Never opened myself this way 10
"Waiting for what is to come, for the message that she has been captured is worse than hearing those sad words could ever be. I know that Celebrian will not return from this journey, I know that her time here in Arda is almost over – and yet I still hope, hope that my vision was just a bad dream, just the manifestation of my fear that I will loose all those I care for and who care for me. By the time I am writing this lines she must have already reached Lothlorien, must have been welcomed by her parents and by her friends. Do they know that it will most likely be the last time they will welcome her in the Golden Wood? Do they share my fear to never see her smile again, never hear her laughter?
Before she left I begged her to be allowed to accompany her but both she and Elrond refused my request, both not wanting me to seek my own death. I have been seeking death for more than two millennia, I sought danger and battles, hoping to bring an end to this existence I call my life – yet in no battle was I wounded and those who care for me ask for promises that prevent my death. Even during the "Last Alliance" was I one of the few who didn't even receive as much as a scratch – and I was without a doubt the one with the least experience on the whole battle-field. So what kept me alive on that day? Was it the love I had seen in the eyes of my grandfather when he had looked at me? Was it his wish that I should survive? Or was it my thirst for revenge? That never-ending thirst to revenge my death, my murder. Will I be able to die as soon as I have revenged myself – or as soon as I have given up on revenge?
When I started this journal nearly a whole century ago I thrived to fill it chronological with the events of my life, yet the more I write the more I ...feel that I am not yet ready to write everything down that has happened to me during my life. Surprisingly it is easier for me to write about my father than about Lareth, my hate for my father, my murderer is less painful than my love for my son. If forgiving my father allowed me even one more glance, one more smile or word from Lareth I would gladly forgive him. Yet even writing of Lareth is easier than to even remember her, the one girl I loved and was yet forbidden to love.
She was the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes upon, yes even Arwen, the Evenstar of my people seems to dimish in light of her memory. Objective I have to concede that Arwen is more beautiful – how could she not being of the blood of the Eldar while she was a "mere mortal". The moments I had laid my eyes upon her when she was mere hours old I knew that I had found love and the older she grew the more I desired her, loved her...
She was not even six when her great grandfather died in my arms, wrenching the promise from me not to die in grief over a member of his family, not knowing what that promise meant for me. But how could I deny my son his dying-wish? How could I, who had never loved anyone but my son know that my love to her would grow even stronger over the years? I have no doubt that I was never more than Uncle Carnil for her. No-one knew of my love to her, no-one knew that my heart would have broken the day she wed another and later when she died if it hadn't been for the promise I gave Lareth.
Árawen...just the thought of her, just writing her name allows her image to rise before my eyes, telling my heart that I have still a chance to win her heart – only to allow my mind to remind me over and over again that she has long ago passed away, just like her great grandfather my son Lareth. Still even writing these lines I can not stop myself to raise my eyes to look around and for her lithe form. I know that it is just a memory of a similar scene that is playing itself out before me, that she never was here in these halls, this valley – and yet I see her standing there by the tall windows, her brown hair braided in a long, thick braid that is falling down her back. I still hear her laugh that sounds in my memory even more like small bells than it did when she actually laughed, her green eyes, so much like my own, sparkling with mirth, her arms cradling her sides from to much laughing. She is wearing a dress she had just finished sewing, she was better at sewing than anyone I had ever known, the skirt a dark green while the blouse was slightly lighter in colour.
I remember when this memory happened, it was just weeks before her wedding and I wanted to do nothing more than to tell her how I felt for her and beg her to marry me instead – yet I kept silent, knowing that such a confession from me would only break her heart. She loved her husband as much as I loved her and me she loved as an uncle or even a grandfather. I would have destroyed the friendship we had if I had spoken of my love to her, if I had shown her that she was anything different than my favourite granddaughter. The years of her life passed to quick for me, yet at the same time every moment I saw her, thought of her passed agonisingly slow. It was tearing at my heart, at my very soul to see her the last few years of her life grieving having lost her beloved husband to a severe case of pneumonia. How I wished to be able to spend her comfort during those years but even when she was smiling her heart was slowly breaking. Long before she passed away I could feel her end. It was the last afternoon of the year when she drew her final breath, her hair no longer brown but white, creating a startling contrast to her dark almost black dress.
Even in death she was the most beautiful maiden, woman I have encountered to this day.
It was shortly after the death of her husband that she asked me why I was not married and I told her that the girl that held my heart had given hers to someone else and that I was not able to love someone else but her. She had told me that she was sure that every girl would want me to find happiness with someone else – at least that would be what she would want. Did she guess that she was the one who held my heart or did she really speak in the believe that I loved someone unknown o her? Do I only cling to her memory so much because I fear the pain a new love would undoubtedly bring me?
For years nearly all of Imladris has tried to convince Arwen and me that we are perfect for each other and I believe that Arwen was willing to follow the suggestion of her family and friends... was it my fear that held me back or was Árawen really the one I was meant for, was she really the only girl I could ever love? But even if there was a chance for me to find love in someone else would it be fair to her? Would it be fair to fall in love and encourage someone to love me when I know that I will leave this world soon. Would it be fair to condemn someone to the same heartache I have felt when Árawen died? Wouldn't that make me even worse than my father? Or would I be able to give up on my revenge to spare her the pain of my death?
Often when I look at Arwen I can see my love in her, the same gentleness, the same stubbornness... but sometimes when I look at Celebrien's daughter I see her with small children, her children of that I am sure, looking down at them or playing with them. The eyes of the small girl are what fascinates me most, so much like Celebrien's and Arwen's, a startling blue. The eyes of the other child – a boy - are grey and I am sure that it is the grey of his fathers eyes and not Elronds. Yet Arwen eyes are no longer as clear and carefree in those visions as they are when I am looking at her in these days. Her eyes betray pain, anguish even and longing – for what I can not say but no matter how happy she may look in these visions I know that her heart is slowly breaking and that there is no halting it even though it will still take years till it finally shatters completely.
Would this look have been absent from her eyes if we had followed her families wishes- or would her fate have been worse, caught in a marriage without true love, held together only by obligation and friendship? I care for Arwen deeply, I see in her the sister I never had – and my best friend. Even though her brothers have brought me to this valley, have given me the chance to meet my family do I know that our friendship will soon shatter. I do not know how or when but I know that for years we will be glad when we don't have to be in the others presence. This knowledge saddens me but the certainty that this animosity will not last consoles me – but will it be to late to built friendship after that, will I be already be on me way to execute my revenge?"
For moments the quill hovered over the page till he finally put it down. It had been years since he had allowed himself to dwell on memories of Árawen, on the love his heart still harboured for her. Startled his left hand went up to his cheek as he felt something run down his face. He was crying, even years after her death he was still crying for his lost love. No-one had ever known of his love for her, no one who had known her was still alive, he was the only one who still carried the memory of her in his mind and even in his very soul; even if there should be ever an other woman in his life he knew that he would continue to love her even when his soul had long entered the Halls of Mandos. But now, now he had ensured that someone would learn of his love, whoever would read this journal would learn of the wonderful great granddaughter of Lareth.
Gracefully Legolas stood up, for the moment not worrying about the tears that were still streaming down his face and walked over to the window where his heart had only moments ago displayed the image of his love. It had been only a few years, not even a complete century since he had followed Elladsn's and Elrohir's invitation to accompany them to their home, yet already did he start to think of this valley as his own home. There was no doubt in his mind that the peace, the tranquillity of Imladris would soon be shattered and he would no longer find peace within its halls. He felt that he would soon start his last journey, the journey that would bring relieve to his heart – and the end of the life he never wanted.
A soft sight escaped his lips, was that really true, did he really not want this life the Valar had gifted him with? Did he really seek death – or was it just peace he desired, peace for his heart and soul and mind. He could not remember a single night he had not woken, his heart filled with terror and anguish a cry for help on his lips, a cry that never left his throat.
Dawn was fast approaching, the rays of light making the candle that stood on his desk next to his journal unnecessary. Dawn, how he loved and hated this part of the day knowing that he would be forever reminded of his love. He had been the one who choose her name, he had been the one who gave her the name dawn-maiden; he had spoken in jest when her parents found that the name they had wanted to give the child when it was a daughter didn't suit the infant so he had proposed to name her after the time she was born, at dawn. Hearing the Quenya form of the name her parents had immediately agreed. Now though he wished to have kept silent.
He did not know how long he had remained in that position, standing before the open window staring out over the valley, the path that led to it and the surrounding forest. At one point the candle on the table had burned down but he had barely noticed in the brighter getting light of the day. When a knock sounded from his door he didn't turn around but invited the person outside absentmindedly into is room knowing that it would be most likely Glorfindel, Arwen or Elrond coming to ask him why he hadn't attended breakfast.
When he entered the room he found Legolas standing in front off one of the large windows that adorned one wall of the room. Even though the time of breakfast had already past it was still early and only few sunrays were falling directly through the window but those few graced playfully over Legolas red hair. Every time he looked at his wife's youngest cousin he marvelled how much he looked like his mother. Silently he made his way over to his young guest, no he thought, Legolas is no longer a guest, he belongs here just as much as any other. Legolas had not moved since he had entered the room and as he stood next to him he saw that a steady stream of tears was leaking out of the others eyes.
"Legolas, what happened?"
Even while he spoke he could not quench the fear that a new vision was the cause of those tears, had Legolas seen his beloved Celebrian's capture, was everything for his wife lost?
As if hearing the fear, the pain in his hosts words the younger one turned to him and smiled briefly before answering him.
"Nothing I know of happened... I was merely lost in memories..."
Elrond raised an eyebrow at that answer; he had seen the thick book – a journal he believed – lying open on the small desk that stood on one side of the room. During the years he had known Legolas he had often found him writing in that book but never had he seen him dissolved in tears so what was different from all those other times he wrote in it.
"You were writing."
He stated after a few moments of silence in which Legolas had turned his face once again to the window.
"What thoughts or memories brought tears to your eyes, little one?"
"I thought of my son ... and Árawen..."
Árawen? That was the first time he heard Legolas mention that name but whoever she was she brought grief to Thranduils youngest. Also Legolas had never spoken to him of a son, what other secrets did the Greenleaf harbour?
"I didn't know that you were married and had a son..."
Soft laughter interrupted his words and a sad smile was flickering around the younger elf's mouth when he had stopped laughing:
"No, Lareth was not my son – at least not in blood ... and Árawen... no, Árawen was never my wife, she was Lareths great granddaughter and I had promised him at his death bed that I would not fade over a member of his family, yet I could not have continued if I had bound myself to her... No, she never knew me as anything else than her uncle."
Legolas voice had grown bitter and resigned while he spoke, his pain evident in every single word he spoke.
"I must apologise, Legolas, I should have never attempted to see Arwen as more than a friend or a sister..."
Even though he had known Legolas now for nearly a century he was still startled when the younger ones eyes were staring in his own, their green brighter than normal if because of the tears that were still gathering in them or for other reasons he did not know.
"You have nothing to apologise for, Elrond, but even if my heart didn't already have found a home Arwen and I could have never been more for each other than brother and sister: the love of Luthien was never meant for one of the Eldar."
A sight escaped Elrond at these words,
"So you know of her fate, I had hoped that you could prevent it, that you could capture her heart before she chose her ancestors fate..."