DISCLAIMER: All things LOTR belong to Tolkien, that literary genius, and of course, the stunning adaptation by and the vision of Peter Jackson & Co.
HOME
It is as you said, Father, and yet not so.
The man I loved, the man I married, is gone. He has left my side, and all I am left with are the blinding memories of a life that will not leave me in peace, and yet I am loath to even consider forgetting them. It is the happiness, Attar, the fountain of smiles and laughter that we shared, the joy of our children, the sunlight that even now - as the sky hangs overcast as if in tribute, as if to form a shroud for his body - shines bright and glowing in my mind as if those days are not yet passed.
Father, it blinds me. Every day this ethereal memory drains the light from my eyes, I need not the sorrowful glances of my people, yes, the people of Gondor, to tell me that this is so. My daughters were my solace, each one as tender and lovely as the songs that the falls in Imladris used to sing to us, long ago, when I was still immortal and the days were as blossom that fell from overhanging trees, unnumbered, and heavy with perfume. Do you remember we used to sit outside in silence, bathing in their rushing song? I missed their sound in Lorien, for as you know the waters there are still and rarely disturbed.
In their silence now I think I shall go mad.
Eldarion is King now, you would swell with pride to see him, a man like his father, strong and upright, never boastful or immodest, given to the thoughtful periods you and I can see are directly from Estel. But Father, how it cuts to see him. He would think his mother nervous or overwrought, but before I left there were times I would see him standing, on the parapet, so like his father - when he looks at me he does so with his eyes, alive and glistening from beyond death, beyond the tomb -
I cannot bear even thinking of it now. I had stood there, robed in black, the veil of mourning unable to quiet the silent screaming of my tears, his face so still, so beautiful, even in death that so many times I thought he woke again and smiled at me, even when his tomb concealed him in stone and my eyes were robbed of the sight of him for long days that stretch into a void of sorrow and emptiness.
I never asked you what you felt when mother left us. I saw the quiet frown build on your forehead, the line of your mouth become a little more grim with time - but what is time to the Elves? I had not fully understood the shortness of the lives of Men, the cruelty with which they are cut down among us, their lives as potent and startling as their all too brief beauty. I had not understood the double edge of mercy and cruelty that Iluvatar placed in his gift.
Yes, cruelty. I care not who hears it now, for the woods are empty as my eyes and Iluvatar himself can judge me for speaking thus, but Attar, it is all to true.
There is no certainty in the lives of mortals, no assurance that, having spent your utmost time in Middle-Earth, you will undoubtedly rejoin all you love across the sea and spend eternity and bliss together again. There is only doubt, and fear. And anger. Yes, though it would surprise you that I would speak of such a rash emotion, I felt the anger, tinged and mingled with grief and loss build inside me that day. And the questions, my father, such questions even you could not answer.
Why he was taken from me then, when I had thought that so many were our days of happiness that Iluvatar had forgotten us, forgotten our mortality and had allowed him to live, to remain beside me, to never leave me alone. Foolish thoughts and hopes of a mortal woman, you would be forgiven for thinking. I am a queen, father, a queen of this race of fledglings, these people so young to my eyes and yet so close to my heart now. Why was he not given one more moment, to allow me to lay my head on his breast once more, to kiss him a thousand times again and to beg him again to stay? To stay with me, for now I face these final days alone.
You told me all this, long years before. How I fought to keep true to my love for him and for you, you who raised me well and loved me for a time that, to mortal men, would seem as the never-ending span of their history past and that yet to come. Did you know, father, I wonder. Did you know the torment, the wrenching division that split me into two halves, Arwen and Undomíel, the fierce tug that drew me to my people and you, and that which drew me to him and a mortal life. I think you knew part of this, perhaps more than you let me know of, for you always sought to protect me from that which hurt you and would in turn hurt me.
The world has changed. It is not what I would choose to remember. The trees are fading, their voices silenced, their light diminished, the leaves are gone. All that lives in this forest now is darkened and bare, trees robbed of their crowns.
Now there is only silence.
Attar, the day draws to a close. The trees are bereft as I, haunted by the fleeting ghosts of the past and of the man I loved. Their branches are dark and bare, their outstretched ends like hands reaching for the touch of another.
One brushed my shoulder, and in the tiny second where the twig had snagged briefly on my cloak, I had turned swiftly on my heel and cried aloud.
"Estel!"
You see, even then I hoped he would return to me, a warm caress on my shoulder, the love in his eyes dispelling all darkness and cold.
I grow cold, Attar.
I wandered in silence, over dusty leaves and through skeletal trees, and though I passed through the city gates knowing where I would go, it is only now I fully realise that I stand upon Cerin Amroth, where it all began.
He came walking through the trees, robed in white, and I saw a star upon his brow, not the jewel that was placed in a circlet for his head, but a star such as only the Elves can see in plain sight. It was made then, my choice, attar, and I would tell you of my sorrow in causing you so much pain, but I cannot make such apologies for loving him.
The world has grown cold, Attar. The world has grown cold without him.
O Father, how young and naïve we were, believing that simply because we loved each other that the Valar would intervene on our behalf to prevent us ever leaving the other's side, when war and death divides a thousand such loves every day. Why should ours be any different when the mighty did not stop the tortures that Beren and Luthien, she who gave me the legacy of the Evenstar, faced? The Valar did not intervene until he was already departed from Middle-Earth, and now I understand, father, how the tears of Luthien induced Mandos, he who knows no emotion or pity to release the soul of the man she loved, to bring him back to her.
He will not pity my tears.
Where there is love, there must be sacrifice, and I sacrificed that which, until he came into my life, was the most invaluable part of myself. How we change, and how time is unforgiving.
Now there is a quiet rustling. I cannot walk any further, for here I end my days, upon the mound where he and I forsook both the Shadow and the Twilight and spoke of our love. Elinor is ceasing to bloom, but here and there are the flowers of gold, that seem paler than the day when we were betrothed. I have lain myself down upon this bed, which is cool and dry, and the where the faint scent of the flowers lingers on the fallen leaves. There is only the constant flow of memories now:
We are standing upon the parapet that looks out onto the White City and the lands of Middle-Earth, our arms about each other, our heads resting on the other's shoulder, and I feel like weeping for the uncharted contentment I have in his arms, as if the world could fall about us then and I would still know no discord.
Eldarion mounted on his first steed, his father gently holding his waist as our son grasps the reins in small hands and they move slowly through the winding streets of Minas Tirith.The people smile in affection that touches my heart with its warmth.
The relief and ecstasy I feel every time he returns through the gates after combat or simple departure, how we embrace tightly uncaring of who sees.
The first time that I noticed the threads of grey and white begin to weave their way through his dark hair, many years after they appear in the heads of other men, many years after Eldarion reached manhood, and yet the fear and apprehension at this much delayed display of age would not disappear when I first bade it.
The first time I saw his youth and age in the same room as he and Eldarion laughingly indulged in friendly sparring.
How the peace in his face only increased the fear in mine as he clasped my hand in his.
How all and everyone else left, leaving us alone together as we had been in the beginning, and our love filled the room. I felt the walls strain under the weight of the emotion in that room.
How there was no comfort for me then, and how I remembered your words as if for the first time, and wished you were there to hold me as he grew cold and my kisses could no longer warm his skin.
I grow cold, Attar, and the bed of leaves and flowers I now wrap around me like a velvet blanket.
When all my hopes and dreams came true and I beheld him as husband and King after long days spent in worry and solitude. The look on his face when I stepped out from behind the white banners, as if I was again the nameless Elven maiden he chanced upon and called Tinuviel in his wonder. The unlooked for realisation of all our unspoken hopes.
The love we shared over a lifetime that spanned many lives of many men, and yet even now becomes not enough, and I beg for one more moment, one word, one look from him to see me through this.
My heart will break.
You would chide your daughter for behaving thus were I still immortal as you, Attar, but I made my choice and there is no repentance, nor would I do so, that much I told the man I loved beyond life, through war, fear, separation, time, and ultimately death. I would not repent now, even as my tears dampen the fallen blossoms beneath me.
You never wanted me to live this way, to live as a mortal, to know death and the unknown existence of Men. I reproach myself only for having caused you pain, for nothing else.
This parting is the most bitter and the last I have to taste, and your daughter faces it as both a Queen of Gondor and an Elven maid who has faced the Shadow and defeated it. Be proud of her, for she has no regrets now, her tears are all spent, there is no more sorrow at the changed world as she closes her eyes.
Is this death, Attar? I am alone, but I must not fear, for his sake. I slip away from Middle-Earth without the aid of a ship, without a farewell at the Havens.
Must all mortals make this step alone?
I cannot speak for my fear. Am I never to see him again?
Then there is suddenly peace and light again, sleep unlike any other.
It is not as I feared.
Namarië, Attar.
My pain and grief is gone. My heart is restored to me, along with the happiness I thought could never be returned.
He is here with me.
Our hands are warm in each other's clasp, and there are many departed friends we are to see again, those who did not leave for Valinor, those who fell in battle.
The Ringbearer is with you. Remember Attar, he carries with him my love that will grow undimmed for all time.
We are walking now, through forests of light and the world we knew, and so much that once was is here again. We shall never be parted now, nor in the place we go to. Be happy for us, Attar, for now we leave the changed Middle-Earth behind for a brighter day.
He is here, I see the face, the eyes and hands I love so well, and he stands beside me again. My heart swells with joy that surpasses all I have known in life.
Fear not for me, Attar.
Estel leads me home.