Chapter 43

The sound of Beleriand's sinking waves echoed long in the ears of the survivors, becoming a mournful song day and night. Countless Elves, Men, and Dwarves wandered the newly formed, jagged shores. They gazed upon the strange sea that had swallowed up their homes, their loved ones, and countless memories, tears streaming down their faces. The wind seemed to still carry the fragrance of their homeland, mingled with the salty taste of the sea and the dust of destruction.

Meereen stood among the crowd, his figure strikingly alone. The land beneath his feet was unfamiliar, the waves crashing against the jagged rocks, mocking the past. Long ages had passed since his arrival as an outlier in Beleriand, long enough for generations of mortals to have been born and died. The shelter of Nargothrond, the wonders of Gondolin, the smoke of Dor-lómin, the paths of Brethil… countless faces, countless stories, and the land that held them all, had sunk into a cold abyss. A great sorrow washed over him like a tide, deeper than any wound of battle.

This profound sorrow ignited a pure flame deep within his soul. Meereen's body involuntarily radiated an unprecedented, intense yet gentle light. This light wasn't blinding, but it held the purest purifying and healing power of life itself. Like the first rays of dawn's sunlight, it gently bathed the sorrowful crowds and the devastated shore.

On the scorched earth, ravaged by war and eroded by the sea, beneath the withered grass roots, new green shoots stubbornly emerged, spreading at a visible pace. In a blink, a vibrant green blanket covered the ground beneath Meereen and everywhere his light touched. For those wounded in the raging battle, whose wounds still ached, the light enveloped them, and their pain quickly subsided. Scars deep enough to see the bone began to heal, leaving behind faint red marks. The civilians, pent-up fear, despair, and the shadow of lost homes and loved ones, felt as if gently brushed away by a warm hand. A long-lost sense of peace, hope, and even a faint sense of comfort welled up from their parched hearts like a spring, smoothing the tears from their faces.

This incredible scene, like a miracle, erupted in gasps of astonishment and devout prayers. Eönwë, Chief of the Maiar, the august herald of the Valar, had been silently watching Meereen. Now, standing a little distance away, his deep gaze gazing at the miracle of life ignited by human sorrow, a look of wonder and a hint of understanding in his eyes. The story of Meereen had long been spread among the Valar and Elves of Aman through Esti's recitation. This strange human, isolated from the great music of the Ainur, not of Arda but accepted by the Valar, possessing immortality, was a unique piece of music in itself.

As the light faded, as if drained of all his strength, Meereen's body swayed, and then he slumped down on the soft, fragrant grass that had just grown, and fell into a deep sleep. His friends immediately gathered around him, and Glorfindel carefully covered him with a warm blanket, while Finrod stood guard beside him, his eyes full of concern and worry.

Milin's consciousness once again sank into the familiar, eternal spring garden, but this time, it was no longer the gentle and compassionate Esti who was waiting for him in the depths of the flowers.

His form was not a physical form, but rather a condensation of pure radiance, majesty, and supreme will, as if the entire sky and order of Arda were contained within it. Stars slowly swirled around him, and his gaze seemed to penetrate all time and space. Meereen instantly knew that this was Manwë Solimo, the Great King of Arda. Just being held by that gaze shook Meereen's soul, and a deep awe and submission filled his heart.

"Lord Manwe..." Meereen's voice trembled slightly as he bowed respectfully, his heart filled with confusion. He had never expected to meet this supreme being directly.

Manwë's voice boomed, not deafening, but as if from the edge of the universe, with supreme majesty and all-seeing calm. "My presence here is not accidental. Estë has spoken for you, speaking of your uniqueness, beyond the music. And I know all you have done." His gaze seemed to penetrate the very soul of Meereen. "You have gathered together three of Fëanor's creations, stars of curse and hope. You could have claimed them for yourself, or harnessed their power. But you chose to return them, to those Fëanorion who had wronged you, burned by the oath. Your act has freed them from the chains that bound them."

Meereen was shocked. He had never expected Manwë to know these details so well. Summoning his courage, he stepped forward, his voice filled with pleading: "Lord Manwë, since you know all, I beg you, I beg you, the Valar, to forgive the exiled Noldor! They have paid an unimaginable price for Fëanor's oath—the blood of their kin, eternal exile, the loss of their homeland. Now all they built in this land, along with Beleriand itself, has sunk into the sea. Their regret and pain have long surpassed the punishment itself. They gave the Silmarils to repair the Two Trees and seek redemption. Allow them to return to Valinor and reunite with their kin!"

Manwë was silent, his face shrouded in light, no emotion could be seen, only a deep, unchanging tranquility like the sky. He did not immediately respond to Meereen's request, and this silence itself was like an invisible pressure, making Meereen's heart hang in the balance.

After a long pause, Manwë spoke again, and the subject turned to Meereen itself. "Meereen, if the Elves are allowed to return to Aman, what about you? What path will you choose?"

Meereen blurted out, "Of course I'm going with Finrod and the others..." But before he could finish, he stopped dead in his tracks. A cold reality struck him: Men were forbidden from setting foot on Aman, the "Blessed Land." This meant he would be forever separated from the Elven friends he considered his closest kin. A profound sense of grief and loss gripped him, a pain even sharper than the pain of Beleriand's sinking. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and tears welled up in his eyes.

Manwë's eyes seemed to read his thoughts. "Do you long to be with your Elf friends forever? Even if it means being away from your Men?"

This question touched upon Meereen's deepest conflict. He took a deep breath, striving to calm his surging emotions. "Lord Manwë... I cherish my friendship with Finrod, Glorfindel, Idril, Aredil, and the others. They offered me shelter, guidance, and true friendship in my time of greatest loss and danger, like family. This friendship is one of the most precious treasures I have in this long life." His voice was filled with deep nostalgia. "As for humans... yes, the Edain accepted me as a compatriot, and I am grateful to them, but..." Meereen's tone grew low and sad. "For me, immortality also means witnessing the aging and death of mortals time and again. Every farewell is like carving an unhealable wound into my heart. I cannot die, and therefore can only endure the pain of this loss forever, which fills me with immense sorrow." At the end, his voice choked with sobs.

Manwë listened quietly, a subtle trace of compassion seemingly revealed on his face, composed of light. He looked at this human, full of contradictions and bearing a unique fate, and said slowly, "I understand your wishes. Return to Meereen, to those who love you and care for you."

Meereen awoke by a campfire in his makeshift coastal camp, the stars gently streaming down his face. His friends stood by his side. Finrod, Glorfindel, and the other surviving elves sat together, humming ancient, soothing songs in Elvish. The melodies, like cool spring water, soothed the souls of those who had survived the catastrophe. Seeing Meereen awake, Finrod smiled warmly, and Glorfindel patted his shoulder.

The aftermath of the war was still ongoing. The Ered Luin Mountains were severely shattered in the aftermath of the War of Wrath, and the once glorious Dwarf city-states of Nogrod and Belegost were completely reduced to ruins. The surviving Dwarves, carrying their grief and skills, began to migrate to the mountains further east.

After his master's exile, Sauron, Morgoth's lieutenant, trembled before Eönwë, feigning remorse and begging for the Valar's forgiveness. However, Eönwë, perceiving his cunning and fickleness, declared with stern authority: "Sauron, servant of Morgoth! I have no right to judge you here. Your fate must be decided by the Valar upon the Rings of Valinor. Return with me to Aman, and receive the judgment you deserve!" Terror seized Sauron upon hearing this, knowing full well that his sins were grave and the Valar's judgment would be no mercy. He dared not resist Eönwë, but seized upon his unpreparedness and transformed himself into a cold, black wind. He swiftly slithered into a newly formed, bottomless fissure in the earth, vanishing into the darkness and lurking like a dormant serpent, waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

The three loyal Houses of the Edain earned the favor of the Valar for their unwavering support for the Light during the War of Wrath. As a reward, the Valar raised a vast and fertile new land in the midst of the Belegaer Sea, between Valinor and Middle-earth. They named it Andor, the "Gift-Giving Land." Deeply blessed by Earendil's star-bearing guidance, the Edain, filled with immense gratitude for their Lightbringer, named their new homeland Elanna, the "Star-Guided Land," and also Númenor, the "Westland."

At the beginning of the Second Age, Eönwë, the Chief of the Maiar, came and stayed among the Edain. He taught them knowledge, arts, laws, and the ways of government, granting them wisdom, strength, and a long life far beyond that of ordinary men. With immense reverence and enthusiasm, the Númenóreans began to build their new homeland.

On the eve of setting off for Elanna, Elros, who had chosen the fate of mankind, found Meereen with gratitude and reluctance. He sincerely invited this legendary figure who had fought alongside them and taught them medical skills to go to the "Land of Star Attraction" to settle down and become their mentor and guardian.

Meereen looked at the familiar and enthusiastic faces of the Edain, his heart filled with emotion, but also with hesitation. He looked at Finrod and his elf companions standing quietly not far away. He did not want to, and could not, abandon them.

Then Eonwë approached, his gaze penetrating the heart. He looked at the hesitant Meereen and said calmly, "Meereen Lóriendil, your destiny is not for this rising land."

Meereen looked at the Chief of the Maiar in confusion. "Lord Eönwë, what do you mean by this? What is my destiny?"

Eonwe simply smiled, a smile that held deep meaning, but he didn't offer an answer: "When the time comes, you'll know."

Ultimately, Meereen declined the Edain's gracious invitation. In a moment of farewell, he solemnly gifted them the tome of medicine he had dedicated his life to, a blend of elven wisdom and human practice, containing countless precious healing techniques and herbal lore. He exhorted, "May this knowledge help you to thrive and be free from disease in your new home." With deep reverence, the Edain meticulously recorded Meereen's deeds: his immortality, his power of purification, his legendary journey in Beleriand, his return of the Silmarils, his contribution to the Final Battle, and his present gift. These records, carefully preserved, accompanied the Edain aboard their ship to their new home. However, no one could have foreseen that these records of "Meereen the Immortal" would, in the distant future, be exploited by a lurking darkness, fueling the corruption of the Númenóreans, their desire for immortality, and their ultimate rebellion against the Valar.

As the ships of the Edain sailed toward the horizon, bound for their new starlit home, Eonwë came again to Meereen and Finrod, his face solemn.

Eönwë's voice was clear and powerful. "By the word of King Manwë, I declare to you the judgment of the Valar."

"The exiled Noldor, for the courage they displayed in the final battle against Morgoth, for the suffering they endured and the repentance they showed, and for their sincerity in offering the Silmarils to help repair the Two Trees, the Valar have decided to forgive them. Those who wish may cast off the name of exile, cross westward, and return to Valinor to reunite with their kin who remained behind!"

Finrod's eyes lit up with incredible surprise, then turned into deep gratitude and relief. After so many epochs of exile, so much blood, tears, and sacrifice, redemption finally arrived at this moment! He grasped Meereen's hand tightly, his emotion inexpressible.

Eönwë turned his gaze toward Meereen and continued, "As for you, the Valar have considered you. Because of your unique nature, your services to the bright cause of Arda, and the deepest desire of your heart, the Valar have permitted you to follow the Elves to Aman, the Blessed Land in the West. You will be allowed to dwell forever in Valinor, in the company of your cherished Elf friends, until the end of Arda."

This news exploded in Meereen's heart like thunder! He stared blankly at Eönwë, then at Finrod, who was equally astonished. An overwhelming sense of joy, like a surging wave, instantly overwhelmed all his mental defenses. Without warning, tears burst forth, rolling down his weathered cheeks. These were not tears of sorrow, but tears of a long-cherished wish fulfilled, overflowing with happiness. He no longer had to face the eternal separation from his beloved friend, nor endure eternity alone.

"Thank you... thank you... thank you Valar! Thank you King Manwë." Meereen choked with sobs, barely able to form a sentence. Finrod opened his arms and gave him a strong hug, his face filled with heartfelt relief and blessings: "My friend, we can finally go home together."