Summary: When spring comes to Lothlórien, sunshine and flowers are not the only things to arrive with it.

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Noe 'ni Ast Vall

Beams of sunlight danced through the trees, filtering through the fine golden mist which hung over the beloved mellyrn of Lothlórien. Buds of boldly delicate yellow flowers hung in glorious bowers from the trees, signifying the arrival of spring to the Golden Wood. Not that winter ever truly touched this land, but spring still bowed elegantly before the elves here every year without fail. This year was no exception.

Lady Galadriel made her way through the trees to the spring whose joyful effervescence provided the substance of the Lady’s Magic Mirror. Dipping her silver ewer into the water, she drew some forth and poured it into the awaiting basin, her dainty white sleeves shimmering in gentle waves with each movement of her arms. As she turned to draw more, she noticed dust alighting on the surface of the water she had just poured. Setting down the ewer, she lifted the basin and swished the liquid around a few times to cleanse the container, then emptied the basin on the grass nearby. Replacing the basin in its holder, she again began filling it, this time chanting with each ewer-full, the spell which would bring her Mirror to life.

Once the chant was complete, she bent to activate the mirror and noticed a yellow film swirling on the surface of the water. Her delicate brow furrowed as she frowned. Lifting the basin again, she poured out the contents, then proceeded to chant the spell and fill the basin again. As she bent to breathe on the water and thus call the Mirror to life, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead and she inadvertently choked, coughing as a fine gold dust sprinkled down and clouded the water once again, thus ruining the spell.

Frowning more deeply, irritation lining her face, she poured out the water, and drew more, chanting the spell more loudly than before. Just as she breathed life upon the water, the leaves trembled again and the water turned opaque. Swearing in each of the elven languages she knew, she stepped away from the basin and looked around her, biting her lips in anger. As she turned, she noticed that her snow white dress now bore yellow smudges and spots in every place where it had brushed against something else every time she had filled her basin.

Sneezing violently, she wiped her face on her dirty sleeve, cursing and swearing under her breath all the while. She hurled the water away in annoyance, then grabbed the ewer and drew water again. This time, she did not even finish filling the basin before the dust appeared again. Thoroughly disgusted, she upended the basin and left it lying upside down on the ground. Casting the ewer to the ground she raised her arms in sharp protest and called upon Nenya, crying out the powerful words which summoned clouds and obscured the sunlight. The sky well-nigh turned black as vast torrents issued forth from the heavens.

Many shouts of joy and relief drifted down from the trees and not a few folk cheered as the rain brushed the leaves and telain washing them clean. With a self-satisfied smirk on her face, the lady made her way back to her own talan and changed her clothes.  

When the storm finally ended, the lady, adorned in another gauzy white dress, made her way to the shimmering spring. Replacing the basin, she retrieved the ewer and filled the basin, fairly singing the spell of seeing. As she bent to breathe on the water, an enormous cloud of golden dust billowed up on a stray breeze and doused the lady, the basin, and all of the rest of Lothlórien in a celebratory shower of fine golden dust as the trees rejoiced in their bliss.

With a shout of irate rage, which was echoed by hundreds of voices across Caras Galadhon, the lady threw down the basin and the ewer again and stomped off. Suddenly a song lifted from one talan and then was taken up by many others filling the dense air with melodic words of irritation and despair. Thus as they did every year, the elves began their cries of Noe 'ni Ast Vall: The Lament of the Golden Dust.

Pollen season had come to Lothlórien once again.

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Note: No trees were harmed in the making of this tale though the author did suffer grievous upper respiratory allergic reactions.