will be in less danger in the dwelling of Celeborn and I tonight than most any other resting place.’ I could only hope that I spoke truth. To convince us both, I continued.
‘I realize you wish to trust your kin and friends, but you should consider –‘
‘No!’ he said sharply, with a note of desperation.
‘Very well… You believe I should not have spoken so. Perhaps. You must decide where you shall spend this night. In either case, you shall have an escort.' Frodo studied me, then sighed.
‘I am still Frodo,’ he said with a brief smile. ‘I gladly accept your kind hospitality and will stay this night by your hearth, if you and the Lord will have me, My Lady.’
I led the way down the shallow embankment onto the path.
‘The gate is not very far, and there, guards await, kin of Haldir whom you know. They can see to your foot,’ I said. It must be cleaned first so we cannot bandage it here. ‘The numbness will soon give way to pain.’
‘Tis of little account,’ he said, shrugging.
‘The boots of Gondor are often shod with metal.’
‘You were present?’ he asked in surprise.
‘While Boromir accosted you, yes,’ I said. ‘I did not wish to interfere with your own managing of your friend’s attentions. As host, of course, I could not risk harm to you or what you possess. Boromir outmatches you in size and is not loath to take the advantage.’
Frodo accepted this in silence.
‘Did Boromir ask you for the Ring, Frodo?’
‘No… not exactly,’ he answered.
‘Even so, you remained quite calm at his handling of you.
‘If Boromir truly wished, he could have done - what he wanted. I assumed, however, that he did not truly desire that, for I cannot believe him malicious or that he wishes me harm, not after his valiant loyalty and friendship throughout our journey.’ His voice broke as he finished.
‘My heart is glad of your Mithril armor, young one,’ I said.
He threw me an incredulous look, then confessed, ‘I have not worn it since our last meeting.’
‘You must do so, Frodo! And not only because of the Gondorian’s sword,’ I warned.
‘Gollum goes unarmed,’ he replied.
‘I do not speak only of him,’ I said, feeling oddly unsettled. So many sought this brave hobbit. ‘Though I might, for he stalks our border and is an immediate enemy. Once you cross the bounds of Lorien, he shall pursue you with blood lust.’
Frodo said nothing. ‘Do you not understand that this creature despises you - even more than he does your Uncle Bilbo whom he tried to kill? For now he has visited the enemy, making his situation all the more desperate. He will scale any obstacle to –‘
‘Yes, I understand,’ Frodo interrupted.
‘But you would not draw sword against him,’ I persisted.
‘I would try not to,’ said Frodo.
Are you not prepared to commit fell deeds if necessary to carry out your task? Or do you perhaps intend to take – other measures?’
Slowly, he replied. ‘I do not hate this creature, as you might think, though I know he is dangerous. I hope not to encounter him but if I do – I hope I will remember that he is of my own kind and suffers from such weakness as I. I will deal with him as the occasion demands.’
His words nearly usurped my stifled question. Was he not tempted to use the Ring?
But Frodo discerned my thought. ‘Yes, My Lady, I am,’ he replied. I glanced over at him and he eyed me briefly before returning his gaze to the path before him.
Frodo maintained my brisk pace, and so discreetly that, had I not other senses, I would have checked frequently for his presence. At length, he broke the silence.
‘The trees - the water, even the rocks and grass - is it the Galadhrim who have awoken them, Lady?’ he asked, passing his hand along the velvet sides of a young mallorn. ‘I feel such life flowing!’
This awareness of his engages him to the present in a manner rare in mortals. I believe Frodo instinctively indulged this trait when he wished, allowing the gifts of the moment to fill him like water and air. In such a way, he might protect himself from the One Ring’s lure.
‘Spirit fills all things,’ I answered, ‘everywhere - in Rivendell, your Shire, even the lands of Men. But few of the mortal races perceive this and therefore the communion with other beings, so natural to us, is not possible for them. You yourself have acquired such perception only recently, perhaps. I hazard that few even of your companions feel what you speak of, though the barefoot hobbits, I deem, sense more keenly than Men, the pulse of the earth.’
‘So we believe,’ said Frodo firmly. But Men can perhaps learn?’
There is that which cannot be taught,’ I replied. ‘ And some have abused the knowledge they gained. You know of Numenor.’
Frodo nodded with down-cast eyes.
‘But perhaps you would benefit from what I may tell you of related matters,’ I said then. ‘The story is dark and long, though I shall foreshorten it.’
‘I would listen to whatever you would share, My Lady. I know little of the history of this land and its people and wish to learn more.’
‘Very well, my eager hobbit.’ said I. ‘I will begin with the Silmaril for those magnificent jewels, as you may know, preceded the One Ring.
‘Eons ago, lustful ambition drove my Noldorean relatives to Middle-earth, fired by love of the Silmarils which they esteemed above all other objects, even above the word of Illuvitar. I too came to Arda, our Middle-earth, at that time but driven by another desire – not for jewels but to fashion a kingdom of peace and plenty out of the wilderness. Yet, I had nothing when I left Aman, Elvenhome, and the wrath of the Valar loomed behind me.’
‘Was it simply the departure that angered them?’
‘Rather the reason for it, but that must be recounted in another tale. At long last, we arrived in Middle-earth. There, deep in the forests of Doriath, in the realm of Menegroth, I found quiet welcome and respite with my uncle, King Thingol, and Melian the Maia, the parents of Luthien. From them I learned much and in their land, nourished my desire in silence. But even Menegroth, sequestered as it was by Melian’s incantation, crumbledeventually under the forces of evil - forces not relegated to the obvious Enemy alone.’
The obvious enemy?’ queried Frodo.
‘My own people - first cozened by the jealous and rapacious Morgoth, then by his fell servant Sauron - played a dark role in the troubles of Arda. Discovering this, Thingol forbade the high speech of the Noldor among his woodland folk and banished Finrod, my honorable and most gentle brother, from his halls. War raged in Middle-earth and only after devastation and blood-shed were our greatest enemies overcome. But the land was ravaged and the people, Elves and Men, ran craven upon it. Beneath the willows along the riverbanks of Beleriand and of Lindon, I wandered and grieved.’
Frodo’s eyes glinted in the darkness as he listened attentively.
‘Yet ever I kept in my heart the dream of a land where I would hold sway, where its denizens could create gardens and dwellings of great beauty without fear of envy or malice. Towards that end, Celeborn and I, grateful for the skilled hands of Durin’s dwarves, built an abode of beauty and comfort in the veils of Lothlorien. In the region between the great rivers of Celebrant and Anduin, I kept all savage creatures at bay.’
‘Lorien is of such age!’ said Frodo, ‘And all you have wished for has come to pass.’
‘And shall likely pass away. Even then, I knew better than to expect our hard-won victories to be guarantors of peace, and in due course, Sauron erected a new stronghold in the East, from which greed and arrogance spread and took root again among the peoples of Middle-earth. The Rings of Power, forged by the great Elven craftsman, Celebrimbor, gave me hope that those of good heart and strong mind could overcome Sauron’s evil. But that hope was short-lived, for Sauron exploited our skill and out-mastered us with his own creation.
In fury and terror, those of us bearing Elven rings, pulled the potent gems from our fingers and hid them. For it was through these that Sauron’s Ring would enslaved us. After another agonizing era of war and resistance, Isildur, great chief of doomed Numenor, with the aid of Gilgalad, Elven King, seized the One Ring from Sauron. But, as you know, instead of destroying it as we wished, he kept it, drawing evil to him until the Ring betrayed him to his death and was itself lost.
‘I contemplated then how I might find the Ring and use it to redeem all that had been ruined in Middle-earth over its tragic history. But multitudes of seasons passed and eventually, reflecting on all that I had learned, I banished such yearnings as I had. Past abstinence from pride and want strengthened into a truth of sorts - like a taproot, quenching and finally anchoring its host in time of drought.’ But now, I mused, the root frays.
Then Frodo spoke, saying, ‘I wonder, Lady Galadriel, why you have chosen to remain here - in Middle-earth, I mean - while many of Elven kind are sailing to the Undying Lands?’
I said nothing at first. The question was innocent enough as he phrased it, but for me his words triggered a host of memories and my yearning for the Ring was ripe.
I turned and grasped the hobbit’s shoulders. Heavily, my hands fell upon him, drawing a puzzled look. I meant to release him… but did not. He set his shoulders to my touch and beneath the cloth of his shirt I felt surprising strength in the taut muscle. His brows knit as my grip deepened, even to the cold center of his old wound. He knew that I could overcome him - but trusted me not to. At that recognition, I dropped my hands.
‘I am here to serve my hope,’ I said at last, barely holding my movements in check. ‘I am sorry, Frodo, but your question touches upon that which must be destroyed and cannot glibly be discussed.’ His eyes clouded as his hand went to the damaged shoulder.
‘Yes, you see it is difficult to explain.’ I moved aside his right hand to replace it with my own, tenderly this time. ‘And I believe your own perception comes close to the mark, does it not?’
‘I - am aware that you believe you could make good of this thing that I carry, enhancing the prosperity of your land,’ he replied slowly. ‘Yet, you do not demand it of me.’
How calmly he delivered those brazen words – to which I had no reply!
‘Thank you,’ he added. I was unsure to what he referred and marveled once more at his gentleness despite my trying of him.
Frodo was shivering, possibly from merely the cool night air. I held aside a branch for him to pass and saw how he hefted the Ring in his palm, as if to relieve the weight or impression of it. My own ring – safely about my finger - felt as naught, except when its power waxed and I felt its light. Not so with the One, as I might have known. Oddly, I had ever imagined only how I would use it, not how it would feel to possess.
Then, of a sudden, understanding came to me that the hobbit bore the Ring, endured it - he did not possess it, and while that was so he might not be possessed by it. The clarity of this simple distinction was as the reappearance of a lake floor after the settling of turgid waters.
A soft voice interrupted my reverie. ‘Only recently have I felt it as a burden.’
I regarded Frodo in surprise. ‘You are stronger than you think,’ I said.
The path I chose, though the shortest, was not the smoothest. Just where the way grows even narrower and begins to climb through a grove of larch and hemlock, I noticed his quickened breathing and felt remorse. Yet, why? This and far worse he must overcome, should he proceed with his task.
When we arrived at the portal to the rear assent, I directed Frodo to a small spring to quench his thirst, while I crossed the bridge to Lindelor who stood sentry. I asked him to send word to Frodo’s companions, informing them of his whereabouts and also to examine the hobbit’s injured foot. Unexpectedly, Frodo himself appeared as we talked.
Lindelor nodded to him, and, after introductions, said, ‘Now, Master Hobbit, I shall bind your foot, if I may.’
Frodo grinned. ‘We do not bind our feet except when wounds are so grievous as to prevent our walking to the nearest tavern - as mine would not be were I in the Shire – back home! So you need not trouble yourself.’
‘As you will,’ said Lindelor. ‘I have a healing balm here at hand. May I at least apply that?’
Frodo accepted politely, and Lindelor pointed to a low stool for him to sit. The tall Elf bent over his small fire in the grate, holding a crucible of salve in a pair of tongs. ‘It’s better to warm it first,’ he explained from the hearth. Then, without turning, he said, ‘You are far from home. Many lives of men have passed since I traveled so far as that. And the longer I walk beneath the eaves of the Golden Wood, the less willing I am to leave it – whether for travel or quest.’ Lindelor glanced back over his shoulder. Frodo stared fixedly into the flames.
Lindelor’s gaze dropped from Frodo’s face and his voice grew more intent.
It must have been difficult, leaving behind…’
Frodo looked up, eyebrows raised. I could barely discern from where I stood but I knew that the gold Ring was visible against the parted muslin of Frodo’s shirt.
‘A lady perhaps…?’
Catching Lindelor’s focus, Frodo glanced down and abruptly tucked away his gilded bane.
‘Tis no lover’s gift, only a family heirloom,’ he said, and my reaching hand dropped to my side.
Lindelor rose then and Frodo’s face glowed rose in the firelight, his skin damp with apprehension. But Lindelor administered to Frodo’s foot without further question.
Frodo thanked him graciously and Lindelor made a short bow, which amused me for he had never done so to any other that I knew of.