By the time Frodo and I reached Caras Galadhon, the stars were thick above us, though dimmed by the torches that lit the clearing. Frodo seemed fretful and winded, his hand toying with the lacings at his neck. I studied him. He will show it now, I thought, surely he will bring it forth now. But the hobbit did not attend me.
Suddenly, he sighed and folded his arms across his chest, a smile playing in his eyes. ‘Despite what’s passed, some good will has brought me here,’ he said softly, then turned to me. ‘Thank you.’ He reached for my hand and pressed it firmly.
This unaccountable gratitude touched me deeply. I had done nothing, yet I would do anything for him, to save him from what is sure to come. I took him to a secluded hollow to rest. Then I, too, retired.
Presently, Celeborn came. He gently swung the hammock where I lay, before sitting down.
‘So, you have brought our small but – heavy laden - guest to eve with us.’
My closed eyes remained so. ‘You believe that I might have done otherwise?’ I asked.
At his silence, I paid him veiled regard, divulging the more critical of the afternoon’s events. His grey eyes silvered.
‘No, you could not’ he answered finally. He squeezed my toes with his long elegant fingers and stood.
But I was not so easily comforted. Rising on one arm I asked, ‘Is it so obvious, then?’
‘If you mean to Frodo, I would say yes. I believe he is aware that you are drawn to his burden, though not to what extent.
‘And how do you know this?’
‘Of course I am not as familiar with him as are you, my Lady,’ he replied with a rye smile. ‘I have seen him only once, yet that was enough. He revealed much perception, confirming the Council’s high opinion of him. Besides the hobbit’s natural intelligence, his sensibilities are stirred now by the Ring, and by the wound you told me of. Your own desires were apparent at least in your initial harsh treatment of him. Yet now, I see you begin to favor him.
‘That may be,’ I said. ‘But - it taxes me to breaking to be so near!’
‘You cannot take this upon yourself!’ warned my consort, holding me as if I was about to wrest what I desired from Frodo at once. ‘Yet, neither can you desert the hobbit. He needs your advice, and most of all your faith in him and his quest. His sincere motive is apparent to anyone who can look into his eyes.’
‘I do not doubt it. Yet, can he steel himself – in heart and mind – for what lies ahead?’
‘You ask this even knowing his resistance to and resilience after his recent travails?’
I shrugged. ‘I do not know what it is that disturbs me then.’
‘Oh yes, yes, My Lady. We do know. Yet, are you so sure your strength surpasses his?’
‘It may not. We shall see,’ I answered evasively
‘If he manages to depart these lands while you yet covet his burden - which he is sworn to guard with his life - he WILL know this. He will feel it. The memory of this land and the Lady who presides here, will not be a joy and a strength to him but an unhappy reminder of the irresistible evil he carries. And I tell you my wife, my sister-in-arms, neither he nor his mission will survive it. If, on the other hand, he travels with your blessing, he stands a chance - the only chance for Middle-earth, seat of our eternal love, though we must leave or fade here.’
My eyes narrowed as is my wont, as I scrutinized my own motives. But those last words enlightened me – with the notion that I could bend my thought towards Frodo’s urgent need and so escape my longings. This outward focus, after all, I have witnessed and admired in the hobbit himself.
‘You speak wisely, my Lord. And I am gratified that at least you do not see my offered hospitality as in error.’
‘We shall welcome this young one and feed his spirit, for he struggles valiantly in the cause of Middle-earth. Take care now, my love. For you above all have been both, drawn to the enemy’s chief ploy and the most stalwart in our resistance. Remember that last,’ and he left me with a kiss.
Soon after, I rose and went to wake my guest.
I parted the strands of ivy that hung about the place where he lay on his side upon the cushioning moss. The Ring, the One Ring, had escaped from his garments and was resting before his small chest upon the green. Warm and lovely the thing looked to me… I turned from it to the bearer.
I watched him and saw the moss pressed softly beneath his fingers and cheek. And I was that moss, bedding him, his heart beating rapidly against me. I wanted to embrace him, hold him tightly to include him in the power and love with which I framed this land. But I could not for I was moss and had no limbs and thus could not bind him.
Waters of the sea rode in and swelled against me. As ocean weed, I coiled around him and felt his ribs shift beneath. Desire filled me to possess and be possessed by Ring and Ring-bearer – to merge with them and, as one, accomplish - I knew not what. All was darkness, spray, and swirling current.
Between us, suspended above the waves was the One Ring, strangely hovering at the end of its chain so that the fronds of my growing came through it and I noticed that the chain about Frodo's neck was twisted. I struggled to unwind it but could not. Yet the Ring fitted about me like a necklace, around the velvet greenness of my being, as the briny water subsided. As I grew to fill the circled space, the torque shortened around Frodo's throat. His even breathing broke into choked gasps. Panicked fingers clutched at the chain with no effect, while I watched in horror.
Suddenly, my own limbs returned and I lost the feel of the Ring about me. I flung my arms about Frodo pulling him to me and easing the tension of the fatal chain. My position at Frodo’s bedside startled me and, laying a finger upon the One Ring, I quickly tucked it away and drew back lest I wake him thoroughly.
As I gazed at the hobbit, the deep beds of his eyes shadowed and thick-lashed, a second more ghastly vision came. I saw the Ring bearer stripped and captive in a black-walled tower stained with crimson. Blood ran from his every orifice, from the corner of his mouth, his nose, snaking from one ear, down his thighs. His mouth gaped and his eyes flashed agony, yet he emitted not a sound. The Ring was gone from his neck, an oozing purple welt left upon on his skin. His cracked lips showed great thirst. An orc twice his size held a jug of water at bay, goading.
‘Speak to us of your companions and you shall drink!’ Frodo stared mutely at the droplets the orc shook from the jug to taunt him.
‘Tell why you are here!’ said another, wrenching his captive’s arm, forcing him to his knees. Instantly, a third orc, shifting his leather apron, was upon him. A scream, then I saw red pooling on the floor beneath the delicate arch of Frodo’s hips as monstrous claws seized him.
I leaned on the tree beside me and slid, helplessly clutching its smooth sides, to the ground. There was only one way I could stop this from coming to pass. If Frodo failed, his suffering would be in vain as we all would be enslaved. And if he succeeded, he would suffer the same - alone. His intent was evident to me - he would do this, or die attempting it. I could not allow either doom.
I knelt beside him and instantly, he awoke. Fear wracked his face then melted as he recognized me.
‘Come, if you are rested, friend Frodo. Music and a light repast are at hand to refresh you,’ I invited, folding my trembling arms within the long sleeves of my gown.
As we strolled down the tree-lined corridor, lit by stars and occasional torches, my hand strayed to Frodo’s nape, fondling it and the Ring’s chain. I know not how he felt as I did this, for I could think of nothing but my recent resolve.
Celeborn, who came quickly through the trees, broke my obsession. Beholding me above Frodo’s head, he came between us, drawing me to him with an arm about my girdle, the other resting upon Frodo’s shoulder. The Ring, it seemed, held little sway over my consort.
Soon we were in the Glade of Evensong and the din of the Ring’s beckon left me for a while. Flutes, viols, sistrums, and lutes lay upon the velvet-draped marble table behind the dais where we took our seats. From a charger on the low table beside me, I selected autumn berries and nuts into a linen napkin and passed it to Frodo, as one of my maidens appeared and poured us each a warm drink. Ruby flames tongued the darkness as two elves kindled a bonfire in the center of the glade.
Celeborn sat at my feet, next to Frodo who had chosen a place on the rush-matted lawn. ‘Our main meal is in late afternoon, Frodo,’ explained Celeborn. ‘And even then we eat sparingly these days compared with other races. As our company with Men and other mortals has lessened, our once hearty appetites have likewise diminished. Many of the recipes we once rejoiced in the making of no longer entice us. I only hope you will find something sustaining.’
‘My Lord, the food provided since our arrival here has not only been ample and delicious but most satisfying! Besides, not all hobbits have the appetite of a Beorning!’
Celeborn, normally stern of countenance, grinned broadly.
At the faint thrum of sistrums, my heart’s strain subsided and I looked about me. Haldir approached, his viol tucked under his chin. He tuned it while he walked. With a delighted smile, Frodo leapt to his feet and they greeted each other like old friends, despite their brief acquaintance.
‘The music from your instruments are as words,’ said Frodo as he withdrew from their embrace.
‘Do your people take pleasure in the musical arts, song, dance?’ Haldir asked.
‘Oh, yes!’ said Frodo. ‘Singing and dancing are a favorite pastime, and we look to any excuse for them so that occasions arise from the music-making as often as the reverse.’
‘Good! Then perhaps you will join our small group and we can exchange a ballad or two between the Shire and the Wood - if the Lord and Lady can spare your company,’ said Haldir.
Frodo went off eagerly to join Haldir’s group a short distance away.
As I tuned my harp to the bell sounded for that purpose, I heard a tenor voice unfamiliar to me but sustained and clear through the various harmonies that already filled the air. Looking across a throng of musicians, I traced the voice to Frodo, who sat upon a log, smiling slightly as he sang - a lyric of the Far West in the Common Language. I wondered where he learned it. About him, Haldir and his friends trained their instruments to his melody.
But my pleasure was interrupted, as nearby torchlight flashed off the Ring’s chain around the hobbit’s neck, for the moment unnoticed by its owner. Only its chain! Yet it captivated me, glinting like a string of fine gems at the rise and fall of the bearer’s chest. Frodo felt my stare, turned towards me and his voice wavered.
I shifted my gaze with an effort, focusing my attention instead on my own Nenya, letting its white stone distract me from the One Ring's simple certain roundness. But here I confirmed what I had noticed only absently before, Nenya was warm upon a cool finger and its light pulsed dimly but persistently. I shuddered and stared back at Frodo in horror. But his countenance was innocent of maneuverings. He knew nothing of my ring, nor of operating under the One about his neck. I caught Celeborn’s gaze and saw his eyes widen at this new knowledge - that proximity of the One tightened its hold on the Three, directly and unbidden by me or Frodo.
Nevertheless, I yearned to lay down my harp and go to Frodo, and with my ringed right hand lift the band of silken gold from his breast, just to hold it, feel its weight in my fingers. Instead, I restained myself - and my - little - ring.
When I looked up again, Frodo’s song was over. I returned my harp to its stand and, ignoring a muttered warning from Celeborn, strolled over to where Haldir and the other young ones sat.
‘You have a fine voice, Frodo, and expressive! You will pleasure us by singing it for the company later, perhaps?’
Frodo politely declined our request that he perform the ballad, protesting that he lacked the talent to present to an Elven gathering and was unaccustomed to singing before a large audience of strangers. His brow puckered, as if some memory irked him, so we said no more. Soon he was laughing and smiling again, speaking haltingly but effectively in the high speech of his companions.
About us, the music lilted into an engaging melody and many of the assembly drifted to the spacious lawn to begin a dance. Two of Haldir’s young friends approached the hobbit who was lightly batting a tambourine that someone had passed him.
‘Come dance with us Frodo!’ they called.
Frodo looked doubtful. ‘I am not familiar with the steps and –‘
‘We’ll teach you!’ protested the two, each seizing one of Frodo’s arms and yanking him to his feet.’
‘Daro!’ said Haldir sternly, then addressed Frodo. ‘I beg you to forgive their enthusiasm. It is an honor for us if a guest is so comfortable among us as to join in a dance. Long has it been since any visitor has done so.
Frodo replied with a warm smile. ‘I am pleased to be asked and will do my best then. I’ll bear even your laughter at my lack of grace.’
The pair, taller than Frodo though barely full-grown and the youngest among us, leaped forward with Frodo still in tow. At the peal of the opening chord, he rolled up his sleeves and stood poised, his feet placed to follow what he heard.
A haunting theme from a viol threaded out from the main melody and the Ring Dance began, where all comers linked arms. As the dance progressed, the initial chain thinned to several loose lines. One line circled about and Frodo glided passed, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. He caught my attention and I returned his smile. Looking about me, I saw that the people were happy, more so than I’d seen in countless years, and the auras of all coalesced into a shimmering cloud which yet did not veil us from the stars. And the dew sprang to light at the dancers’ feet.
The rhythm shifted, hastening to a roundelay. The steps grew faster as one chain of dancers established itself as the leader. Then, quite suddenly out of the deceptive simplicity of the early measures, flared the Serpent Dance, in which no mortal has ever shared and few have witnessed.
Through the heightening frenzy, I looked around for our guest. Surely Frodo should not be attempting this. Yet, there he was, between the fair young couple. The dancers streamed past in ever more complicated designs - over a brook, one after the other as if across a bridge, the trough of a wave as they swooped under a low-fallen log, spiking the shimmering air as they leapt up and off a marble banquet table. Then they doubled back on themselves, weaving in and out among bystanders and each other without rift, over chaises, around statuary. I shivered from its intensity.
All this joy and good will, in the presence of the One Ring! So its evil could be dispelled! This is how it could be, how it will be, I thought. And Frodo the Hobbit shall bear the Ring no more, but shall live, to sing and dance, free - to my heart’s content. But then something happened and the exuberance was curtailed.
As the tune slowed to the finish and some of the dancers dispersed, a voice hailed Frodo.
‘Master Hobbit! You wear a jewel of great beauty and I would handle it.’ One of the Elves who had surrounded Frodo earlier, hurried towards him. Frodo’s hands were still locked in the grasps of his new friends. His face clouded as he recognized the Ring’s intonement at work once again.
Of a sudden, it seemed, all the music stopped. Frodo, his tall dance partners finally stilled, was panting deeply. His linen shirt, loose and open necked (one of our own make) clung to him in wet patches. But he pulled backwards, away from his companions, his expression no longer smiling. Beneath the tawny glow of his face, against the pearl-pale triangle of his chest, a glimpse of the gold, which is my nemsis. Broland, our kinsman, came forward, stretching a hand toward the hobbit's chest, blocking my view of the gold-piece. Frodo shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the Elf. Celeborn was on his feet.
An unseemly aggression marked Broland's swift move toward our guest and also the firm grip the two Elves kept on the hobbit’s arms. Frodo finally wrenched free of them and backed away, fumbling at his shirtfront in vain. Bumping into Celeborn, he gasped and drew aside.
'Frodo!' another called. 'We mean only to have a look at it!’ One of the Elves again seized Frodo's shoulder and held him as Broland came forward. The people of Lorien drew near, their eyes crystalline, piercing. They encircled Frodo as effectively as the Ring might have had he put it on his finger. Frodo gave up resistance at once, allowing Broland's hand on his flesh, fingers upon the Ring. I saw him close his eyes for a moment as if bracing himself for pain.
'Tis a most exquisite charm you wear, Master Frodo. I have never seen so fine a make. Indeed, something worthy of Feanor himself,' said Broland in the woodland tongue which Frodo struggled to understand.
With enormous effort, I tried to keep my distance as Broland toyed with the Ring, turning it this way and that, so that it glinted amber in the reflected torchlight, mesmerizing many who looked on. Then it seemed to slip from his grasp and he followed it anxiously, pawing the hobbit, oblivious of this indignity.
'Please-' said Frodo, ‘please stop.’ Broland halted his ministrations as in mock trepidation. Then he answered the entreaty with a taunt.
'Even so, you are a lovely setting for such a baubel as this,' he drawled and tipped Frodo's chin with his finger. 'Your eyes,' he continued, ‘we might find an ample setting for those, perhaps to set upon this Ring,’ and he thrust the hobbit’s face away from him.
But Frodo turned back to him, and spoke, ‘It was bequeathed to me from one who was as a father to me, the day he left our home. I love him dearly and - remember him often.’ He swallowed, then finished evenly, ‘I regret my seeming unfriendliness.’
‘Nephew!’ I called sharply, finally collecting myself and stepping behind the haughty elf, seizing his shoulders. ‘What has affected you that you should treat our guest so?’
Broland, at my touch, dropped his face in his hands and, after a moment, addressed Frodo with a nod. ‘I forgive your lack of mirth, Frodo, for I see you have cause…’ At a loss was our normally garrulous nephew to say what he should. Eventually, he returned to himself with a puzzled frown. He put a hand on Frodo’s head and dropped a blessing in High Elvish.
At that moment, a small silver-feathered owl broke the foliage above Frodo’s head, slipping into the darkness with a warbling cry. I glanced across at Celeborn. It was time. Narrow escapes could never be counted on and the way of the Ring through the land of the Galadhrim was narrowing fast.
As Frodo and I left the gathering, Frodo spoke. ‘I am sorry for what I have brought to your land, Lady Galadriel. Only recently have I observed the affect of – of what I carry - on others. When we approached your land, I shared Aragorn’s belief that passage through the Golden Wood was the safest choice for us. Orcs were on our heels and Moria disheartened all of us to such extent that it seemed we could not resist even a small rank of enemy let alone the hoards that pursued us. Yet, had I seen the evil already being sown, I would have considered my burden and its dark influence even in a haven such as this… Now, of course, I reflect on the past and early examples of its work seem shamefully obvious.’
‘And what could you have done even if you had foreseen these events, Frodo?’ I asked.
‘I would have urged Aragorn to lead the others to the safety of Lorien.’
‘And yourself?’
‘I - would have done what I must - broken from the company and sought the advice of Aragorn, Boromir, even Gimli, as to another path that I alone could pursue unnoticed - for a while. At least, I hope that is what I would have done.’
‘Do not blame yourself for following your leader whom you trust, nor least, your own wisdom. And I will add that it is fitting for Lothlorien to play its part in the final resistance to Sauron’s evil - even if all we do is provide a resting place where the bearer and his companions may recover strength.’
We arrived at the small bower where Frodo slept to find that someone had arrived before us. Tyriel sat on the dry grass at the end of the verdant bedding. Beside her, lay a mound of pillows and folded blankets. In the past weeks I had asked her if she would specially tend him. She was most pleased to do this, having grown quite smitten with him, and he with her, shyly gifting her with blooms from the late autumn lily growing in the southern glades, which she’s fond of dropping into her bath. They had danced briefly together this evening, then I lost sight of her. She looked up at us now expectantly.
Frodo smiled and sank down next to her, his arm slipping about her waist. I bid them good night and walked up to the low shelf of land where I would keep watch (after what had transpired at Evensong, this was necessary). As I left, he gently lifted a coil of her hair to stroke her neck, his eyes intent on her face. She spent no time but took his head in her hands and folded him in her arms, to which he let go a deep, contented sigh. How much of his plans Frodo confided to Tyriel I do not know, but there was communion between these two and my heart was glad.
Then I heard words that wrung my heart.
‘This must end tonight, my love. There is no choice here.’ Frodo’s voice. I turned and saw him shift the Ring to fall behind his back, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Even now he did not take it off! I realized then what I should have known before, that taking the Ring from Frodo would destroy him. I could not vouchsafe his life even by relieving him of it.
Tyriel’s pleas were in vain. ‘Why, Frodo? I understand that you have a mission to fulfill that must eventually take you from us but you are not sufficiently healed to pursue it! I have heard you moan in the night and I have seen the pain in your shoulder – I have felt it!’
‘That cannot be, dearest Tyriel!’ Frodo exclaimed. ‘For your kindness and gentle handling of me, I am utterly grateful. As a result, I am indeed, well again, as well as I shall ever be. But I will not have you hurt. That alone, were there no other cause, would be reason for my leaving your arms at once and departing these lands. As it is, I –‘. The sentence halted with a hushed murmur from Tyriel, the rustle of bed clothes, and, for but a moment, her tinkling laugh that ended on a note of anguish.