Reading “The Lord of the Rings”: "Lothlórien”
In one of the most novel's most evocative chapters, the Fellowship has to contend with the unsettled times in which they live as well as the deep well of the past.
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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!
There are few spaces in Tolkien’s legendarium more enchanting and evocative than Lothlórien. As the home of the mighty Galadriel and as one of the few places in Middle-earth that still bears some memory of the Elder Days, it makes sense that this would be the case, and it’s thus all the more remarkable that this is the place Aragorn leads Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship in the aftermath of Gandalf’s fall in Moria.
While Lothlórien seems like someplace out of time, there are already indications that this is changing. Among other things, Orcs actually dare to trespass under its beautiful leaves, trampling the earth and the waters of the Nimrodel and poisoning both with their presence. And of course there is also the menacing fastness of Dol Guldur, which looms perilously near. In the latter days in which the story takes place evil is not far away, even in a place as seemingly beautiful and protected as Lothlórien, and Legolas’ song about Nimrodel–with its evocation of the fragility of all beautiful things in the face of the evils of the world–is yet another reminder of how easy it is for that which is fairest to be destroyed.
Indeed, this chapter contains some of the most melancholy prose that Tolkien ever wrote. Take, for example, Frodo’s thoughts as he walks away from Nimrodel: “‘Farewell,’ he said. It seemed to him that he would never hear again a running water so beautiful, for ever blending its innumerable notes in an endless changeful music.” This passage perfectly captures the sense nostalgia and yearning that is such a hallmark of Tolkien’s work. Even as Frodo encounters that which is most beautiful it is already in the process or receding into the past; he is caught up in the river of time, helpless to stop its relentless forward momentum.
For me, the most achingly heartbreaking moment occurs at the very end of the chapter, when Frodo sees Aragorn standing with a bit of elanor held in his hand. At that moment, past and present seem to blend together, and Aragorn is as he would have been when he first met Arwen (though we don’t know that yet). There is profound longing in Aragorn’s statement that “here is the heart of Elvendom on earth and here my heart dwells ever, unless there be a light beyond the dark roads that we must tread, you and I.” Of all of the men still walking Middle-earth, he has the strongest connection to Elves, both because of his blood and because of his bond with Elrond’s daughter.
However, as the next sentence makes clear, this is a space that he will never see again, for, after “taking Frodo’s hand in his, he left the hill of Cerin Amroth and came there never again as living man.” There’s a rather bleak finality to that final sentence, since it forecloses the possibility that Aragorn will ever be able to return to the place that clearly means so much to him. His destiny lies elsewhere–he will, after all, reclaim the crown of Gondor and do much to rebuild a kingdom that has fallen on difficult times–but he will never be able to regain the bit of paradise that is the Golden Wood. One can’t help but wonder how he must have felt, governing in Minas Tirith, yearning for that which he could not have, for the paradise lost that he left behind on his journey? Perhaps there was a brief moment after his death when he was given a vision of it but, given the finality of death in Tolkien’s universe, one imagines that even this is probably out of the realms of possibility.
Moreover, there is quite a lot of strife in this chapter, most of which revolves around Gimli and the longstanding griefs and grudges that have long marred the relationship between Dwarves and Elves. One can hardly blame Gimli for being a bit disgruntled at his treatment by Haldir and his companions, particularly their insistence that he be the only one who has to go blindfolded. At the same time, one can’t entirely blame the Elves, either. These are indeed dark days, and they can be forgiven for acting out of an abundance of caution. As so often in The Lord of the Rings, it is made clear the extent to which the free peoples of Middle-earth are far too often unwilling or unable to see past their differences to unite against the threat posed by Sauron and Mordor. There are deep histories of conflict and though, as Legolas says, it isn’t always a matter of blame, this doesn’t erase the essential truth of the matter. There is darkness in the world, and from Legolas’ point of view it is best to acknowledge this rather than to pretend it doesn’t exist.
In the dark times in which the Fellowship and the Elves find themselves, people like Haldir hold all the more tightly to their rituals and their rules and their laws, in the hope that in doing so they can hold the darkness and the chaos that is slowly engulfing the world. While it might be going too far to say that the Elves are unwittingly doing Sauron’s bidding, there is truth to Haldir’s statement that ““Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.” This doesn’t mean, however, that is at all willing to bend the rules, even for those who belong to the Fellowship.
I’ve always enjoyed this chapter for both its evocative melancholy and for the extent to which it crystallizes so many of the ongoing themes of The Lord of the Rings more generally. Of course, it is also notable in that it sets the stage for the fateful meeting with the Lady Galadriel, whose influence on the Fellowship, particularly on Frodo and Sam, will go on to have consequences far beyond the War of the Ring.