Chapter 38
The heavy hall doors slowly closed behind him, shutting out the radiant light of the three stars and the suppressed sobs and grief of the Seven Sons of Fëanorion. Meereen did not turn back, not even to bid farewell to Queen Melian. The Maiar's compassionate gaze stung him. He refused the queen's suggestion to return via the safety of Doriath. With a slight bow, he left Himring alone, as he had come, in silence.
The chill of Beleriand enveloped him instantly, like countless icy needles piercing his face. The sky darkened, leaden clouds hung low, and a fine snowflake began to fall, soon blanketing the rugged mountains and moors surrounding Himring in a solemn silvery white. Meereen tightened his thin cloak and trudged along the snow-covered path, footsteps deep and shallow. The wind whipped up snowflakes, whipping him, yet he seemed oblivious to the cold, moving mechanically forward. The image of the Fëanorion brothers weeping in each other's arms lingered in his mind. It wasn't the ecstasy of finding the treasure, but the sorrow of the emptiness and burden left by the fulfillment of a long-cherished wish, burdened by an endless blood debt. He had returned the Silmaril, but it seemed he had also given them back their last shred of evasion. A profound exhaustion and an indescribable sense of relief blended together, leaving his heart empty, filled only by the crunch of the packed snow beneath his feet and the whistling wind.
After walking for an unknown amount of time, the clear and rapid sound of horse hooves suddenly came from behind him, shattering the silence of the snowy plain. Milin paused, but did not turn back immediately. The sound of horse hooves stopped not far behind him.
He turned slowly.
Across the stream, Maglor sat on his chestnut warhorse, snowflakes falling on his dark cloak and hair, making him look rather forlorn. He stared silently at Meereen, across a thin stream only a few paces wide, covered in thin ice but not yet completely frozen. The water whimpered beneath the ice, like the unspoken emotions between them.
The cold wind swirled snowflakes between them, and silence spread, more suffocating than in the Himring Hall.
Finally, it was Meereen who broke the frozen silence. His voice was calm and without a ripple, as if he was discussing the weather: "Maglor, is there anything left unfinished?"
Maglor tightened his grip on the reins. Snowflakes fell on his long eyelashes, melting into tiny droplets. He was silent for a few breaths before he spoke slowly, his voice low and almost hoarse, a hint of caution. "Will we still be together by the campfire, listening to songs and playing the harp?" The question was so abrupt and humble, like a drowning man grasping at a last, illusory straw.
Meereen paused, looking at the elven singer across the stream, seeing the light in his eyes, a mixture of pain, hope, and deep confusion, that he tried hard to conceal. Once upon a time, the song by the campfire had briefly soothed two lonely souls. He remembered that in those magical yet real moments, he had glimpsed the depths of Maglor's soul, torn apart by the curse of his oath. It wasn't entirely madness, but a suppressed longing for peace and understanding.
After a moment's silence, Milin spoke softly. His voice remained calm, yet it carried a distant, gentle tone, as if from another time and space. "It's all right...as long as you don't come with an army."
These words, like a warm candle, instantly illuminated Maglor's gray eyes, but were then drowned out by a deeper bitterness. This gentle promise, coupled with cold conditions, clearly drew an unbridgeable chasm. The trust between them was shattered.
Meereen looked at Maglor's complicated expression and continued, his tone becoming serious and earnest: "I asked you to send the Silmaril to repair the Two Trees not just to bind you. Maglor, I have too many elf friends in Middle-earth - Finrod, Fingon, Turgon, Glorfindel... They, and their people, are suffering from pain and the shadow of exile because of their betrayal of the Valar. Restoring the Two Trees is the greatest hope for the entire Noldor to obtain the forgiveness of the Valar. I hope that after you lift your own curse, you can also consider the path to redemption of other relatives." This was the unspoken deep meaning when he returned the Silmaril, and it was also his last kindness to the Noldor.
Maglor stared at Meereen, his lips moving slightly as if on the verge of saying something. Perhaps an apology? An explanation? Perhaps an inquiry into Meereen's inner struggles as he hid the jewel all those years? But in the end, all the words stuck in his throat. He looked into Meereen's calm yet distant eyes, and all the words lost their meaning. He knew that some of his questions already had answers, but he simply refused to acknowledge them.
Meereen didn't give him another chance to speak. He gave Maglor one last, deep look, as if to carve this elven singer who had once bewildered, angered, and yet held a tinge of inexplicable pity in his memory. Then he turned decisively, pulled up the hood of his cloak, and set out again on the snow-covered road home. His back looked particularly lonely and determined in the wind and snow.
Maglor stood frozen on his horse, watching the figure recede, vanishing into the vast expanse of snow. Cold snowflakes fell on his face, the meltwater mixing with the irrepressible, scalding liquid, silently sliding down. He bit his lower lip tightly, stifling a sob. He knew this time it was truly over. The human who had listened quietly to his song by the campfire, whose soul seemed to resonate strangely with his own, the one he had instinctively approached but was forced to hurt by his oath and the jewel, was gone from his life forever. A profound loss and an irreparable sorrow, like icy snow, soaked his soul. Out of sight of Meereen, he wept silently, for the fragile connection that had withered before it even began, for the understanding that might have been, shattered by curse and fate.
The snowstorm gradually subsided. As Meereen rode to the edge of South Elmerth Forest, sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting golden rays on the snow-covered pine and cypress branches. A familiar scent of pine needles, fir, and damp earth filled his air. The forest seemed quiet and peaceful beneath its blanket of winter snow.
Meereen slowed down, letting the horses tread gently across the soft snow. He surveyed the familiar scenery, but his thoughts drifted to the past. He recalled how, when he had left this forest, it was Aridil, the brave and rebellious Elf Princess, who had led him away from Eol's control and onto an unknown journey. His feelings then were trepidation yet also hope. In the secluded land of Gondolin, it was the generous and warm Glorfindel who cared for him like a brother and introduced him to the wonders of the elven city. In Nargothrond, it was the wise and kind Finrod who offered him shelter and sincere friendship, making it his second home. In Dor-lómin, it was the simple and resilient Edain who made him feel the warmth of their kind and the warmth of everyday life...
Now, alone, he once again walked the forest that had once marked a turning point in his life. The rustle of his horse's feet on the snow was his only companion, yet his state of mind was drastically different from when he had left with Aretiel. The confusion of that time had been replaced by a heaviness now, the hope of that time eclipsed by a calmness and a faint weariness that comes with having experienced so much. He was no longer the boy who had followed blindly, full of curiosity about the future. He had endured betrayal, imprisonment, war, and had carried and ultimately shed the burden of his greatest treasure. He had returned the diamond, and seemingly also released a certain overly tight bond with this world.
He breathed a long, deep sigh, a white mist lingering in the cold air. It seemed as if the breath had emptied out all the heaviness, sorrow, and struggle that had pent up within him, leaving behind only a sense of peace that bordered on nothingness. He gave his horse no more pause, simply giving it a gentle push and letting it carry him, slowly but steadily along the snow-covered forest path southward, towards Nargothrond.
When Meereen finally appeared at the gates of Nargothrond, deafening cheers erupted from the city walls.
"Meereen is back!"
"He's fine! He's back!"
"Thank you Star! Thank you Vera!"
The news spread like wildfire throughout the city, and the long-worried residents poured into the streets. Elves and Men alike beamed with genuine joy and relief. They cheered Meereen's safe return, as if welcoming a triumphant hero. Finrod, having heard the news, had already arrived and stood at the front of the crowd. When he saw Meereen, slightly exhausted but safe, his golden eyes, always filled with wisdom, finally shed the heavy worry of days, leaving only pure, warm love.
Meereen dismounted and, surrounded by the crowd, walked towards Finrod. He said nothing, simply opening his arms and giving the Elf King, who was like a brother and a close friend, a tight, silent hug. Finrod hugged him back, patting him gently on the back. Everything said itself.
This warm welcome ceremony seemed to have exhausted the last bit of Meereen's strength. He let go of Finrod and gave the cheering crowd around him a pale but sincere smile and nodded. Then, under the concerned gazes of everyone, he silently walked through the cheering crowd and went straight to his room in the depths of the palace. He left all the noise and concern behind.
He closed the door, shutting out the outside world. The room was silent, save for the soft crackle of the burning wood in the fireplace. Mierlin stripped off his snow-stained cloak and coat and collapsed exhausted onto the soft bed. Both his body and spirit were stretched to their limit. He didn't light a lamp, but simply stared open his eyes at the dim, flickering shadows on the ceiling, cast by the fire.
Sleepiness crept in like a gentle tide. In the trance between sleep and wakefulness, the scene before my eyes began to change...
Meereen found himself in the gardens of Lórien, where flowers bloomed endlessly, their scents intoxicatingly sweet. A warm, soft light filled every corner. He saw his friends surrounding him. Finrod was talking to Turgon, his familiar smile of wisdom and gentleness on his face. Glorfindel laughed heartily not far away, his long golden hair gleaming in the light. Aridil, too, stood among the flowers, offering him a smile of relief and freedom.
They gathered around, their faces beaming with the unclouded smiles of a long-awaited reunion. There was no sorrow, no separation, no shadows of war or curse. The air was filled with the melodious music of elven music. Someone started, but everyone began to sing softly, their voices harmonious and filled with joy, like the most beautiful piece of music.
Surrounded by this immense happiness and warmth, Meereen couldn't help but smile from the bottom of his heart and joined in their singing. He felt an unprecedented sense of relief and joy, as if all his burdens had been lifted. In this extreme joy, he subconsciously raised his head and looked out into the distance of the garden.
There stood two immense trees of indescribable majesty and sacredness—Laurelin and Telperion. They blossomed with the most brilliant light of life. Their golden glow resembled molten sunlight, warm and bountiful; their silver halo was cool and pure, as if condensed from the essence of all the stars. The radiance of the two trees intertwined and flowed, forming a vast ocean of light, filled with indescribable harmony, beauty, and creativity. That light was more than a feast for the eyes; it was a cleansing of the soul, dispelling all gloom and bringing with it the purest joy, hope, and a profound reverence for life itself.
The light of the Two Trees gently enveloped the entire garden, all his laughing and singing friends, and even Meereen itself. In that supreme, eternal light, he felt a sense of belonging that he had never felt before, a sense of peace and fulfillment that came at last at the end of a long journey.
The fire in the fireplace flickered, illuminating Meereen sleeping on his bed. Even in his sleep, the corner of his mouth still retained the peaceful and happy smile that he had shown in the dream garden.
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