Chapter 44
On a bright, sunny day in the tenth year of the Second Age, after long preparations and farewells, the Elves of Nargothrond and other exiled Noldor who wished to return boarded the White Ship bound for Aman. Meereen stood at the prow, the sea breeze ruffling his hair and robes. He cast one last glance eastward at the reborn coastline and, beyond, at the vast sea that had sank Beleriand. Past wars, pain, separations, and miracles washed over him like a tide, finally dissolving into a long sigh on the sea breeze.
The voyage was smooth and peaceful. When the white coastline and the everlastingly glorious land of Valinor appeared before their eyes, the elves on board cheered with excitement and devotion. Meereen's heart also beat violently, for he had finally set foot on this legendary land.
The moment he set foot on the sacred soil of Aman, Meereen felt an indescribable sense of peace and belonging. He did not stop for a moment, not even to settle in Tirion. Instead, guided by his dreams, he impatiently headed for the place he had longed for, the Gardens of Lórien.
This place was a thousand times more beautiful than in dreams, with flowers blooming in profusion, never withering, and the air filled with an intoxicating sweetness and tranquility. Gentle Veeraesti stood among the flowers, radiating a healing and soothing glow. She looked at Meereen, dusty and tearful, with a warm and loving smile on her face, as if welcoming a child returning from a journey.
Meereen chose not to reside in Tirion, the capital of the Noldor, but rather in a tranquil and elegant house near the Gardens of Lórien. Shaded by verdant trees and gurgling streams, it teemed with the vibrant energy of life. Meereen spent much of his time in the gardens. Far from being idle, he gratefully and joyfully helped tend the exotic flowers and plants, pruning branches and leaves, nurturing this most beautiful part of Arda. The purifying and life-giving forces within him seemed to find a harmonious resonance there, imbuing the trees and flowers he tended with greater vitality and blossoming with exceptional splendor. This quiet labor was, for him, the greatest enjoyment and healing.
In his spare time, he would journey to Tirion. There, his cherished friends and the many Elves who had fought alongside him in Beleriand welcomed him warmly. Together they strolled through streets gleaming with the light of Elfwork, and conversed in quiet courtyards, reminiscing about the past and dreaming of the future. Sometimes they would gather under the stars or on flower-filled terraces, singing softly as they had on the shores of Beleriand. The songs were harmonious and melodious, filled with true, unclouded joy, like the most beautiful music flowing through the air of Valinor, while the Two Trees shone softly in the distance. Meereen was enchanted by the sound, filled with a sense of contentment and happiness never before felt. The vision of his dreams had finally become reality.
Once, while strolling along a silver-flowered street in Tirion, admiring the exquisite elven architecture, Meereen noticed a strange female elf. She stood nearby, beneath a tree covered in pure white blossoms. She was graceful, her long hair crimson like a blazing sunset glow. Her face was beautiful, yet possessed a deep, timeless tranquility. She didn't approach. From a distance, she solemnly performed an ancient elven ritual for Meereen—a right hand over her heart, a slight bow, her eyes revealing a complex, unfathomable mix of respect, deep sorrow, and gratitude.
Meereen was certain he had never seen this elf before, and felt a little confused, but he still stopped politely and gave her a gentle smile and a nod. The elf nodded again, then turned and left quietly, as if blending into the light and shadows in the forest.
Meereen later learned from Finrod the identity of the Elfwoman: Nedaniel, Fëanor's wife and the mother of all Fëanorians. Renowned for her exceptional wisdom and calmness, Nedaniel was one of the few who sought to dissuade Fëanor from his madness. After Fëanor led his sons into a terrible oath and embarked on a journey of no return, she chose to remain in Aman, enduring immense pain and loneliness. Her solemn yet distant tribute to Meereen may have been a silent expression of gratitude for his return of the Silmaril, indirectly lifting the curse on her sons' souls; a complex tribute to this human who, bearing a unique fate, ultimately offered a chance for redemption for the Noldor; or perhaps simply a profound mourning for a past fraught with bloodshed and tears that could no longer be undone.
Meereen, having learned the truth, stood on the white terrace of Tirion Castle, gazing towards the distant Gardens of Lórien, a chorus of emotions welling up within him. The music of Arda continues, as new stories unfold in the eastern kingdom of Númenor and the remnants of Middle-earth. And in the blessed lands of the west, Meereen Lóriendil, a note isolated from the greater melody yet gently embraced by it, finally found his eternal home. No longer a participant in war, he became a guardian of tranquility, a maintainer of friendship, and a quiet and heartwarming witness on the land of Valinor to the glorious yet tragic Age of Beleriand, which vanished beneath the waves.
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