Reading “The Lord of the Rings”: "Farewell to Lórien"
As the Fellowship departs the Golden Wood, Tolkien forces us to contend with the inevitable passage of time.
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Welcome to Tolkien Tuesdays, where I talk about various things that I love about the lore and writings of Tolkien, whether in a chapter reading or a character study or an essay. I hope you enjoy reading these ruminations as much as I enjoy writing them and, if you have a moment, I’d love it if you’d subscribe to this newsletter. It’s free, but there are paid options, as well, if you’re of a mind to support a struggling writer. Either way, thank you for joining me!
It is a sad truth that all good things must come to an end, and so it proves to be with the Fellowship’s sojourn in Lórien. Though it has been a sanctuary to them when they needed it most, and though they have all healed quite a bit, there’s no escaping from the fact that they still have a purpose to fulfill, and so they must leave. Before they do so, however, they get some much-needed advice and gifts from the Elves, including from Galadriel herself.
Though we are now in the heavier part of the novel, there are still some moments of quasi-levity. Who could forget, for example, the Elves’ confusion over the hobbits’ wondering whether their cloaks are magic. Their response is as gnomic and enigmatic as one would expect, and I doubt that it really satisfies Pippin. Indeed, it’s rather striking, given the extent that The Lord of the Rings established so many of the conventions of modern fantasy, that it largely eschews straightforward magic as such. There is power in this world–as Gandalf revealed when he wrestled with the Balrog–but it rarely confines itself to the sorts of magical systems which have become so much a part of the fantasy landscape.
Given how much of a paradise Lothlórien is, it makes sense that this chapter would be characterized by a profound melancholy. It’s there in the way that Frodo speaks with Galadriel, and it is certainly there when Gimli and Legolas engage in their conversation regarding time and the way that the Elves experience. In response to Gimli’s lament that his sight of Galadriel has forever tainted his ability to enjoy beauty in the rest of the world. In response Legolas says: “For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream,” and he goes on to point out that, at the very least, Gimli will have the memory of such beauty to sustain him. The dwarf, however, can’t quite accept this. “Memory is not what the heart desires,” he says.
This conversation, I think, perfectly encapsulates the entire ethos of The Lord of the Rings. As we have been reminded before, this isn’t a quest for restoration. There will be no going back to the way things were before the One Ring was made, just as, for the Elves, there is no going back to the time before Morgoth came along and stole the Silmarils, no going back to some primordial time when the world was beautiful. Rather than returning to power, the Elves shall instead become ““present and yet remote, a living vision of that which has already been left behind by the flowing streams of Time.” Once again we have a reminder of the fact that time moves in one direction for this fallen world, and it leaves much behind it.
Even the members of the Fellowship aren’t immune to the power of time. The narrator notes that “to that fair land Frodo never came again.” There’s an echo here of the earlier passage in which it was made clear that Aragorn also never returned to the beautiful land of Lórien. Frodo’s fate lies elsewhere, of course, and he can no more avoid it than any of the rest of them. Even if he were able to return to the Golden Wood once the Ring is destroyed, it’s doubtful that even there he would be able to find the peace and solace that he did upon this first visit. Some things cannot be experienced more than once, no matter how much we might wish it were otherwise.
Of course, no discussion of this chapter would be complete without a mention of the changes in Boromir’s character. By now it has become clear that the Ring has begun to sink it’s claws into his mind and while this isn’t surprising–he’d shown since at least the Council of Elrond that he did not approve of the decision to destroy the Ring rather than use it in the defense of his homeland. Like so many other mortal men before him–the Nine, Isildur, and so on–he has fallen prey to a force greater than he is. Unlike them, however, he will at least have a chance to redeem himself before all is said and done.
This chapter isn’t all doom and gloom and melancholia, however, for it also draws attention to the profound friendship that has already begun to develop between Legolas and Gimli. As we’ve seen, there’s still quite a bit of bad blood between their kin in these latter days, so their bond is one that comes to bear quite a lot of weight. Even when the rest of the Fellowship has passed away, their love endures, until they depart on that little boat that Legolas builds, passing out of Middle-earth and the tales that come after.
I think that the entire ethos of this chapter can best be summed up with the Elven word
“namárië.” I’ve always thought that there was something beautiful and poignant, piercing even, about this word, and it’s fitting that it is the last word spoken by Galadriel. As powerful as she is, and as much as she has changed the lives of everyone in the Fellowship–her vial and the box of soil she gives to Frodo and Sam will come to have particular influence over their recipients–she must ultimately fade. She has passed the test and turned away from the temptations offered by the Ring, but at a tremendous cost to her and to the land that she loves so well. When she bids the Fellowship farewell, one can’t help but feel that she is also saying farewell to the Golden Wood itself, which she will leave once the War of the Ring has reached its conclusion.
This is one of those chapters that has become ever more resonant the older I get, as I grapple with my own relationship with time, memory, and the changing world. It appeals to my temperament, and I love it.
Until next time, friends, namárië.