All characters contained herein are the creation of JRR Tolkien and
property of the Tolkien estate. I make no claims of ownership to anything mentioned
in the story, and write solely for personal pleasure. No money has been or will be
made from this writing.
The Most Bitter Parting
Choice's End
My father's heart is broken, and I am the one that broke it.
As others were leaving, we remained here in Edoras and sought out these hills to have our last meeting and say our final farewell. It is well that we chose such a place of solitude, for I did not know how much it would shame me to see the hurt I have wrought.
I knew from the moment of choice that it would mean I would someday be sundered from my father forever, but in that long ago moment, the possibility of being wedded to my beloved Estel was beyond hope and seemed at times little more than an unattainable fancy to be longed for but never realized. I could not have guessed the depths of the pain such a day of parting would bring. And I thank Elbereth for my ignorance--for if I had foreseen this moment, I think that my heart would have faltered and that I could never have made Lúthien's choice. Not now, as I look upon the stricken visage of my dear father and know that I am the cause.
I knew also from the time I first beheld Estel in fair Lórien, that for him I would forswear the gifts of the One to the Eldar. It was a simple choice to make, when I and my love were safe upon the hill of Cerin Amroth. How else could I choose, when I beheld the weariness of toil and suffering in the eyes of that Man and knew that he willingly bore their weight for love of me? I knew what would follow when I pledged my heart to him, or so I thus believed. I did not know, not truly.
If my thoughts now were voiced, one might believe that I have come to regret my choice of a husband. But that is not so--I love Estel, such as I could never love another. I once wished in my secret heart that he were truly the son of Elves--or perhaps that I were the daughter of the Édain, that there might be only joy in our union and no sorrow. But I no longer desire such things, for I have come to know the folly of wishful thought, and if it were truly otherwise, Estel and I would never have met. And I do not hate my love for the Dúnadan.
Yet that indeed is Father's wish, though I know he would deny it, thinking to spare me. In a part of his heart that he keeps hidden from the world, he ever mourns my meeting with the son of Arathorn and desires that he might somehow change the fates, that I might never have so much as glanced upon Estel. But he sees my love for the Man, and it constrains his tongue. O Father! If only you could accept that, were I Peredhel or Elda true, it would not matter. I could not bear to face the long ages of Eä with only memories to warm me. A wasting death would be my fate even were I not blessed with the Choice of Lúthien, for grief would consume me, even in the Blessed Realm.
My poor father. For long now we have talked of times long past...of the mischief of children, friends who have long since departed, times of great pain, and of great joy. He does not wish to dwell on the bitterness that lies before us, though soon we must, yet the bitterness taints our memories, as the memories only darken the looming shadow. It is long since I have seen the Lord Elrond weep. Not since the day my mother departed from Mithlond, has any moisture save rainfall touched that face I have come to know so well.
The departure of Celebrían, most beloved of Rivendell, was a time of grief for us all, my father and brothers, and for myself. Yet it was not the grief borne of death, suffered by the Secondborn. For the Eldar, such a parting is brief, and the knowledge of eventual reunion is a comfort that drives away the pain. Even death does not separate the Elves; ere long by our reckoning do we--they--return from the Halls of Mandos after a time of rest. It is a strange thing, then, to know that when the Lord Elrond departs from this place, never again will I see his face, save in dream and memory only.
It is strange to know that though I have been Elda for more than a hundred lives of Men, I am no longer counted among the Firstborn of Arda. I do not feel mortal, not yet. Though I am called Peredhel, I have lived with full share of the inheritance of the Eldar, and the ways of Men are strange. Perhaps this is what troubles my father most of all. I will not burden him with these thoughts, but only now have I begun to truly consider the choice I have made.
The Eldar are not born possessed of wisdom, whatever Men may say. The wisdom of the Elves is the wisdom of the ages, and those Elves who were born in Arda in this Third Age, known by the Elves as the age of fading, have not the wisdom of those who, like the Lord Elrond, were born in the First Age. Neither do I possess the same foresight as he who once wielded a Ring of Power that now is but a trinket to adorn his hand, though some things there are that my heart can see. And for these things, also, I thank Elbereth. Foresight brings not always knowledge that one desires, but wisdom commands that such fore-knowledge be heeded, no matter the cost.
I was not ruled by wisdom or foresight when first I met Estel again, under the eaves of Lorien. I had laughed at the boy, but I marveled at the Man he became, and it was then, as he strode toward me with his gift of gold blossoms, that I cast aside my Elven grace to be with him. I thought not of my father, or others; Estel was my only thought.
I wonder now if I would have made the Choice of Lúthien, if I been elsewhere when the time for decisions was come, and I had not been blinded by Estel's countenance. For I cannot revoke my choice now. And I would not, even were I able, for I regret not my love. Yet now my father's eyes shine with tears he will not shed, and his lips quiver. Elrond the Wise blames Aragorn son of Arathorn for this day, this I have known for many seasons hence. But the pain of loss that fills my father's heart and mine is of my own making, and Estel is free of the blame. He loves me, and chose me for his Queen, though he knew what he asked of my father, and of me. But it is I who wrought this doom that mingles sorrow and joy. I doubt not that my father would have scoffed at the bidding of his guest and denied him, had I not spoken of my own desire.
Ah, the burden of such choice. I am glad of my love for Estel, and I have waited long to stand at his side, no longer grasping at sparse and fleeting moments that we may share. I will go wheresoever he will, and his face is a joy to me. But the day is nearly done, and my beloved father must soon depart.
I find myself filled with sudden hate for wisdom and foresight. I regret that my father must bear the burden of such 'gifts' from the One, and yet I curse my lack of them. Though I would not wish to be parted from Estel, neither do I wish to be parted ever from my kin. Yet that is the doom of the choice of the Peredhil, and if I will have the one I may not have the other.
The Sun is lowering in the sky. The day is nearly done, and we cannot delay our sundering forever.
My heart goes cold. Regret has found me, and I am suddenly in doubt. What have I done? Soon, I will never see my father again, and my mother is lost to me already. And if my brothers choose also to sail into the West, they too, are lost. Is this the price of loving one of the Édain, that I should be sundered for all time from those who loved me first? It is not fair that loss should be the price of any love.
I look once more into my father's grey eyes, so like my own, though his surpass mine in knowledge. The shadow overtakes me at last and, perhaps foolishly, I rush forward and fling myself into his arms, once more a child frightened by the wind who is in need of fatherly comfort. He embraces me eagerly, and I begin to weep bitterly against his shoulder as he strokes my hair and murmurs soft words of an ancient Noldorin song that once eased a small Elf-child into sleep. The memory is sweet, but it does not blunt my sorrow.
There is no true comfort for this sort of pain, but I am no longer a frightened child, and the life I have willingly chosen is waiting for me. Estel is waiting. Finally, though the long embrace now seems cruelly brief, I pull away from my sweet father, ready to bear the pain I have taken upon myself. I think I pull away too quickly for him; there is a hurt in the Lord Elrond's eyes that speaks of betrayal. But I must not continue to dwell on injuries that cannot be redressed. We must go our separate ways and trust to time for the healing of wounds. There is no other choice now left.
Taking a breath and silently asking Elbereth to give me strength, I step closer to my father and kiss him gently on his fair brow in gesture of farewell. Then, with great effort, I turn and walk away from the life and the family that I have known, toward the one that now awaits. There is aught else that I may do.
And I will treasure Estel all the days that we will have together, never taking a single moment for granted, in memory of the dooms that purchased our union.
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Choice's End
My father's heart is broken, and I am the one that broke it.
As others were leaving, we remained here in Edoras and sought out these hills to have our last meeting and say our final farewell. It is well that we chose such a place of solitude, for I did not know how much it would shame me to see the hurt I have wrought.
I knew from the moment of choice that it would mean I would someday be sundered from my father forever, but in that long ago moment, the possibility of being wedded to my beloved Estel was beyond hope and seemed at times little more than an unattainable fancy to be longed for but never realized. I could not have guessed the depths of the pain such a day of parting would bring. And I thank Elbereth for my ignorance--for if I had foreseen this moment, I think that my heart would have faltered and that I could never have made Lúthien's choice. Not now, as I look upon the stricken visage of my dear father and know that I am the cause.
I knew also from the time I first beheld Estel in fair Lórien, that for him I would forswear the gifts of the One to the Eldar. It was a simple choice to make, when I and my love were safe upon the hill of Cerin Amroth. How else could I choose, when I beheld the weariness of toil and suffering in the eyes of that Man and knew that he willingly bore their weight for love of me? I knew what would follow when I pledged my heart to him, or so I thus believed. I did not know, not truly.
If my thoughts now were voiced, one might believe that I have come to regret my choice of a husband. But that is not so--I love Estel, such as I could never love another. I once wished in my secret heart that he were truly the son of Elves--or perhaps that I were the daughter of the Édain, that there might be only joy in our union and no sorrow. But I no longer desire such things, for I have come to know the folly of wishful thought, and if it were truly otherwise, Estel and I would never have met. And I do not hate my love for the Dúnadan.
Yet that indeed is Father's wish, though I know he would deny it, thinking to spare me. In a part of his heart that he keeps hidden from the world, he ever mourns my meeting with the son of Arathorn and desires that he might somehow change the fates, that I might never have so much as glanced upon Estel. But he sees my love for the Man, and it constrains his tongue. O Father! If only you could accept that, were I Peredhel or Elda true, it would not matter. I could not bear to face the long ages of Eä with only memories to warm me. A wasting death would be my fate even were I not blessed with the Choice of Lúthien, for grief would consume me, even in the Blessed Realm.
My poor father. For long now we have talked of times long past...of the mischief of children, friends who have long since departed, times of great pain, and of great joy. He does not wish to dwell on the bitterness that lies before us, though soon we must, yet the bitterness taints our memories, as the memories only darken the looming shadow. It is long since I have seen the Lord Elrond weep. Not since the day my mother departed from Mithlond, has any moisture save rainfall touched that face I have come to know so well.
The departure of Celebrían, most beloved of Rivendell, was a time of grief for us all, my father and brothers, and for myself. Yet it was not the grief borne of death, suffered by the Secondborn. For the Eldar, such a parting is brief, and the knowledge of eventual reunion is a comfort that drives away the pain. Even death does not separate the Elves; ere long by our reckoning do we--they--return from the Halls of Mandos after a time of rest. It is a strange thing, then, to know that when the Lord Elrond departs from this place, never again will I see his face, save in dream and memory only.
It is strange to know that though I have been Elda for more than a hundred lives of Men, I am no longer counted among the Firstborn of Arda. I do not feel mortal, not yet. Though I am called Peredhel, I have lived with full share of the inheritance of the Eldar, and the ways of Men are strange. Perhaps this is what troubles my father most of all. I will not burden him with these thoughts, but only now have I begun to truly consider the choice I have made.
The Eldar are not born possessed of wisdom, whatever Men may say. The wisdom of the Elves is the wisdom of the ages, and those Elves who were born in Arda in this Third Age, known by the Elves as the age of fading, have not the wisdom of those who, like the Lord Elrond, were born in the First Age. Neither do I possess the same foresight as he who once wielded a Ring of Power that now is but a trinket to adorn his hand, though some things there are that my heart can see. And for these things, also, I thank Elbereth. Foresight brings not always knowledge that one desires, but wisdom commands that such fore-knowledge be heeded, no matter the cost.
I was not ruled by wisdom or foresight when first I met Estel again, under the eaves of Lorien. I had laughed at the boy, but I marveled at the Man he became, and it was then, as he strode toward me with his gift of gold blossoms, that I cast aside my Elven grace to be with him. I thought not of my father, or others; Estel was my only thought.
I wonder now if I would have made the Choice of Lúthien, if I been elsewhere when the time for decisions was come, and I had not been blinded by Estel's countenance. For I cannot revoke my choice now. And I would not, even were I able, for I regret not my love. Yet now my father's eyes shine with tears he will not shed, and his lips quiver. Elrond the Wise blames Aragorn son of Arathorn for this day, this I have known for many seasons hence. But the pain of loss that fills my father's heart and mine is of my own making, and Estel is free of the blame. He loves me, and chose me for his Queen, though he knew what he asked of my father, and of me. But it is I who wrought this doom that mingles sorrow and joy. I doubt not that my father would have scoffed at the bidding of his guest and denied him, had I not spoken of my own desire.
Ah, the burden of such choice. I am glad of my love for Estel, and I have waited long to stand at his side, no longer grasping at sparse and fleeting moments that we may share. I will go wheresoever he will, and his face is a joy to me. But the day is nearly done, and my beloved father must soon depart.
I find myself filled with sudden hate for wisdom and foresight. I regret that my father must bear the burden of such 'gifts' from the One, and yet I curse my lack of them. Though I would not wish to be parted from Estel, neither do I wish to be parted ever from my kin. Yet that is the doom of the choice of the Peredhil, and if I will have the one I may not have the other.
The Sun is lowering in the sky. The day is nearly done, and we cannot delay our sundering forever.
My heart goes cold. Regret has found me, and I am suddenly in doubt. What have I done? Soon, I will never see my father again, and my mother is lost to me already. And if my brothers choose also to sail into the West, they too, are lost. Is this the price of loving one of the Édain, that I should be sundered for all time from those who loved me first? It is not fair that loss should be the price of any love.
I look once more into my father's grey eyes, so like my own, though his surpass mine in knowledge. The shadow overtakes me at last and, perhaps foolishly, I rush forward and fling myself into his arms, once more a child frightened by the wind who is in need of fatherly comfort. He embraces me eagerly, and I begin to weep bitterly against his shoulder as he strokes my hair and murmurs soft words of an ancient Noldorin song that once eased a small Elf-child into sleep. The memory is sweet, but it does not blunt my sorrow.
There is no true comfort for this sort of pain, but I am no longer a frightened child, and the life I have willingly chosen is waiting for me. Estel is waiting. Finally, though the long embrace now seems cruelly brief, I pull away from my sweet father, ready to bear the pain I have taken upon myself. I think I pull away too quickly for him; there is a hurt in the Lord Elrond's eyes that speaks of betrayal. But I must not continue to dwell on injuries that cannot be redressed. We must go our separate ways and trust to time for the healing of wounds. There is no other choice now left.
Taking a breath and silently asking Elbereth to give me strength, I step closer to my father and kiss him gently on his fair brow in gesture of farewell. Then, with great effort, I turn and walk away from the life and the family that I have known, toward the one that now awaits. There is aught else that I may do.
And I will treasure Estel all the days that we will have together, never taking a single moment for granted, in memory of the dooms that purchased our union.