54 Tuilë, Luin'ithil (May 21st, Blue Moon.)
I think I may have found strength enough to write you this week, Evenstar. I thought that this could be easy, for I am merely writing, but I have found it more difficult with each passing day. I cannot count how many pieces of parchment I have brought to ruin with my indecisive mind, and numerous scratches and blots of ink from my quill. Nonetheless, write on I shall, for you have requested it in your own state of awareness.
It is also a comforting thought that you do not think me as a complete fool or liar just yet, Arwen. I am glad your husband's repercussions have not warped your judgment just yet. Yes, it is sad that he has told you things of my parting… Please Arwen, once more I shall beg of you—make absolutely sure that he sees naught of these letters ever. If he ever knew I was still wandering Middle Earth or knew of my location, he would seize me as swift as the wind does to a swallow caught in an updraft… I do not wish to see him for quite some time, Arwen. I beg of you to hide these letters—to lock them away somewhere, or to keep them somewhere where only you could ever find again.
I thank you again, Lady, for your understanding and patience. I shall go on for as long as I can…
"5 Coirë, Carad'ithil (February 5, Red Moon.)
"Whether or not he had done it intentionally, Aragorn had hurt me the other night during our lovemaking. He began to bite roughly on the nape of my neck, and I began to bleed. I did not notice it, but it is swollen now, and burns to the touch. I am trying to keep the wound from his sight, but lately, he seems to notice everything… He was once a strong and proud man with patience, yet now it would seem he is apt to react sharply when something of misfortune happens… On the other hand, when anything happens it would seem he acts so. Even the smallest slip-up in the brigade and Aragorn is yelling at them as though they have set fire to a great forest.
"What has come over my love? It pains me to seem him so over-emotional and out of touch with himself. I do not like the aggressive part of him at all. It scares me and everyone else that knew the calmer version of him. I managed to talk to him about this, and my answers were gruff and thrown at me like stones into a still pool of water. They shook me. 'War changes all, even the best of us. If we do not cease our meddling around, we shall get nowhere, and we shall all perish. You, Legolas, are keeping us back for you still have compassion about the Quest at hand. In war, you can have no heart. There is no heart in war.' …
"What he had said… It brought tears of remorse to my cerulean eyes. I hate war. I always have. I remember when I was a youngling, and father had gotten back from an uprising in Southern Mordor. He was covered in the black blood of his foes… And the blood of his comrade. I cried at the loss of my father's friend, for he was a kind soul. Father then told me to never cry; that I was weak for doing so. I think father was hurt more so than angry at me, but the words still yet ring throughout my mind, clear and pristine like the river Celebrant…"
It was then when Aragorn began to change into a bloodthirsty, cold, and heartless person that I am so familiar with now. Maybe what they said about men are true—their hearts, easily swayed and weak, have tendencies to wander off course when things go awry and become difficult. It would seem as a calling to the burden in my heart to believe this, but some inextinguishable pyre in my heart will not let it be. To lift this smokescreen of hate and ridicule from my heart would be grand, but I cannot find any repair in near. Haldir is of no help, since he is busy tending to the Lady of the Wood and her troubles. Haldir, amin voronwen…
"Maybe Aragorn too is hurt at the thought of there being chance that all whom dwell on Middle Earth shall perish. I hope that it is so, for I long to see the man I once knew again…
"23 Coirë, Carad'ithil (February 23, Red Moon.)
"I cannot say much. I feel that with each passing day our link grows weak. Aragorn is more enveloped in battle tactics—so much so that he hasn't the time to even speak with me briefly. I try not to show how this affects me, but it becomes more difficult and dreary with each passing day. In addition, I find it that many of the men soldiers stare at me suggestively, for I am an elf. A few of them even confronted me and spoke to me of things I would rather not remember… Gimli, luckily, managed to drive them all off. A friendship has formed between the dwarf and I ever since the man has stopped giving me notice.
"At least I have someone to talk to, even if it is Gimli. The dwarf is actually quite a good-hearted soul. Once one surpasses his outer layer of gruffness and abruptness, he is actually somewhat keen to have around. He speaks to me of caves that glimmer of sheer beauty and magnificence. Gimli seems to be quite fond of the caves, and I have agreed with him to visit them once the Quest is through. That is, also, if he agrees to see the vast forests of Fangorn, which are of a more immense beauty than any cave…
"29 Coirë, Carad'ithil (March 1, Red Moon.)
"Mordor has begun its attacks upon us. Fire, arrows, stones, and oil rain down upon us over the outer walls, along with bodies of their own soldiers. I have been struck numerous times by raining objects, and have been lucky enough to deflect many blows with my silver mithril shield. However, many have not had the luck, or the shield, that I possessed, and their bodies lay scattered about the ground. A shadow looms over the whole area menacingly, causing many to shake uncontrollably and to go numb. Nazgul in the sky shriek terrible, ear-piercing cries that chill us to the bone. Gimli stood strong and firm at the enemies ahead, as did I, yet I could not help but shiver at the thought of an on-coming frontal assault.
"I do not think Middle Earth has, or will, see a battle this immense since the First Age in the First Battle of the One. Mordor attacks swift and hard, never relenting or stopping, for the yrch, goblins, Uruk-Hai, and other various demons from its black depths do not know pain or sorrow. All they know is to destroy, and that they have done. My body is marked with many cuts and bruises from one-on-one attacks and aerial threats, but besides that, I am still well. I am merely taking time to rest my feet as ordered by a man outside the walls, and then I shall head back into the bloodbath that is behind me.
"I can hear faintly the cries and screams of fallen men and howls from the dying creatures of Mordor. I feel pity for the innocent men that are dying; yet, I feel no sorrow at all for our foes. I feel as though I am needed back in battle, for the helpless cries of my comrades' calls to me. I merely hope that I can return and write of my conquest…"
I feared going out to the battlefield once more. I knew it was my duty to do so, yet somehow, I wished it not. There was so much bloodshed—I had seen this before, but not so much. Figuring I would be used to it, I did not refuse to fight. As to why I became so emotional over it… I still have no account of that.
"32 Coirë, Carad'ithil (March 4, Red Moon.)
"Mithrandir came! He is back, and helped us fight! I had not seen him during the war, and it was a relief when I set eyes upon him again. The battle of late started out with a nauseating turn. A seemingly living Nazgul or another creature of disgusting sorts came forward in the front line of his army at the Gates of Mordor and spoke to us. He cast down Frodo and Sam's cloaks, a brooch of Lothlorien, and the short-sword Sam had once carried. Then he proceeded to give us choices that seem all but unforgiving—he told us that we could either let Sauron enslave all of Middle Earth or fight against him and let Frodo endure the torments of the Tower for the ages.
"I had thought Gandalf would have given in, but nay—he swiftly grabbed the garments of them in remembrance and charged onward to the enemy. All hope seemed lost, for the yrch came from the hills, their numbers too many, and surrounded our army. Trolls, Nazgul, Uruk-Hai mixed with other evils came onward at us, and charged, screaming a revolting cry of timbre and noise as they hewed at the men as if they were underbrush or weeds. I fought fiercely, adrenaline pumping throughout me as my heart raced and my sword sought the bodies and blood of my adversaries.
"Surely though we all fought brutally and best we could, hoping to die in honor if nothing else good would come from this. Suddenly, as quick as it came, the battle began to dwindle down, and Eagles were seen over-head… After that, it was pretty much a blur. I had received many wounds and was losing a lot of my blood, so I became dizzy and soon blacked-out. Fortune smiled upon me though, for I did not contract the black sickness that plagued many of the wounded. I am still healing now as I write, but I have been informed of Sam and Frodo's safe return. The Ring was destroyed after all, and I rejoice at that… At least not all was in vain.
"I press the attendants for news of Aragorn, but no one can tell me much. I am in a room with many men I know naught of, and I will be able to roam about the city as I wish in a day. Being bedridden—ah, how I loathe it! Though, sleep is a promising vision that I have taken advantage of, for fatigued have I been of late…
"34 Coirë, Carad'ithil (March 6, Red Moon.)
"The healers have allowed me to leave my bed in the Houses of Healing, and are permitting me to walk freely about the city. I have decided to help with cleaning the place up of dead bodies, dirt, grime, and blood. Soon I shall help rebuild homes that were set aflame from the rain of fire in the first siege. Yet, due to the fact of the lack of wood, many of the homes were made of stone, it is mainly the roofs of the buildings that need repair. Aragorn insists that I lay to rest and recover before doing anything. I am just about fully healed, thanks to my elven healing ability, and I see no problem with helping those around me. Why Aragorn sees me as something to protect or as fragile, I do not understand, but I surely am not either of these.
"Gimli is faring quite well, and he seems very concentrated on fixing the city up, more than tending to his own problems. He is helping me help the others, and again I am thankful for his company. We both exchange the count of fallen combatants to one another, and we have come out at a tie of sorts. I smiled at that, and he tells me that is the first smile I have had in days, maybe even weeks. It feels like much longer to me…"
I knew Gimli considered me as a friend at that moment. It comforted me to harbor the thought, for I felt at loss for companionship with anyone. I remember him telling me other things, but I cannot clearly remember everything he had said. Knowingly, I have forgotten much that I did not scribe right away.
"…I looked upon Merry and Pippin, they seem to be doing better than they first had. Both had come near to death, but with aid from the people of Gondor, they recovered. Eowyn of Rohan apparently followed us in to battle and nearly died of the sickness, but was healed by Aragorn. Frodo and Sam are under close watch inside the castle, and I dare not venture in there yet. I figure I shall look upon the gentle periannath as soon as they regain their inner brightness… Pending if they ever do. Poor Frodo…
"45 Coirë, Carad'ithil (March 17, Red Moon.)
"He hurts me with his ever unceasing show of emotion. Can he not be true to me? Can he not tempt and taunt me any longer? My heart is being torn due thanks to his antics…"
Alas! Dearest Arwen, I cannot scribe any more… My tears flow unrelenting from my eyes and are threatening to land on my parchment. Apologize if I may, but I have become emotional again. Forgive me, fair lady, but I must cease this for today. I promise you I shall continue, for it is now something I feel obliged to do for myself. Please, do understand me when I say harsh words. I am afraid I have been through much. This is none of your pain, and I shall not make it so, dear Arwen. Write to me again as soon as you may, and I shall try to recompose myself in a day or so. Sooner shall I, if my ever-tiring heart permits…
Namaarië.
{Gondor, Present.}
Aragorn set the letter aside, slight tears welling in his eyes. Something in his soul forced tears to the man's eyes, and he truly had no account of as to why they laid there. To him, Legolas seemed to write with much sorrow, and he felt oddly at this. "Tis merely a piece of paper," muttered the man. "Nothing more. He merely wrote to Arwen… There is no meaning behind this." A steady tear made its way silently and unseen down Aragorn's face. "Nothing more…"
To be continued.