Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Author's Note: I was unsure of what people would use to write in Middle- earth, so Addaliel uses a quill. Sorry if that's off. Also, once more I have altered the timing of certain events, and would like everyone to know that I am aware of that and have done it on purpose.
Blue Jeans Baby: Thanks. . .I know, I am a sap for melodrama, and it shows up in this story.
Lil Kawaii Doom: Thanks!
Garnet: Synonyms are evil, aren't they? There are never enough of them. Thanks, and although this update took a while I do try to get out new chapters quickly.
Galorin: You're welcome. . .and thank you yourself! At first I was thinking that these would be like memoirs, but then--well, you'll see.
MusicGrl: Uh-oh, those mysteries were accidental. . .um, what were they, exactly, that I might solve them? As for music, I believe that it can move a person more deeply than words, and reach them more strongly. It is easy to ignore words, but difficult to ignore music.
Artemis: Arwen is a bit of a nasty person in this, for a while. I wasn't sure what else to say--probably, looking back, she ought to be "taken with him", not have a crush on him. Action and dialogue are not my strong points, odd as that sounds, but I've tried to add some in this chapter.
Littlesaiyangirl: Aw. . .sorry.
Jasg: I will e-mail you momentarily.
*****
Addaliel's Perspective
*****
Arwen was almost fifty, and I nearing two and forty years, when Galadriel did something that would forever seal my loyalty to her and extreme love of her. We--Galadriel, Arwen, and I--were in the library. It was evening, and winter, so the three of us had clustered by the fire to keep warm. Galadriel sat in a chair reading, and Arwen working on her embroidery, something she had become quite fond of. I was stretched out on the floor, sucking the end of my quill as I worked on a musical composition.
Arwen's sewing basket sat on the floor by her feet, and she accidentally knocked over. She quickly gathered up the scissors, needles, and thread that had fallen on the floor. On particular spool rolled over to me, although I did not notice, having decided where next to take my composition. "Addaliel," said Arwen, "would you bring me that thread, there, by your elbow?"
I looked over briefly, then did as she asked. "Thank you," she said. I nodded and returned to my work. The tone Arwen took with me was the same one she always took; condescending, as though speaking to a very young child. I noticed it, but ignored it, being used to it. Galadriel had observed this interaction, and she frowned.
"Arwen," she said, clearly displeased, "you should not speak to your sister like that, as though she were naught but a rag doll. How do you think this makes her feel?"
"But, grandmother, that's all she is," Arwen replied, as though this were obvious. "Much as I wish it were not so, Addaliel has not much in her head." At this I looked up. I had known she felt this way for years, but it was hurtful to hear her say it out loud.
"That is untrue," Galadriel replied. She had waited years to say this, but before had only suspected it. Now she was sure. Had it not been for emotion she would never have brought this topic to discussion with me present, but I am glad that she did. I should have hated this discussion to take place without my knowledge, then suffer the consequences of it without knowing why.
"It is though. Her mind is without purpose, she cannot think more than to obey."
"Your sister, Arwen, is one of the most intelligent people I know," Galadriel replied, an angry edge to her voice. "Her studies long ago passed yours."
"That is not possible. Her mind is empty, retarded. It will never amount to anything." This would not have hurt quite so deeply had the speaker not been my sister.
"No, Arwen. You are a beautiful girl; this is your blessing. But Addaliel, her mind is her blessing, and it is extraordinary."
"So what? What does it mater," raved Arwen, jumping to her feet, "if she can calculate sums or memorize word lists? There is nothing that makes her a person! She has no feelings, no emotions! She is wasted!" With that she turned and ran from the room, slamming the door angrily behind her. I stared after her, shocked. Everyone who knew us knew Arwen as the beauty, just as Galadriel said. I had never realized that Arwen hated me for it, that she despised the praise I received for my intelligence, but I realized it then. She had to belittle me. Perhaps she did not know this consciously, but it was so. She envied me.
Envied? She did not understand me, then. There was no way she understood-- and it hit me. Arwen thought I was a mute. She thought I was incapable of speech.
It was all too much. Arwen's envy brought fresh my old pains, the ones that took my voice from me. She was hurt now, and there was nothing I could do to help her. She hated me. My own sister hated me. As all these things came clear I burst into tears. Here the most surprising thing happened: I ran to Galadriel, and buried my face in her skirts.
"If I could hide the truth from you forever, I would do it," Galadriel said as she stroked my hair. I did not understand her meaning. When Celeborn came in to tell Galadriel that Arwen was hysterical and had locked herself in her room, I was still crying. What was she to do? "Addaliel, will you be all right if I see to your sister now?" Galadriel asked. I nodded, trying to stop my tears.
I do not recall what happened after that. I know I cried for a long time. When I woke up the next morning, my composition had been placed beside my bed. In my grandmother's neat lettering on another sheet of paper were the words "May I suggest:" followed by an ending to the piece. I did not use her ending. I never finished my composition.
*****
Elrond's Perspective
*****
Twenty years does not seem as though it could stretch an eternity. Let me tell you, it can. One day can stretch an eternity. Guilt set in, after grief and anger, and prolonged the hours of lament. Elladan and Elrohir began leaving Imladris more and more in those years, constantly pursuing bands of orcs. I might have believed that they hated Imladris, and hated me, and would not have blamed them, but for a conversation I overheard between the boys one night.
"I think being away makes me appreciate home all the more," said Elrohir.
"I know what you mean," Elladan replied. I had been walking by, but stopped to listen to my sons talk. Unable to see them, I cannot describe their actions, for I do not know them. "Coming home is wonderful."
"Clean sheets after a month on the ground. . ."
"Fresh food after living out of our pockets. . ." It was Elladan that spoke next. It is this segment of the conversation that always stayed with me. "Ada."
"What?"
"Nothing. . ."
"Me, too, although I would never tell him."
"It seems odd, that we should both miss him when he is never really there."
"He is, but Arwen and Addaliel. . .well, he misses them. A lot."
"Do you ever miss being young?" Elladan asked after a long pause. "Ever miss. . .the way if Ada said something it had to be true, the clear line between good and bad?"
"The comfort of Atara's embrace," Elrohir added. The twins always seem to know the exact meaning of the other's words, as though they could speak without words. "The way Ada could always untangle things."
"You mean when we got into fights?"
"Right. You bring a problem to Ada and he solves it, or at least makes it clear and gives you a push in the right direction." There was a long pause again, and then, "Elladan?" Out in the hall, I sank to the floor and listened to my sons sobbing.
That was five years after my daughters left. It somehow made their absence easier to bear. None of it was truly easy, but without Elladan and Elrohir's words, things would have been insufferable. Then, seventeen years later, something happened that changed everything. The twins went on a hunting trip with a group of Men, and came back with a two-year-old child.
Author's Note: I was unsure of what people would use to write in Middle- earth, so Addaliel uses a quill. Sorry if that's off. Also, once more I have altered the timing of certain events, and would like everyone to know that I am aware of that and have done it on purpose.
Blue Jeans Baby: Thanks. . .I know, I am a sap for melodrama, and it shows up in this story.
Lil Kawaii Doom: Thanks!
Garnet: Synonyms are evil, aren't they? There are never enough of them. Thanks, and although this update took a while I do try to get out new chapters quickly.
Galorin: You're welcome. . .and thank you yourself! At first I was thinking that these would be like memoirs, but then--well, you'll see.
MusicGrl: Uh-oh, those mysteries were accidental. . .um, what were they, exactly, that I might solve them? As for music, I believe that it can move a person more deeply than words, and reach them more strongly. It is easy to ignore words, but difficult to ignore music.
Artemis: Arwen is a bit of a nasty person in this, for a while. I wasn't sure what else to say--probably, looking back, she ought to be "taken with him", not have a crush on him. Action and dialogue are not my strong points, odd as that sounds, but I've tried to add some in this chapter.
Littlesaiyangirl: Aw. . .sorry.
Jasg: I will e-mail you momentarily.
*****
Addaliel's Perspective
*****
Arwen was almost fifty, and I nearing two and forty years, when Galadriel did something that would forever seal my loyalty to her and extreme love of her. We--Galadriel, Arwen, and I--were in the library. It was evening, and winter, so the three of us had clustered by the fire to keep warm. Galadriel sat in a chair reading, and Arwen working on her embroidery, something she had become quite fond of. I was stretched out on the floor, sucking the end of my quill as I worked on a musical composition.
Arwen's sewing basket sat on the floor by her feet, and she accidentally knocked over. She quickly gathered up the scissors, needles, and thread that had fallen on the floor. On particular spool rolled over to me, although I did not notice, having decided where next to take my composition. "Addaliel," said Arwen, "would you bring me that thread, there, by your elbow?"
I looked over briefly, then did as she asked. "Thank you," she said. I nodded and returned to my work. The tone Arwen took with me was the same one she always took; condescending, as though speaking to a very young child. I noticed it, but ignored it, being used to it. Galadriel had observed this interaction, and she frowned.
"Arwen," she said, clearly displeased, "you should not speak to your sister like that, as though she were naught but a rag doll. How do you think this makes her feel?"
"But, grandmother, that's all she is," Arwen replied, as though this were obvious. "Much as I wish it were not so, Addaliel has not much in her head." At this I looked up. I had known she felt this way for years, but it was hurtful to hear her say it out loud.
"That is untrue," Galadriel replied. She had waited years to say this, but before had only suspected it. Now she was sure. Had it not been for emotion she would never have brought this topic to discussion with me present, but I am glad that she did. I should have hated this discussion to take place without my knowledge, then suffer the consequences of it without knowing why.
"It is though. Her mind is without purpose, she cannot think more than to obey."
"Your sister, Arwen, is one of the most intelligent people I know," Galadriel replied, an angry edge to her voice. "Her studies long ago passed yours."
"That is not possible. Her mind is empty, retarded. It will never amount to anything." This would not have hurt quite so deeply had the speaker not been my sister.
"No, Arwen. You are a beautiful girl; this is your blessing. But Addaliel, her mind is her blessing, and it is extraordinary."
"So what? What does it mater," raved Arwen, jumping to her feet, "if she can calculate sums or memorize word lists? There is nothing that makes her a person! She has no feelings, no emotions! She is wasted!" With that she turned and ran from the room, slamming the door angrily behind her. I stared after her, shocked. Everyone who knew us knew Arwen as the beauty, just as Galadriel said. I had never realized that Arwen hated me for it, that she despised the praise I received for my intelligence, but I realized it then. She had to belittle me. Perhaps she did not know this consciously, but it was so. She envied me.
Envied? She did not understand me, then. There was no way she understood-- and it hit me. Arwen thought I was a mute. She thought I was incapable of speech.
It was all too much. Arwen's envy brought fresh my old pains, the ones that took my voice from me. She was hurt now, and there was nothing I could do to help her. She hated me. My own sister hated me. As all these things came clear I burst into tears. Here the most surprising thing happened: I ran to Galadriel, and buried my face in her skirts.
"If I could hide the truth from you forever, I would do it," Galadriel said as she stroked my hair. I did not understand her meaning. When Celeborn came in to tell Galadriel that Arwen was hysterical and had locked herself in her room, I was still crying. What was she to do? "Addaliel, will you be all right if I see to your sister now?" Galadriel asked. I nodded, trying to stop my tears.
I do not recall what happened after that. I know I cried for a long time. When I woke up the next morning, my composition had been placed beside my bed. In my grandmother's neat lettering on another sheet of paper were the words "May I suggest:" followed by an ending to the piece. I did not use her ending. I never finished my composition.
*****
Elrond's Perspective
*****
Twenty years does not seem as though it could stretch an eternity. Let me tell you, it can. One day can stretch an eternity. Guilt set in, after grief and anger, and prolonged the hours of lament. Elladan and Elrohir began leaving Imladris more and more in those years, constantly pursuing bands of orcs. I might have believed that they hated Imladris, and hated me, and would not have blamed them, but for a conversation I overheard between the boys one night.
"I think being away makes me appreciate home all the more," said Elrohir.
"I know what you mean," Elladan replied. I had been walking by, but stopped to listen to my sons talk. Unable to see them, I cannot describe their actions, for I do not know them. "Coming home is wonderful."
"Clean sheets after a month on the ground. . ."
"Fresh food after living out of our pockets. . ." It was Elladan that spoke next. It is this segment of the conversation that always stayed with me. "Ada."
"What?"
"Nothing. . ."
"Me, too, although I would never tell him."
"It seems odd, that we should both miss him when he is never really there."
"He is, but Arwen and Addaliel. . .well, he misses them. A lot."
"Do you ever miss being young?" Elladan asked after a long pause. "Ever miss. . .the way if Ada said something it had to be true, the clear line between good and bad?"
"The comfort of Atara's embrace," Elrohir added. The twins always seem to know the exact meaning of the other's words, as though they could speak without words. "The way Ada could always untangle things."
"You mean when we got into fights?"
"Right. You bring a problem to Ada and he solves it, or at least makes it clear and gives you a push in the right direction." There was a long pause again, and then, "Elladan?" Out in the hall, I sank to the floor and listened to my sons sobbing.
That was five years after my daughters left. It somehow made their absence easier to bear. None of it was truly easy, but without Elladan and Elrohir's words, things would have been insufferable. Then, seventeen years later, something happened that changed everything. The twins went on a hunting trip with a group of Men, and came back with a two-year-old child.
