-General-
A few miles from Helcaraxë, the surviving Noldor rested. In normal circumstances there would be divisions: some would follow Fëanor, others Fingolfin. But now everything was far from normal. Both half-brothers had reached a consensus, and everyone knew it: "No more distance, no more division."
Now everyone gathered together, helping each other; yesterday's "enemy" was now a friend.
Together, they came to a conclusion that passed from mouth to mouth: they no longer saw a future in Valinor; their only path was to move forward and reach the promised lands beyond their ancient dwelling.
Fëanor allowed his people to rest. Taking advantage of the calm, he met with his sons, who, after a long effort of rescue and aid, rested on the remains of a ship. Around them, a dozen Noldor watched the Elven women who, on the seashore, closed their eyes and prayed.
Among them, Galadriel was the most prominent: her face, guilt-ridden and sorrowful, only broke the hearts of those present. What burden must such a beautiful Elf carry among her people?
To the astonishment of all, a warm, golden light rose in the sky, illuminating Galadriel's delicate figure. Her golden hair, radiant, only enhanced that glow.
Parting her eyes slightly, she glimpsed the new light ascending on the horizon. She did not feel astonishment like the others; on the contrary, an unnatural calm invaded her. Something inside her told her that this event should be accompanied by something ceremonial. So, remembering those who had fallen into the sea, she began to chant:
(Eär laita,lómelindë,)
Oh sea, bless, twilight song,
(lómi úvavanwa-nárë,)
your waves guard fires that do not die.
(mi sírë undumëcanta,)
In the deep the heroes sleep,
(lindalë nórion úvë.)
the music of their land does not fall silent.
(Noldor vanyalië,elenya-márië,)
Beautiful Noldor, in the starlight,
(mí falmalinnar lantanar,)
you fell upon burning foams.
(ar sí lá nin imóri,)
I will no longer see you in the dark dwelling,
(ar úva nórelyacenien.)
but your name lives in my song.
(Elenar hilya, calimaná,)
The stars follow you, resplendent,
(mal mornië ranyatenn' Ambaróna.)
although the night advances toward the end of the world.
(Nai Eru tultuvartye)
May Eru lead you again
(mí ilyë sírë tennaFanyarë.)
through all the seas, up to the White Heavens.
Hearing her chant, the Elven women, with tears sliding down their fine faces, joined her in the chorus. It was painful, very painful for the poor Noldor women, for most of those praying by the sea were those whose husbands and sons now rested in the dwelling of Mandos.
Many of them broke down before Galadriel's chant; the melody was so profound that even those who stayed far from the sea approached, drawn by her lament. Among them was Fingolfin, who, with melancholy, bowed his head, blaming himself for something that was beyond his control.
The impact of that melody was so strong that Fëanor, whose heart remained closed since the departure of his wife, allowed himself an instant of weakness, loosening the chains that imprisoned his emotions.
No one questioned where the light on the horizon came from. Only Ilarion, who was enjoying his cousin's melancholic song, raised his gaze toward the luminous points in the distance. To his dismay, he felt no surprise at all; it was as if Galadriel's voice suppressed astonishment and all other emotion. What a powerful voice that Vanyar beauty of Noldor descent possessed!
"The Sun and the Moon..." murmured the eighth son of Fëanor.
He ironically observed his surroundings: all the Noldor, without exception, had drawn near, united in the grief for their lost relatives. Those emotions seemed amplified by the words of the chant.
"Heroes"—they were called—those fallen in the sea. Why should they be, after the massacre at Alqualondë? He did not know the reason and chose not to ask. He was unaware that Galadriel named them so because most died saving others; very few were those whom the sea dragged away before they could do anything.
Putting his thoughts aside, he closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the calm that permeated the beach. Accompanying that moment, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand provided a natural echo. He remained there for a while, until Galadriel, having finished her beautiful song, closed her eyes and uttered a final prayer for the fallen.
When Fëanor and Fingolfin saw that all the Noldor had rested, they called them. Little by little, everyone gathered beneath some rocks, where, at the summit, the sons of Finwë stood proudly.
"My people, my brethren," said Fëanor. "It is time to depart. I have reached an agreement with Fingolfin: he will go by the other end of the sea, while I will follow the path of the waters near Helcaraxë."
"Those who follow me," he continued, "I must tell you that we shall depart immediately, so prepare yourselves."
He said no more. He turned and walked towards his sons; a few moments ago he had been unable to speak with them, as he was captivated by his niece's melody.
"Ilarion, Amrod, and Amras," he called his youngest sons, who were already beginning to prepare to leave. "You will go with Fingolfin."
The three stopped and, in disbelief, looked at their father.
"Why?!" Amrod exclaimed with indignation. "I wish to be with you, Father. I see no point in following a nobody."
"Watch your words."
"But, Father..."
"Silence," Fëanor commanded, with a deadly glare. Then he turned his gaze back to his other two sons. "I am not sending you with Fingolfin because you are in my way; on the contrary, there is a task that only you can accomplish."
...
-?-
In a lush forest, a delicate figure moved with elegance.
Every smile of hers melted the ice, every spin unfurled a warmth that made flowers blossom in torrents.
Her voice was a poem dedicated to nature; her hair, dark as night, carried the radiance of the stars.
In her gray eyes, as deep as ancient lakes, she gracefully and emotionally contemplated the birth of two new lights rising in the sky.
"What a beautiful sight..." she whispered.
At her word, the flowers swayed with joy, as if dancing to the rhythm of a song of creation. The trees bowed their branches in silence, and the wind, enamored, wove her name among the leaves.
Every note of her voice awakened the sleeping soul of the forest: the streams turned to crystal, the birds stopped their flight, and even the Moon—newly born—seemed to pause to listen to her.
It was already night, but that beautiful woman still remained awake, with enough energy to dance for a long time.
Her movements were like a dream woven by the moon, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath so as not to disturb her.
It was not until a recurring guest made his presence known.
"I imagined I would find you here," said the voice of the newcomer.
In his eyes was visible the deep love he felt for the young woman; his pointed ears, betraying his Elvish lineage, moved with delight upon hearing her laughter.
"I am always here, Daeron; it's not hard to find me," the young woman joked, causing the Elf to melt at every word of such a precious voice.
"What brings you here?" she asked, spinning gently, while a garland of light played in her dark hair.
Recovering from his reverie, the Elf offered his hand. "I have come to take you back. The King has requested that I escort you."
"Why should you escort me? Have those beasts attacked the forest again?"
Daeron shook his head.
"No, but ships have been sighted on the shores of the beach, and the King fears they arrive with ill intentions. So, please... come with me....
lady Lúthien."
**
On Patreon, you can find part of Galadriel's song, and if you're a subscriber, you can listen to it in its entirety. There are two versions, in case you'd like to check them out.
It has been decided that the romance will be with Galadriel. Luthien and Beren represent Tolkien and his wife, and I don't want to tarnish that.