Healing Hands

Chapter Thirteen: A Declaration

Cover art is drawn by me!

After the first night of good sleep Eyrell had had in a long time, Haldir woke them and bid them to get ready. They left shortly afterward, following the long road to Lothlórien.

The morning sunlight dripped through the trees like honey, bathing the forest with light and life. Birds Eyrell had never heard before sang in the trees, and exquisite golden flowers covered the ground; it took all of her self-control to keep her from reaching down to gather an armful of the blooms.

Around noon, Haldir stopped at the top of a large hill, where they looked down upon the center of the forest: white mallorn trees rose taller than any other in a domed shape, and somehow Eyrell knew that no evil had ever, or would ever, touch that place.

"Caras Galadon," said Haldir, a real smile on his face for the first time, "the Heart of Elvendom on earth. This is the city of the Galadhrim, where dwell the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel, the Lady of Light."

It was late evening when the Fellowship reached Lothlórien: it would have been pitch dark if not for the strange blue lamps hanging from the slowly drifting boughs, filling the trees with pale little moons. The city was not built on the ground—rather, the structures were high above them in the trees, with long staircases spiraling around the smooth trunks. Eyrell felt like she was walking through a dream, drinking in every ethereal detail of her surroundings.

Haldir led them up one of the staircases, to a suspended villa; presently, two Elves came down to meet them, the Lord's arm raised gently to support the hand of his Lady.

Eyrell could not conceal a gasp at their beauty; the Lord Celeborn walked with statuesque poise, his silver hair arranged over his snowy robes in a manner that made him seem bathed in moonlight. His smooth, angular face appeared untouched by age, but his onyx eyes reflected fathomless knowledge of centuries lost as he gazed down at the company with keen curiosity.

The Lady Galadriel was the most beautiful woman Eyrell had ever seen, impossibly tall and radiating power. The smooth white dress she wore was simple but elegant, and her only ornamentations were a silver ring on her right hand and a glittering tiara resting on her brow. Her long golden hair spilled in waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was youthful as well as regal and wise, and her vivid blue eyes sparkled with stars ten times brighter than any that hung in the skies.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here," said Lord Celeborn, his voice as rich as mahogany but stern as stone. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Nine here there are, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him; I can no longer see him from afar."

Eyrell dipped her head in sorrow; none of the Fellowship could bring themselves to answer his question.

Lady Galadriel's face grew somber and her eyes widened, and she spoke in a whisper like the ripple of wind. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land ... He has fallen into Shadow."

There was a long silence; though Lady Galadriel had deduced what had happened to the Wizard, she still clearly searched for an explanation from one of them. Finally, Legolas spoke: "He was taken by both Shadow and Flame ... a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

He did not emphasize the word needless, but his accusation still fell like a stone in Eyrell's ears; Gimli bowed his head in shame.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," said Lady Galadriel, sorrowful but still convicted. "We do not yet know of his full purpose. Do not let the emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli son of Glóin," she said, addressing Gimli kindly. The Dwarf looked up, tears shining on his ruddy face and in his beard. "For the world is full of peril, and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief."