Requiem of Sorrow

by Avalon Estel

Disclaimer: I don’t own LotR, but I do love those Elves.

She stood alone on the flet, her white gown flowing in the wind. Her face was wet and shining from tears, her chest heaved with sobs. It didn’t matter anymore to her; dignity and pride were no longer important. Her grief seemed to be ripping her apart little by little, a terrible creature tearing her soul to shreds. Her heart was broken. She gave a sob and leaned against the trunk of the tree, sliding into a kneeling position, her face buried in her hands.

The warrior Elf who guarded the forest haven heard her crying. He debated with himself for a moment, wondering whether he should hold his post or go to her. Finally, he discarded protocol and made his way to the flet. When he’d climbed to the top, he stood in solemn silence, watching her cry.

The Elf woman stiffened as she heard someone say her name. She glanced up at the soldier in surprise, her hand clenching involuntarily. “Haldir?” she asked quietly. She bit her lip, ashamed for crying.

The warrior nodded. She began to wipe her tears away with her free hand, but she stopped when she realized that his expression mirrored her own. They were both grieving. They had both lost something dear. She gave him a thin smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. She stood and walked to the edge of the flet, staring out at the night, at the darkness of the golden-leaved wood. The moon had turned the usually lush green grass to pale silver, the trees to white skeletons. She felt a fresh wave of tears well up in her eyes and roll down her cheeks unchecked. One of them fell silently onto her trembling hand. She was like a bright shadow, creeping quietly through the night. She knew he was still behind her. After a long time, she said, “I have failed.”

“What?” Haldir asked, confused.

“I failed.”

“What do you mean, my Lady?”

Galadriel turned slightly, gazing at him from tear-washed eyes. “She was my daughter, Haldir. If anything was wrong, I should have known. Perhaps I could have saved her.”

“You speak as if she is dead,” Haldir whispered.

“She might as well be,” Galadriel replied.

“My Lady, do not blame yourself,” he said, stepping forward. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “No one could have saved her.”

The words did nothing for her guilt. Celebrian was her daughter. A mother was supposed to be there for her daughter always, no matter what happened. Now she had no daughter, and her grandchildren had no mother. Her son-in-law had lost his beloved wife. Losing Celebrian was like losing a limb. She had always been a star, lighting everything she touched, glowing from the depths of the darkness, banishing the night.

And now she was gone.

A new wave of emotion swept over Galadriel. This time it was rage, rage against the orcs who had driven her daughter to leave Arda, against herself for her blindness, against Haldir for not seeing the truth of her words, against the world and its injustice. Celebrian was dead to them, unreachable until they sailed to the West.

Haldir slipped into a kneel beside his Lady as she sank to her knees, sobs wracking her body. He allowed her to cry. “Tears can bring healing to one in pain,” he said softly.

Eventually, she had no tears left. She sat with her head in her hands, exhaustion seeping through her bones. She sighed finally and looked at him. “Thank you, Haldir,” she said. “You are a great friend.”

He smiled and patted her hand. “Comfort will come to you, Lady. It shall take time, but you will find peace.”

Galadriel looked out over the forest, staring out in the distance as if she could see her daughter across the sea, past the roiling waves. “I shall always miss her.”

“I, too, my Lady.”

They both knew that no matter how long Celebrian was gone, they would always see ghostly memories of her running through the trees, her hair flying out behind her. They knew that they would always hear the echoes of the songs she sang, the laughter she always held for everything. They knew she would always be in their hearts, locked inside them for all time.

The sun began to rise.