Chapter 72
The dark clouds of Mordor finally dispersed, and the sun shone once again upon the land, though it illuminated a scorched earth and the scars of countless sacrifices. After clearing the battlefield, the survivors of the Last Alliance held a grand feast in Minas Tirith. Bonfires burned brightly, dispelling the gloom of the seven-year siege. For the first time, the aroma of food and wine overwhelmed the scent of sulfur and blood. Elven harps once again struck their melodious strains, and the war songs of Men carried a mixture of triumph and mourning for the fallen.
The Dark Lord, who had shrouded Middle-earth for millennia, and along with the One Ring, were utterly destroyed. The Third Age quietly dawned with hope and reconstruction. Though the Dark Lord's remaining minions hid, waiting for an opportunity to wreak havoc, everyone firmly believed that the valiant elves and the united humans would eventually sweep away these remnants of darkness. Middle-earth finally welcomed the long-awaited, long, stable years of peace.
In the aftermath of the war, Saruman and Gandalf achieved an unexpected outcome. They successfully captured the corrupted blue wizards Palandur and Alatar. When the Ring of One Ring was destroyed in the lava of Mount Doom, the two Maia seemed to have had their core bonds of corruption ripped away. The flames of madness and greed in their eyes suddenly extinguished, replaced by a bottomless confusion, shock, and endless regret. Without much struggle, they were held captive by Saruman's powerful binding magic, like soulless puppets.
Afterwards, in a quiet council chamber in Minas Tirith, Gandalf told Meereen and Glorfindel the truth about the blue wizard's fall, the smoke rising from his pipe carrying a hint of heaviness:
"In the beginning, they did follow the will of the Valar, going deep into the East to teach those uncivilized human tribes, spreading knowledge and guiding light." Gandalf's voice was filled with regret. "After Sauron captured them, he didn't immediately use his power to seduce them, but instead... took advantage of their sense of responsibility. He threatened the lives of those tribesmen, 'If you don't obey me, don't use your power to serve me, those humans you taught and who trusted you will suffer the most cruel extermination.'"
Glorfindel frowned, and Meereen listened in silence.
"Palandul and Alatar, their hearts were still with the Valar at that time." Gandalf sighed, "They trembled and agreed to Sauron's request, hoping to save the lives of those innocent people. However, the taste of power is like the sweetest poison. When they began to enslave instead of guide, to command instead of teach, when they experienced the 'pleasure' of controlling the life and death of others and being superior, the dam in their hearts began to collapse. Sauron was keenly aware of this. He used the One Ring to completely lock their wavering minds, magnified the arrogance and obsession with power that grew in their hearts, and made them willingly become his core minions." Gandalf looked at Meereen, "They too had confusion and struggle, but the corruption of the Ring made them ultimately choose the path of darkness."
Milin was silent for a long time before asking, "What should we do with them now?"
Gandalf replied, "They know their crimes are unforgivable. They have betrayed their mission and tarnished the trust of the Valar. Their actions are no different from Sauron. Under the persuasion of Saruman and I, they are willing to give up resistance and accept the final judgment. They will be taken back to Valinor to be decided by the Valar."
After the war, a transition of power took place. Isildur inherited the supreme kingship from his father, Elendil, becoming King of Arnor and also controlling the sceptre of Gondor. However, he chose to return to Annúminas in the north, leaving the vast lands of Gondor in the south and the heavy responsibility of rebuilding it to his younger brother, the young and promising Meneldil, son of Anárion.
One day, Isildur found Meereen resting in the gardens of Annúminas. The sun shone on him, but there was a lingering shadow between the king's brows.
"Lord Meereen," Isildur's voice was a little low. "Even after Mount Doom, I still occasionally dream of the ring." He paused, as if trying to form his words. "It's strange. After you threw it into the flames, it felt like a huge burden was lifted from my heart. Even my breathing became much smoother. Why is that?"
Meereen looked at him, his eyes gentle and understanding. "That is because the Ring has been utterly destroyed, Isildur. The temptations it exerted upon your heart, the fears and desires it deliberately magnified to control you, have vanished with it. The relief you feel is the result of your true self being freed from the encroachments of darkness."
Isildur nodded thoughtfully, hesitated for a moment, and then asked a question that was hidden deep in his heart: "If... if I had really picked up the ring at that time... what would have happened?"
Meereen's eyes instantly grew profound. He reached out and gently touched Isildur's head, as if he were a lost child returning to the right path. His gesture carried a tolerance that transcended time. "Don't dwell on that 'what if,' Isildur. Fate didn't give you that choice. This is your good fortune, and it is also the good fortune of Middle-earth. Focus on the present. Your people need you, and the kingdoms in the north await your construction."
The children's clear calls came from outside the door: "Father! Father!" The gloom on Isildur's face was diluted by a trace of helplessness and warmth. He cast a grateful look at Meereen and stood up: "The children are calling me. Thank you, Lord Meereen." He turned and walked out to welcome his new life as a father and king, which was full of challenges but also full of hope.
Thranduil returned to Greenwood the Great, the land for which his father, Oropher, had sacrificed his life. In the royal court, surrounded by mighty trees, he was formally crowned the new King of the Woodland Kingdom. The ceremony was solemn and dignified, and ancient songs echoed through the forest. Meereen, a vital ally and witness, had been invited to attend. As he gazed upon the new king on the throne, his golden hair gleaming, his eyes as hard as ice, he saw a continuation of Oropher's bravery, but with a more tempered composure and aloofness.
After the ceremony, Thranduil and Meereen strolled on the quiet treetop terrace.
"The war is over, and Sauron is dead." Thranduil's voice was calm, without much joy in it. "Are you going back to Valinor soon?" He looked towards the west, where the elves' final resting place was.
Meereen nodded and smiled. "Yes, Thranduil. My mission is complete, and it is time for me to return. Valinor calls its wanderers." He paused and said sincerely, "But I will remember Greenwood and my friends here. May your kingdom prosper in peace."
Thranduil nodded slightly, without saying anything else, but cast his gaze towards the lush forest below. In the depths of his cold eyes, a trace of imperceptible emotion seemed to pass through.
Bidding farewell to Thranduil, Meereen once again set out on his journey eastward, his destination being the Fëanorion domain on the edge of Rhûn. He was once again greeted by Maglor. The domain was bustling with activity, with the elves packing their belongings and dismantling their decorations.
"Curufin and Celegorm have already gone ahead, heading for Lindon to prepare for the westward journey," Maglor explained. His eyes held a longing for his homeland, mixed with a hint of a complicated farewell to Middle-earth. "We have all decided that now that Sauron's threat is over, it's time to leave this land, burdened with so much blood, tears, and exile, and return to Aman, to our mother." He looked toward Meereen. "You will come with us, will you not?"
"Of course," Meereen answered with certainty, his smile warm. "Let us set out together. Valinor is our common home."
Meereen returned to his long-absent, simple dwelling on the plains of Middle-earth. Dust-covered, it held countless memories. He opened his bag and pulled out a thick, meticulously preserved parchment scroll—a record of his journeys, observations, and experiences in Middle-earth over two thousand years, from his initial mission to the Grey Havens, to the Plague of Lindon, the giant spiders of the Greenwood, the sinking of Númenor, the tragic events of the Last Alliance, and finally the severed hand of Mount Doom. He meticulously sorted and sequenced the scroll, bound it with mithril thread, and inscribed on the cover in Elvish and the Common Tongue: "Journeys in Middle-earth: From the Dawn of the Second Age to the End of Shadow."
After packing up their simple luggage, Meereen, Maglor and other Noldor elves who were preparing to cross the west set out on their journey to the Grey Havens.
Círdan still watched the sea. Anchored at the harbor was a white elven ship, even grander than the one Meereen and Glorfindel had brought. Glorfindel was already waiting beside it, his golden hair gleaming in the sea breeze, just as it had been two thousand years before. Beside him stood two blue-robed wizards, Palandur and Alatar, bound by powerful magic. Their faces were drawn, their eyes hollow. Meereen and Glorfindel would escort them back to Valinor to face the final judgment of the Valar.
Some elves chose to stay - Elrond and his new wife Celebrían decided to stay in Rivendell and build an eternal refuge; Thranduil and his people would continue to guard Greenwood the Great; and many elves were attached to the mountains, rivers and plants of Middle-earth and chose to postpone their journey westward.
Radagast, reluctant to leave the lives of Middle-earth, chose to postpone his return to Valinor. Saruman declared that he would remain in Middle-earth to keep an eye on Radagast and prevent him from causing trouble. Gandalf disagreed, as Saruman's usual disdain for Radagast struck Gandalf as odd, and so he chose to remain for the time being.
The time had come to board the ship. Meereen stood at the prow, looking back at the coastline of Middle-earth for the last time. Two thousand years had passed, and it felt like yesterday. Bidding farewell to Círdan, to this land of laughter, tears, battle, and sacrifice, the White Ship slowly sailed away from the Grey Havens. The Elf sailors' song filled the air once more, this time the melody of homecoming.
The white ship sailed westward, entering the legendary "Straight Channel." The surrounding landscape began to shift. The sea gradually rose, as if reaching the clouds. A mist, like a veil of rain, descended, then gradually dissipated. When the last wisp of mist faded, a light of indescribable majesty and holiness pierced the horizon.
The eternal light of the Two Trees, like a gentle and majestic mother, opens its arms to welcome the return of her wandering children. The white spires of Tirion loom in the light, and the coastline of Valinor resembles a jeweled painting. The air is filled with the everlasting fragrance of the flowers in the Garden of Lórien and the soul-cleansing aroma of the Two Trees.
More than two thousand years have passed since Meereen left Valinor and embarked on the journey back to Middle-earth.
The ship landed smoothly, but Meereen did not immediately go to visit or look for his old friends like Tuor and Finrod. Like a weary bird returning to its nest, he relied on his memory and went straight to the depths of the Garden of Lórien.
The garden remained unchanged, as if time had stood still. Moon orchids glowed silvery-white beneath the soft glow of the Two Sacred Trees, exotic flowers and plants flourished, and the tranquil waters of the pond reflected the eternal sky. Everything was exactly as it had been when he left, as if the two thousand years of blood and fire had been but a long dream within the garden.
Meereen found a familiar patch of soft grass beside the still water he often visited. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting patches of warm light. A long-lost peace welled up from the depths of his soul, enveloping him. He unpacked his simple bag, gently placed "Journeys in Middle-earth" beside him, and slowly lay down.
The fragrance of green grass, the scent of earth, and the light of the Two Trees gently soothed his body and soul. Nerves that had been tense for thousands of years finally relaxed completely. Meereen closed his eyes, his consciousness seemingly detached from his body, drifting away into the boundless river of starlight and memory.
His breathing became long and steady, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. A kind elf passing by recognized this special human, the first person to set foot in Aman and return. Seeing his face still a little tired but extremely peaceful even in his sleep, he gently took off his cloak and gently covered Meereen with it, shielding him from the breeze.
Golden leaves drifted down from the Two Trees, like a gentle blessing, covering Meereen and the thick volume of Journeys in Middle-earth. The breeze in the Garden of Lórien whispered, and the eternal light flowed quietly.
The story of Meereen slowly came to an end under the immortal light of the Two Trees, and Middle-earth, with its legends and the epic book "Journeys in Middle-earth", entered the Third Age full of unknowns and hopes.
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