AN: (the 'I want to hit something moment' when you've written your AN, formatted the chapter, and thanked everyone and you accidentally press the back button -.-)
A gigantic thank you to my brilliant Beta, ArwenJaneLilyLyra, who is so amazing and reliable!
I probably won't be able to update until after Christmas (being taken - hem - dragged - hem - to Cornwall, where the computer situation is unknown and the old people have most likely planned every hour of our visit - because I don't have three essays to do - No!)
But anyway! Happy Holidays everyone!
Chapter Seven
Then once upon a falling day
Did words drop on her ears
They touched upon her heavy heart
She glimpsed beyond her tears
"Lady fair, Lady fair, heryn bien
And faithful friend,
Look to me, look to me"
And then, too late, she came to see
Aríanna is 50 - Arathorn
We reached Rivendell just as the sun reached its peak. It was a glorious spring day in March, and around every corner the elves were full of joy that their daughter had finally come of age. As I approached the stables, Arnor and Uncle Arassuil by my sides, I heard the sounds of music in the air and sweet voices radiated over the buildings. Once our horses were seen to and we ourselves had been seen to, we, now washed and re-clothed, went off to find the birthday girl.
As ever it was the sound of her cry that warned us of her racing towards us, and only then did we finally see her.
"Ada! Thor! Arnor!" came the sound of her fair elven voice, and I looked up with a grin to see her figure running to us, without care and as fast as she could despite her long skirts.
I could not help but gasp at the sight of her; how could a mortal not, when faced with the perfection of the first born? She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, nor did I ever forget it. She was dressed in a long midnight blue gown that hugged her tall, slender figure and glistened with silver threads that matched her hair, which was pulled away from her face. The sleeves opened out from her elbows and whipped behind her as she ran. Precious spun hair danced behind her, like threads of gossamer, seeming to have a life of its own as it twirled in the air. Her face shone with elven beauty and, as it did every so often, I truly – not whimsically - realised her mother was elf.
I glanced at my brother and grinned at the star struck look on his face as she ran towards us.
She came to us and immediately pounced on her father, moving quickly to myself and then Arnor. Her face glowed with joy and her pure, free laugh rang through the air fluidly.
"Oh! My dearest family! It is so good to see you!" she cried between laughter, "I have been lonely of late and it does such wonders to finally have this day! Come, you must be hungry and weary. Come!"
I could not help but laugh at the unrestrained delight and eagerness of her words. Why! I had not seen my cousin this enthused since her childhood! She chatted at full speed as we walked, and it seemed to me that she was trying to go over everything from the last ten years in the space of a few minutes.
"You should see the Halls of Music! Oh! It is all so beautiful! I can scarce believe the elves went to all this trouble for me," she said with gleaming eyes, wide and perilously innocent.
"Of course they did, Arí," Uncle Arassuil said softly, "You are their daughter as much as you are mine."
She looked to him sharply, her face, without warning, becoming pensive and darkened. Her eyes fell into mithril hardness, and glinted coldly as such, too.
"Nay," she replied solemnly, "I am less than half their child, and shall become even less so, one day."
Afterwards we became quiet, and I took a glance towards her next to me; her face was set and her joy had been visibly dampened. My brother was watching her, too, and I couldn't quite put a name to his look. It was half concern, but also pleased - almost smug- and, though I could not put a label to it, I felt I knew his expression.
We were both aware of the choice our cousin was to make, how could we not when it was us whom she came running to when Elrond told her of her fate? We thought about it differently, though, one of the few things we disagreed upon.
It was I who thought it would be better for her to choose immortality, though it ever hurt me to think of it, the idea of her wasting away on our behalf injured me far more. I knew that her heart would shatter when we died; I knew it like I knew the sun would rise to vanquish night. Nonetheless, I also knew that our Arí would be able to carry on, for she was strong, stubborn and knew what we would say to her fading. Our lives, those of the Dúnedain, would be a constant battle; we would push through each day with half an ear, half an eye, and a ready hand, waiting, watching, for danger. Except darkness would fade, and if our Arí could live to see that time, live to meet new people, to love and have joy, how selfish would it be to hold her to our path?
My younger brother, nay, he could not help but cling to his own dreams. He knew I was right, as he loved her, just as I did - if not more, so he knew in his heart that I was right. Yet he was selfish, as we are all oft to be, and he thought of the final end and the fate of souls. He couldn't help but be satisfied when she seemed so opposed to the idea of binding her soul here.
But I had seen what he had not, for the stars had whispered in my ears, and I knew... I truly knew.
"Who can say in such cases what is worst: the bitterness of mortality or immortality? To whither or watch. And she shall know both."
Present - Aríanna
As we rode I felt the eyes of Legolas on my back, long years of solitude making me keen to the stares of others. It was disconcerting to say the least, and I discovered that I did not quite know how to consider this interest he seemed to have found in me. I was unusual, I could not deny it, but truly I was of no great interest. I was merely a common Peredhel, of no noble birth in the lineage of elves, and an outsider for distancing my own people. They called me their daughter but I was less than half theirs – I had said it before many times, and I would say it again.
Yet this Prince watched me to the slightest whisper of my hair, the simple twitch of my hand. Why? It was not as if I even knew him – or him me – but nonetheless... he set me on edge. It did not matter whether he sent me a simple smile, a quiet word, a look (and there were many of all), the truth was: he unnerved me!
Not that I thought he did it deliberately... He was a Prince, an elf, after all...
What frustrated me most of all was that I could not pretend that those eyes did not awaken some flame inside me. But no, I had long since sworn off those feelings. I was being foolish; I was acting the part of the naive elfling they all wished I would be. I had long proven myself that I was not to be that elleth, that dainty lady; I had travelled further than most and been through trails that warranted song...
I would not be foolish.
To be wise is to learn from your mistakes, to be a fool is to repeat past follies. I pushed away the voice, willing myself to not feel the sorrow and doubt that came with them.
"Speak Aríanna, Legolas," Gandalf called suddenly as we slowed at the crest of a hill, and I snapped to attention. "Tell us what you see there!"
I looked ahead and saw that, as I had been musing, the vast expanse of sky and ceaselessly rolling hills that disappeared into the sky, far into the distance, had changed. For now, before us, the mountains reached their long, ice dusted fingers up to the sky. It was in their wake that I saw our destination, standing proud in the morning sun.
The city of the Horse Lords rose up from the plains upon a crest of a hill that looked as if it had been punched up from the earth. We watched, silent in the brunt of the wind, the wizard, the man, the dwarf, the elf and the peredhel.
Legolas raised his hand to the beams of the newly risen sun and I sharpened my gaze.
"I see a white steam that comes down from the snows," he said, "and from its base a green hill rises from the shadow of the vale."
"Houses are gripped there, with their roofs rising to puddle around the pinnacle," I told them, seeing the sight before me as sharp as a well refined blade, "surrounding them a dike and mighty wall stand, like a brim to the hill. Upon the highest point I see a building proudly glimmering in the light."
"Yes," the elf said in agreement as he brushed away a lock of blond hair, "and it seems to my eyes that the hall is thatched with gold, for the light of it shines far over the land. Men in bright mail stand at its doors, though all else with in the courts are yet asleep."
"Those courts are Edoras," said Gandalf, "and Meduseld is that golden hall. There dwells Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan. Our road now is straight but we must ride more warily, for war is abroad and, though it seems it from afar, the Rohirrim do not sleep. Draw no weapon, friends, nor speak heated words until we come to the King's seat."
I moved my horse to stay alongside Legolas' and grinned at the other occupant, still clinging with short arms.
"Take note of that, Master Gimli; no heated words until we stand before the King."
The dwarf glanced at me shrewdly then, after a pause, bared his teeth amongst his beards in a grin of his own. He let out a grumbling laugh.
"Much thanks, My Lady. I'll be sure to keep my messages for the King's ears only," he replied.
Gandalf twisted to glance at the pair of us, his eyes glinting.
"So you should, though I pity the man who must stand up to the brunt words of both Dwarf and the Lady Aríanna herself," the Istar said, and it was a joy to see the familiar glance of amusement from my old friend.
"You would know, old man," I replied with my own smile, small and fleeting, but very much alive.
Aríanna is 13
There is one day of my life that I shall always recall with crystal clarity. Every word, as detailed and technical as they were, was imprinted into my mind within those short hours. They were my life; they were the most crucial and significant words I would ever hear. It had been a wintry day, fresh with bitter air and frost sparkling amongst the grasses. I had been called from my rooms by my mother, who had seemed oddly grim, even with my visiting father at her side.
It had been curious, I remember thinking, for father usually brought joy to my mother during his visits. Yet here the both of them were: - each with a frown and apprehension written clearly on their faces. Father had wrapped an arm around mother's waist and I had heard him mutter quietly in her ear.
They had told me that the Lord Elrond wished to speak with me in his office, and by the way they said it I knew it was important.
Elrond had been waiting, as they said, and he too had seemed unusually dour. I had wondered then, half in desperation, briefly, if it was the chilled weather that had infected everyone into seriousness. Even then I had not believed it. The elven lord had then indicated to the seat opposite him, and I had moved to it slowly.
"Aríanna, thank you for coming," he said in his strong, wise voice.
Then he sighed.
"What I have to tell you now is very important; it is essential that you pay close attention, as this concerns you personally." I nodded, and the lord pressed his fingers together before laying his chin on their steeples. "Every sentential creature has two parts that make up their being: their Fëa and their Hröa. The Fëa is what you call the soul, and the Hröa is the body. These two parts are vital to one another, because without the soul the body would die and, likewise, without the body the soul would be powerless. Do you understand?"
I nodded, wondering what the point to this was but holding my tongue with patience.
"For the Elves, our Fëa is bound to Arda, bound to the land and the world of the physical. This bind will remain until the end of this world. When our bodies die, our souls will remain and shall travel to the Halls of Mandos, where judgement shall be placed upon us. It is then the Valar Mandos' choice, and our own, whether we wish to be reincarnated into a new body or continue to reside in the Halls of Waiting. Carrying the sins of great evil will mean that Mandos is likely to prevent you from leaving the halls for eternity. This destiny, to reside in Arda for evermore, is both a curse and a blessing."
"With mortal men it is different: their souls are not bound to the land. They are but a visitor, and at the death of their bodies their souls are cut from Arda and are free to leave this world. They are not destined for the long wait that the Elves must undertake. Thus it is that the fate of men and elves are sundered."
Lord Elrond paused, observing me with clear grey eyes, which were deep with memory.
"Tell me, Aríanna, do you know why it is that your mother and father have had so much sadness?" he asked curiously, with no small measure of sadness.
I gulped and tried to arrange my thoughts; I felt as if things were slowly falling into place around me, but the pattern was still so blind to me that I could not yet understand.
"It is because my mother is of elven blood and father is a mortal man," I replied, and was relieved to see him nod.
"Yes, it is. Can you tell me now, considering what I have just told you, what it is about their difference that causes the most pain?"
"Oh..." I thought hard, and then it came to me, an avalanche. I felt my heart sink. "It is because, when father... dies, his Fëa will leave Arda forever, whereas mother's soul will have to remain here, even if she were to... die too, until the coming of the end of Arda."
Again Elrond nodded, and there was a pressure hanging in the air that told me our talk was not complete. So far I still could not think of anything that linked to me, though it was not far off, I was sure. He looked up to meet my eyes gravely.
"You are half-elven, Aríanna Arassuiell, just as I and my children are. Because of this your Fëa, your soul, is neither attached to Arda nor a visitor. You are neither immortal nor mortal, but you cannot stay within this limbo forever; you can only be one or the other when your Hröa dies."
Silence.
It was all quiet and I sat, still as the wooden table before me, still as my thoughts tried to pull back the words that drifted through them for closer inspection. The immortal lord, half-elven, did not speak to continue what he started, instead his eyes waited patiently.
"What happens, then?" I whispered. "What breaks the limbo? How do I know what I will become?"
"You choose. The Valar will ask you which race you would like to join and you will choose."
"Just like that?" I asked incredulously.
Elrond nodded, but his eyes were still solemn.
"You cannot go back on that choice, Aríanna; it is for all eternity. Either you shall become immortal and be bound here, or you shall choose to leave this world."
I paused, over whelmed by the fate that fell hard upon my shoulders. How could one choose something like that? Immortal or mortal. Valinor, my mother and eternity, or my cousins, my kin and the final release. Immortality, to watch as the world changes around me, to watch my brothers die, to watch it all fade away until I become like these graceful and serene elves. Mortality, to slowly deteriorate; to watch as my own body gives up, to be unbound from the life that I knew here in Rivendell. Immortality, to look into the mirror and see my own face, unchanged but weighted down with age; eyes, those eyes that surrounded me on all sides, heavy with too many years, deep as pits and overflowing with experiences and memories, staring at me out of a glossy mirror.
"When do I decide?" I asked, and I heard my voice as quiet as a breath.
"That is for fate to decide. Your time will come when it must, no sooner, no later. Not for many years; not until you have enough years behind you to make such a choice," he said, and then seemed to pause before obviously deciding not to continue.
I waited a moment, but he did not elaborate. I simply nodded and excused myself, wanting time to think.
Present - Legolas
The morning was bright and icily fresh, with birds over our heads sighing with all the joy and vibrancy of life. We came to a fast flowing stream, the one I had seen coming down from the mountains above. Passing over a ford and rising over a hill we looked upon the last stretch of our journey. All around, however, small mounds lifted up from the flat, their western sides white as the tips of the mountains. It was small white flowers, like a concentrated mass of stars embedded in the brilliant green, which caused the whiteness, and I smiled upon their fair sight.
"Look! There are the great barrows where the fathers of Théoden sleep, and on their site fair Evermind flowers." Gandalf told us. "Simbelmynë, the men of this country call them, for they bloom in all seasons and where dead men rest."
"Sixteen mounds," Aragorn said, looking out. "Many long years of men since the Golden Hall was made."
I blinked and looked again to where the city of men stood. I could scarce believe the weight of time for men, each ten summers becoming a heavy load, where to me it was little but the passing of one moment.
"Five hundred times the leaves of my home have fallen since then," I remarked. "Yet it seems little to us."
"And yet," the fair voice of Lady Aríanna broke in, and I looked to her where she sat upon Dwimor, staring proud and fondly at the settlement, "to the Men of the Mark that is a time that is held only by the power of song and story. They are a new people, fresh and free as their steeds, and history is fragile to them. They keep no written word for they trust in the power of language to hold their story. With them you may come to understand the importance of the ceaseless movement of life."
Aragorn nodded and, looking between the cousins, I seemed to glimpse the easy companionship that they had shared for many years. I had not seen my friend Aragorn look this way with any other; I thought it was alike to his respect of Gandalf, only fonder, more cherished, like an elder sibling, perhaps...
"Yes, now they call this land their home, their own, by the weight of years; their speech comes from their northern kin." He then began to sing softly, and though I did not recognise the language, nonetheless it captured my attention. It was rich and rolling, though, all at once, it held the hard, sternness of the mountains, and it carried a strong music.
"That, I would guess, is the language of the Rohirrim, for it is alike to the land itself," I said when he fell silent, "though I cannot guess what it means, save that it holds the bitterness of mortality."
"It is a poem that recalls the glory of Eorl the Young," Aríanna said, still with that look of affection towards the mortal men, "who came from the North on the back of the father of horses, who had wings upon his feet. It runs like this:
*Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the haukberk, and the bright hair flowing?*"
I stared at her, shocked again at her abnormality for it was well known, even to me, that the language of the Rohirrim was closely guarded. That she knew it and spoke of these people with such love struck astonishment in my heart; would I ever solve the riddle that was Aríanna of Rivendell?
"You speak it also?" I asked, unable to hold the words, though they sounded youthful and uniformed to my ears.
"Indeed," she replied, again amused, "for I too have been among them, in times of war and otherwise. Though it is true they begrudged my presence at first and were not oft to trust an elf – or a female one, at that. You heard Lord Éomer; they have a superstition for witches and sorceresses."
"Not that you allowed many to know you in fact were a she," Aragorn said, turning to her with a humorous grin.
She laughed loud and free, unlike anything I had heard her give in the short space of time I had known her.
"Indeed! My disguise was well made and practiced. It was easy, very few suspected it, seeing only the face of an elf and allowing their expectations to create the rest," she replied proudly. "I do not think I will have neither need nor resources to create such a costume this time around."
Surprise after surprise! I looked to the lady in further amazement; it was becoming habit, it happened so frequently! To think, a lady dressing as a male – and getting away with it! It seemed I would have to prepare myself for the unexpected from this point on, if to keep up with this fiery elleth.
*Tolkien's poetry = don't own*
Many thanks to my fantastic reviewers: Cheerfully Blue, Nessa Leralonde, ccgnme, Gwilwillith, Dalonega Noquisi... and previous lovely people - THANK YOU. All you regulars - you know who you are - make my day so often! It doesn't matter how many reviews and adds and favourites I get from any of my stories - It excites and surprises me every time :D Still not quite used to the idea people read and like my writing! :D So Thank You!
