Man estel?
*~* what hope? *~*
The days passed swiftly, and the people of Rivendell prepared to depart. Strange dreams filled Arwen's rest, visions of far-off lands. Always they were filled with pain, and grief and fear also. Seldom was the laughter of the Evenstar heard in Imladris and her songs were ever of sorrow and mourning as she walked beneath the trees. The people of Rivendell looked ever unto the West as they readied to leave, but the gaze of Arwen strayed to the South.
She lay in her chamber that day, near to her window, which was thrown open to admit the keen breeze which blew from the West, idly tracing the pillow nested beside her. Arwen stared outside with a melancholy look, her deep eyes sorrowful.
May the grace of the Valar protect you.
She whispered the words, praying to Elbereth to watch over the one she loved. Her mind drifted afar, wandering in lands beyond the valley, seeing things her eyes could not. The fear of Mordor filled all the lands of the South of Middle-Earth.
She vaguely felt a presence enter the room and half-consciously groped for an identity. It was her father.
"Arwen."
She turned to face him, sitting up slowly and gracefully, swinging her bare feet over the edge and down to the floor. She regarded him with distant and somewhat cold eyes.
"Tollen I lu. I chair gwannar na Valinor. Si bado, no cirar," he spoke in an urgent voice. *The time is come. The ships depart for Valinor. Now go, before it is too late.*
Arwen looked at him sadly and yet resolutely. "I have made my choice," she stated softly, knowing that he would understand the meaning of her words, her eyes falling to her hands, which rested in her lap.
Elrond's eyes flashed and he moved to stand before her, searching her face with questioning eyes, "Why do you linger here when there is no hope?" he asked.
Arwen raised her head, a pale light flickering in her eyes as she fought despair with her last resolve, "There is still hope..." she managed to whisper quietly.
Elrond softly paced to the end of the room, face filled with pain; he would not lose his daughter. Her grief was great, and yet he knew that the years would bring healing in the land of Valinor
Memories of his brother slipped into his mind and he closed his eyes briefly, fighting tears. He turned to face his only daughter once more. He felt that he could not bear to lose her to the death that she was not meant to ever succumb to.
"If Aragorn survives this war, you will still be parted. If Sauron is defeated and Aragorn made king, and all that you hope for comes true."
Arwen struggled to restrain the tears which filled her eyes. The wind whistled through the open window, causing the curtains to billow and flutter. It flitted through the room, keen and biting.
"You will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality. Whether by the sword or the slow decay of time, Aragorn will die, and there will be no comfort for you. No comfort to ease the pain of his passing."
Scenes flashed before her eyes. She stood beside a bier, upon which rested Aragorn, his hair now white, his face lined as though with many days of sorrow and joy. She stood, holding his hand in her own and fighting tears, dressed in black. Crowns of gold rested on her head and upon his. His sword lay upon him, held tightly in his hands. Full of glory and majesty and power, keen and wise as the lords of the Eldar days.
"He will come to death, an image of the splendor of the kings of men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world."
Arwen walked to stand at the end of the tomb and watched as he faded and his image was replaced by one of stone. She bowed her head, her face now hidden by the long dark veil which streamed about her in the wind.
"But you, my daughter," he bowed his head, grief filling him, "You will linger on, in darkness and in doubt, as night falling in Winter comes without a star."
Tears fell behind the long veil which covered her face as she stood forlornly upon some forgotten hill. Pain and despair marked her face, haunted the depths of her eyes. Her head dropped and she let the emptiness fill her.
"Here you will dwell, bound to your grief, beneath the fading trees, until the world is changed, and the long years of your life are utterly spent."
There is no hope. only darkness.
A figure wandered through a barren forest, clad in a dark cloak, hair falling behind her like a shadow. It was herself, she dimly realized.
Was this how it would end?
Would she die, alone and forgotten, wandering in some deserted wood in sorrow? Her vision was misted by the tears which filled her eyes. The biting breeze whispered in her ear, playing with her dark locks.
"Arwen." Her father's deep voice reached her ears. She raised her head to look pleadingly at him, searching for answers, for hope. Her thoughts wound themselves about, entangling her within. Numbness filled her, and yet throbbing pain. She gasped lightly and a tear fell from her eye, stinging her cheek slightly in the cold wind as it slipped down her cheek.
One.
Absentmindedly she counted it as it fell onto her dress.
"There is nothing for you here, only death."
Two.
Three.
Silence reigned, broken only save by Arwen's strained breathing and the low whistle of the wind as it danced through the room. Elrond looked down at his daughter, sorrow etched upon his face. He sat down next to her, placing his hand on her cheek and gently brushing away the strands of hair which fell in front of her face.
"A Im?," he asked quietly, sadly, "U-'erin veleth lin?" *And me? Do I not also have your love?"*
"Gerich meleth nin, Ada" she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. She had no strength to fight the despair. There was no hope.
*~* what hope? *~*
The days passed swiftly, and the people of Rivendell prepared to depart. Strange dreams filled Arwen's rest, visions of far-off lands. Always they were filled with pain, and grief and fear also. Seldom was the laughter of the Evenstar heard in Imladris and her songs were ever of sorrow and mourning as she walked beneath the trees. The people of Rivendell looked ever unto the West as they readied to leave, but the gaze of Arwen strayed to the South.
She lay in her chamber that day, near to her window, which was thrown open to admit the keen breeze which blew from the West, idly tracing the pillow nested beside her. Arwen stared outside with a melancholy look, her deep eyes sorrowful.
May the grace of the Valar protect you.
She whispered the words, praying to Elbereth to watch over the one she loved. Her mind drifted afar, wandering in lands beyond the valley, seeing things her eyes could not. The fear of Mordor filled all the lands of the South of Middle-Earth.
She vaguely felt a presence enter the room and half-consciously groped for an identity. It was her father.
"Arwen."
She turned to face him, sitting up slowly and gracefully, swinging her bare feet over the edge and down to the floor. She regarded him with distant and somewhat cold eyes.
"Tollen I lu. I chair gwannar na Valinor. Si bado, no cirar," he spoke in an urgent voice. *The time is come. The ships depart for Valinor. Now go, before it is too late.*
Arwen looked at him sadly and yet resolutely. "I have made my choice," she stated softly, knowing that he would understand the meaning of her words, her eyes falling to her hands, which rested in her lap.
Elrond's eyes flashed and he moved to stand before her, searching her face with questioning eyes, "Why do you linger here when there is no hope?" he asked.
Arwen raised her head, a pale light flickering in her eyes as she fought despair with her last resolve, "There is still hope..." she managed to whisper quietly.
Elrond softly paced to the end of the room, face filled with pain; he would not lose his daughter. Her grief was great, and yet he knew that the years would bring healing in the land of Valinor
Memories of his brother slipped into his mind and he closed his eyes briefly, fighting tears. He turned to face his only daughter once more. He felt that he could not bear to lose her to the death that she was not meant to ever succumb to.
"If Aragorn survives this war, you will still be parted. If Sauron is defeated and Aragorn made king, and all that you hope for comes true."
Arwen struggled to restrain the tears which filled her eyes. The wind whistled through the open window, causing the curtains to billow and flutter. It flitted through the room, keen and biting.
"You will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality. Whether by the sword or the slow decay of time, Aragorn will die, and there will be no comfort for you. No comfort to ease the pain of his passing."
Scenes flashed before her eyes. She stood beside a bier, upon which rested Aragorn, his hair now white, his face lined as though with many days of sorrow and joy. She stood, holding his hand in her own and fighting tears, dressed in black. Crowns of gold rested on her head and upon his. His sword lay upon him, held tightly in his hands. Full of glory and majesty and power, keen and wise as the lords of the Eldar days.
"He will come to death, an image of the splendor of the kings of men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world."
Arwen walked to stand at the end of the tomb and watched as he faded and his image was replaced by one of stone. She bowed her head, her face now hidden by the long dark veil which streamed about her in the wind.
"But you, my daughter," he bowed his head, grief filling him, "You will linger on, in darkness and in doubt, as night falling in Winter comes without a star."
Tears fell behind the long veil which covered her face as she stood forlornly upon some forgotten hill. Pain and despair marked her face, haunted the depths of her eyes. Her head dropped and she let the emptiness fill her.
"Here you will dwell, bound to your grief, beneath the fading trees, until the world is changed, and the long years of your life are utterly spent."
There is no hope. only darkness.
A figure wandered through a barren forest, clad in a dark cloak, hair falling behind her like a shadow. It was herself, she dimly realized.
Was this how it would end?
Would she die, alone and forgotten, wandering in some deserted wood in sorrow? Her vision was misted by the tears which filled her eyes. The biting breeze whispered in her ear, playing with her dark locks.
"Arwen." Her father's deep voice reached her ears. She raised her head to look pleadingly at him, searching for answers, for hope. Her thoughts wound themselves about, entangling her within. Numbness filled her, and yet throbbing pain. She gasped lightly and a tear fell from her eye, stinging her cheek slightly in the cold wind as it slipped down her cheek.
One.
Absentmindedly she counted it as it fell onto her dress.
"There is nothing for you here, only death."
Two.
Three.
Silence reigned, broken only save by Arwen's strained breathing and the low whistle of the wind as it danced through the room. Elrond looked down at his daughter, sorrow etched upon his face. He sat down next to her, placing his hand on her cheek and gently brushing away the strands of hair which fell in front of her face.
"A Im?," he asked quietly, sadly, "U-'erin veleth lin?" *And me? Do I not also have your love?"*
"Gerich meleth nin, Ada" she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. She had no strength to fight the despair. There was no hope.