" A heart can be broken, but it will keep beating just the same." --Ninny
Threadgoode, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
*****
Amin-rîn. . .nallon. Nain dim-nin na vanwe. [My remembrance. . .I cry. May it be my sad(ness) is lost.]
"Arwen?"
I looked up from the book in my lap to see a figure standing nearby, his identity hidden by the blinding sunlight. Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I saw that the Prince of Mirkwood had spoken my name. He was looking at me as though he had never seen me before, and for a moment I could not conceive of why. Then I understood: Legolas saw me last as a crying child, and here I was nearly a woman.
Gently I closed my book and rested it on the stone bench beside me, then stood and smiled at Legolas. We had been friends once, he and I. A stirring within me called to those days, ashes blown by a wind that can scatter them but has not the strength to rekindle the blaze. The wood of the fire has burned long ago, now nothing but charred fragments, so brittle, leaving a mark at the slightest touch. Which of us would touch today, which walk away with a mark? I curtsied to my one-time friend, then looked to him.
"I--My word, Arwen, I knew you were here but not who you were. When last I saw you, you were only this high and such a child. . ."
It held truth, what he said. I had grown at least a foot, if not more, since last he saw me. But what was I now? Beautiful, many would have said, in answer to my question. Standing before Legolas then, I found myself ashamed of my beauty and painfully aware of it. I wore my hair freely and colors of girlhood, pastel and brightness adorning my body. It seemed unfair that I should be so ugly inside and beautiful from without.
Legolas, too, was a beautiful person, and I wondered if he felt unworthy, if inside he, too, lacked goodness. He looked like a child that day, smiling as though all the world a great joke, his hair braided neatly but without the meanest appearance of care.
Comparing us, I found that two beautiful people are not necessary at all similar. His smile was carefree and mine burdened, his hair blond, neat, braided and thin while mine was dark, thick and free. His blue eyes, too, were carefree and warm, while my grey orbs were closed and cold. He looked happy and surprised. I looked sad, though I smiled.
'You look to break my heart,' Celeborn said to me. I knew the look he meant, the feeling as my muscles form the expression of happiness through sorrow. Talking with Celeborn seemed a pleasant affair, for he spoke little and meant every word he said. His words were puzzles which I loved to decode.
"Forgive me, Arwen, if I have offended," Legolas said. "If this is why you will not speak to me."
I shook my head to indicate a negative, and slid my arms around him to tell him: no, it is not you, you are my friend, Legolas, do not feel sorry. When I withdrew he was looking oddly at me, and I knew that he thought this no different from that day when I was twelve years old. I shook my head, but his expression did not falter.
So Legolas would be marked that day, by misunderstanding and a lack of communication he would walk away with a grey dusting on his hands easily removed, if one could see it. If I had to mark a turning point in my young adult life, it would be there, after Legolas said nervously, "Well, I. . .farewell, then. I will see you tomorrow perhaps?" Watching him walk away, I felt a friendship ending and, though I mourned it, the mourning was little, for as the child does not mourn the moon which is suddenly gone, for slowly it has waned, I had seen my friendship deteriorate and dwindle.
When Legolas could not longer be said to be my friend, I was not sorry. The last threads of my old life had gone. It was as the fly struggling for release from the spider's web that Legolas severed me, freeing me my confines. Even I knew not who I would become, but now I was free to learn who that person was--or I would be free, by nightfall tomorrow, I reckoned. And I was right.
That very night well after dark, I sat in the room appointed to me, "my room" one might have called it, I sat on my bed and sketched in a little book I kept. Many did not understand why I elected to sit upon the bed instead of sitting at the desk. Many did not consider that I found the bed more comfortable, and would have chosen to sit on the ground had the bed not been available. The things I did puzzled many, but were to me perfectly logical.
Perhaps my logic simply zigs and zags that it may not be caught nor well followed. Yes, this is an image I enjoy, my logic an awkward path zipping this way and that, and that of those trying to follow a straight line, crossing at times with the path of mine but never melding, never joining my pathway.
"My lady Arwen?" A girl by the name of Ainadel stood in the doorway. Ainadel supposedly was an apprentice, to a seamstress or some such probably, but I had never heard who her master was, and she seemed perfectly content to carry messages from one person to another. The moment I heard her voice, I knew.
"Forgive the interruption, my lady, but Prince Legolas sends word that he is sorry, but business has called him swiftly from Lothlorien. He regrets that he will be unable to reenter your company this trip and hopes that he will see you again soon."
Had he asked that the message be delivered late, that I would be unable to follow or find him before he left? Did he hate me then, or fear me, or simply not want to hurt me? Legolas's attempts to spare my feelings through euphemisms were kind, but misplaced. Clearly he still thought of me as a child, and not unfairly, but now he had done me the greatest kindness of all: he had freed me.
I looked to Ainadel and said, "Thank you, Ainadel."
Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she stared, then scurried away. I nodded after her. Privacy would not do for me now, my voice was rusty and wanted for practice. I sat up and cracked what joints I could, suddenly feeling rusty all over. Galadriel warns me against cracking my knuckles, saying the joints will swell. This seems an odd comment from her: she is not the sort to say such things, to speak of appearance and propriety, and her fingers, which on occasion I have felt, feel cold as stone. Some of her warnings amuse me, this among them.
I did not practice my newfound ability on Galadriel, for I had much to say to her and needed to be certain before I began that my voice would remain steady. Instead I sought out my grandfather, who indeed was my grandfather in more than title. I do not feel I have said this to him enough. I love him. Celeborn, I love you.
That day, I found him in his study. I put upon myself a guise of quietness and shyness, that which I had long worn. Acting to befit my guise, I knocked, awaited his permission, and entered. Oh, it was too splendid, and I felt so giddy. The prospect of a new me and the renewed freedom of speech set my heart aflutter. Biting my lip, I entered Celeborn's study in silence.
"Arwen. Is it not too late an hour for you to be wandering about?" he asked affectionately but tiredly.
I waited until Celeborn was looking away to say, "No later than it is for you to be working." He chuckled in an approving, amused sort of way, as if to say that this was too true, then he looked up sharply. I smiled, but not a smile to break his heart.
It felt good when Celeborn hugged me that night, which was, I believe, the second time since I arrived in Lothlorien that he did so. Usually there are two emotions which evoke the need for a hug, and these are quite possibly the two most basic emotions in the world: happiness and sadness. By implication, I induced feelings of unhappiness and happiness, an interestingly paradoxical compilation.
Here is my meaning spelled out: there were two things I never did in Lothlorien, not until that moment, one was speak and the other was cry. Because I never spoke, only my smile allowed others to know I was happy, and I was not. When I smiled it was forced, a smile to break a heart. But also, I never cried, for tears are weakness. I was hurt and angry. What did I seek more than strength? There is nothing.
So as I never spoke and my heart weighed heavily with sorrow, I brought unhappiness. As I never cried nor complained, I implied perhaps not happiness but certainly contention. My years as a walking paradox had been of interest, and then they ended.
"Celeborn?" I asked him, sitting opposite him at his desk after having been hugged for the first time in years. "Do you ever feel that. . .that you are second to Galadriel?"
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked without meeting my eyes. Because of this I knew that he understood my meaning.
"Well, at home in Imladris, if my mother says yes and my father says no, the answer is no. But here in Lothlorien, if you say no and she says yes, what is the answer?" I asked, unable to think of a much better analogy.
Celeborn looked into my eyes then and said, "Let me tell you something about love, Arwen. When you love someone you stand beside them, even if this means standing behind them. If she says no and I say yes, the answer is that she and I will discuss the matter and find a solution together. I do not answer to Galadriel and she does not answer to me. She is simply. . .the greater presence. I am content to fade into the background and watch her, not out of laziness but because I trust her and because I love her. Galadriel enjoys a little confrontation every now and again; I do not. Also, she is beautiful when she argues."
I shook my head. "Then how are you of equal power?"
"Ah, child. You see much, but not all. Some things must be experienced to be understood."
The next morning I awoke feeling strong. Today, I knew, I would test my newfound skill. Sitting across from Galadriel at breakfast that morning, I knew Celeborn had kept his silence, for she said nothing nor looked as though she had a slight inclination. Celeborn and I smiled slyly at each other. At last, sensing the moment appropriate, I swallowed a lump of bread and asked, "You do not like my father much, do you, Galadriel?"
I do believe she nearly spat out a mouthful of juice in surprise. How I would have loved to see that! Nonchalantly, I raised my cup of milk to my lips, if only to hide my smile. Galadriel recovered quickly, and she said, "Your father and I. . .have had our differences, yes."
"But you dislike him? It is not as though you have a friendly argument between you." Hours ago I would not speak. Now I would argue. How confused Galadriel must have been then!
"This is true," she admitted.
"I wondered, if I may ask--may I ask?" The question sounded innocent and natural, but in truth I had choreographed the entire conversation in my head the night before as I lay awake in bed, too giddy for sleep.
Whether out of happiness for my new vocal expression or because she actually cared what I wished to say, Galadriel granted that I might ask whatever I wished.
"Why do you not like him? Surely, if you allowed your daughter to marry him, you must have thought well of him once."
"Lord Elrond and I have simply not seen eye to eye on too many occasions," Galadriel said. "We do not hate each other, Arwen, nor are we enemies, we are simply not friends. Perhaps when he had grown I treated him too much like a child, for I did know him in his youth. Perhaps I tried too often to interfere with the way he raised his children."
Her answer left me open-mouthed in shock. She spoke not only the truth, but the blatantly unedited facts. This is not what I had expected. "When you brought me here," I asked, struggling to recover my calm, "did you mean only to spite him? Or did you think that he would harm me more than help me?" I looked daggers at her, daring her to answer me honestly.
Galadriel sighed. "I thought it best for you, child, because Elrond cannot see as I can and because in Lothlorien none knew of your actions. Your reactions were. . .not at all as I expected."
This hurt me, this knowledge that she thought me an immature child, as though I were mute by election! Nevertheless, I replied, "I fail to see the logic in displacing an emotionally troubled youth."
"You are not a mother."
Ah. The mother card. The response, 'You are not my mother,' came to me unbidden, but then, just as I opened my mouth to speak these words, I realized that I was being tested. "Nay, I am not, but though situation changes emotion remains the same."
Galadriel looked at me with grave interest, then she nodded. "You are yet half-child, but some day you will be a sharp woman. The fire within you burns, Arwen. It is starved of fuel. Now ends the period of starvation and enters a period of great educations, should you deem to learn them." She underestimated me then, I felt, but said nothing. She knew my thought and nodded. "Perhaps one quarter child."
Then she drew something from the folds of her skirt and tossed it to me. I caught the projectile and looked at it, surprised. "Just in case you find need to whet your tongue," she said, and she smiled. I slipped Elladan's knife into my pocket and never took it out again. Whenever I felt nervous, I would finger that knife and think of my brother, then I would feel strong again.
Galadriel left the flet then, her radiant self swishing and sweeping to somewhere, I could not have said where, leaving Celeborn and I in silence. Stunned, I tipped my head back and emptied drank the remained of my milk. Celeborn looked at me and smiled. "You see what I mean? Beautiful."
Amin-rin. . .u-nallon, na sinome yallume.. [My remembrance. . .I do not cry, I am here, in this place, at last.]
*****
To be continued
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
*****
Amin-rîn. . .nallon. Nain dim-nin na vanwe. [My remembrance. . .I cry. May it be my sad(ness) is lost.]
"Arwen?"
I looked up from the book in my lap to see a figure standing nearby, his identity hidden by the blinding sunlight. Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I saw that the Prince of Mirkwood had spoken my name. He was looking at me as though he had never seen me before, and for a moment I could not conceive of why. Then I understood: Legolas saw me last as a crying child, and here I was nearly a woman.
Gently I closed my book and rested it on the stone bench beside me, then stood and smiled at Legolas. We had been friends once, he and I. A stirring within me called to those days, ashes blown by a wind that can scatter them but has not the strength to rekindle the blaze. The wood of the fire has burned long ago, now nothing but charred fragments, so brittle, leaving a mark at the slightest touch. Which of us would touch today, which walk away with a mark? I curtsied to my one-time friend, then looked to him.
"I--My word, Arwen, I knew you were here but not who you were. When last I saw you, you were only this high and such a child. . ."
It held truth, what he said. I had grown at least a foot, if not more, since last he saw me. But what was I now? Beautiful, many would have said, in answer to my question. Standing before Legolas then, I found myself ashamed of my beauty and painfully aware of it. I wore my hair freely and colors of girlhood, pastel and brightness adorning my body. It seemed unfair that I should be so ugly inside and beautiful from without.
Legolas, too, was a beautiful person, and I wondered if he felt unworthy, if inside he, too, lacked goodness. He looked like a child that day, smiling as though all the world a great joke, his hair braided neatly but without the meanest appearance of care.
Comparing us, I found that two beautiful people are not necessary at all similar. His smile was carefree and mine burdened, his hair blond, neat, braided and thin while mine was dark, thick and free. His blue eyes, too, were carefree and warm, while my grey orbs were closed and cold. He looked happy and surprised. I looked sad, though I smiled.
'You look to break my heart,' Celeborn said to me. I knew the look he meant, the feeling as my muscles form the expression of happiness through sorrow. Talking with Celeborn seemed a pleasant affair, for he spoke little and meant every word he said. His words were puzzles which I loved to decode.
"Forgive me, Arwen, if I have offended," Legolas said. "If this is why you will not speak to me."
I shook my head to indicate a negative, and slid my arms around him to tell him: no, it is not you, you are my friend, Legolas, do not feel sorry. When I withdrew he was looking oddly at me, and I knew that he thought this no different from that day when I was twelve years old. I shook my head, but his expression did not falter.
So Legolas would be marked that day, by misunderstanding and a lack of communication he would walk away with a grey dusting on his hands easily removed, if one could see it. If I had to mark a turning point in my young adult life, it would be there, after Legolas said nervously, "Well, I. . .farewell, then. I will see you tomorrow perhaps?" Watching him walk away, I felt a friendship ending and, though I mourned it, the mourning was little, for as the child does not mourn the moon which is suddenly gone, for slowly it has waned, I had seen my friendship deteriorate and dwindle.
When Legolas could not longer be said to be my friend, I was not sorry. The last threads of my old life had gone. It was as the fly struggling for release from the spider's web that Legolas severed me, freeing me my confines. Even I knew not who I would become, but now I was free to learn who that person was--or I would be free, by nightfall tomorrow, I reckoned. And I was right.
That very night well after dark, I sat in the room appointed to me, "my room" one might have called it, I sat on my bed and sketched in a little book I kept. Many did not understand why I elected to sit upon the bed instead of sitting at the desk. Many did not consider that I found the bed more comfortable, and would have chosen to sit on the ground had the bed not been available. The things I did puzzled many, but were to me perfectly logical.
Perhaps my logic simply zigs and zags that it may not be caught nor well followed. Yes, this is an image I enjoy, my logic an awkward path zipping this way and that, and that of those trying to follow a straight line, crossing at times with the path of mine but never melding, never joining my pathway.
"My lady Arwen?" A girl by the name of Ainadel stood in the doorway. Ainadel supposedly was an apprentice, to a seamstress or some such probably, but I had never heard who her master was, and she seemed perfectly content to carry messages from one person to another. The moment I heard her voice, I knew.
"Forgive the interruption, my lady, but Prince Legolas sends word that he is sorry, but business has called him swiftly from Lothlorien. He regrets that he will be unable to reenter your company this trip and hopes that he will see you again soon."
Had he asked that the message be delivered late, that I would be unable to follow or find him before he left? Did he hate me then, or fear me, or simply not want to hurt me? Legolas's attempts to spare my feelings through euphemisms were kind, but misplaced. Clearly he still thought of me as a child, and not unfairly, but now he had done me the greatest kindness of all: he had freed me.
I looked to Ainadel and said, "Thank you, Ainadel."
Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment she stared, then scurried away. I nodded after her. Privacy would not do for me now, my voice was rusty and wanted for practice. I sat up and cracked what joints I could, suddenly feeling rusty all over. Galadriel warns me against cracking my knuckles, saying the joints will swell. This seems an odd comment from her: she is not the sort to say such things, to speak of appearance and propriety, and her fingers, which on occasion I have felt, feel cold as stone. Some of her warnings amuse me, this among them.
I did not practice my newfound ability on Galadriel, for I had much to say to her and needed to be certain before I began that my voice would remain steady. Instead I sought out my grandfather, who indeed was my grandfather in more than title. I do not feel I have said this to him enough. I love him. Celeborn, I love you.
That day, I found him in his study. I put upon myself a guise of quietness and shyness, that which I had long worn. Acting to befit my guise, I knocked, awaited his permission, and entered. Oh, it was too splendid, and I felt so giddy. The prospect of a new me and the renewed freedom of speech set my heart aflutter. Biting my lip, I entered Celeborn's study in silence.
"Arwen. Is it not too late an hour for you to be wandering about?" he asked affectionately but tiredly.
I waited until Celeborn was looking away to say, "No later than it is for you to be working." He chuckled in an approving, amused sort of way, as if to say that this was too true, then he looked up sharply. I smiled, but not a smile to break his heart.
It felt good when Celeborn hugged me that night, which was, I believe, the second time since I arrived in Lothlorien that he did so. Usually there are two emotions which evoke the need for a hug, and these are quite possibly the two most basic emotions in the world: happiness and sadness. By implication, I induced feelings of unhappiness and happiness, an interestingly paradoxical compilation.
Here is my meaning spelled out: there were two things I never did in Lothlorien, not until that moment, one was speak and the other was cry. Because I never spoke, only my smile allowed others to know I was happy, and I was not. When I smiled it was forced, a smile to break a heart. But also, I never cried, for tears are weakness. I was hurt and angry. What did I seek more than strength? There is nothing.
So as I never spoke and my heart weighed heavily with sorrow, I brought unhappiness. As I never cried nor complained, I implied perhaps not happiness but certainly contention. My years as a walking paradox had been of interest, and then they ended.
"Celeborn?" I asked him, sitting opposite him at his desk after having been hugged for the first time in years. "Do you ever feel that. . .that you are second to Galadriel?"
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked without meeting my eyes. Because of this I knew that he understood my meaning.
"Well, at home in Imladris, if my mother says yes and my father says no, the answer is no. But here in Lothlorien, if you say no and she says yes, what is the answer?" I asked, unable to think of a much better analogy.
Celeborn looked into my eyes then and said, "Let me tell you something about love, Arwen. When you love someone you stand beside them, even if this means standing behind them. If she says no and I say yes, the answer is that she and I will discuss the matter and find a solution together. I do not answer to Galadriel and she does not answer to me. She is simply. . .the greater presence. I am content to fade into the background and watch her, not out of laziness but because I trust her and because I love her. Galadriel enjoys a little confrontation every now and again; I do not. Also, she is beautiful when she argues."
I shook my head. "Then how are you of equal power?"
"Ah, child. You see much, but not all. Some things must be experienced to be understood."
The next morning I awoke feeling strong. Today, I knew, I would test my newfound skill. Sitting across from Galadriel at breakfast that morning, I knew Celeborn had kept his silence, for she said nothing nor looked as though she had a slight inclination. Celeborn and I smiled slyly at each other. At last, sensing the moment appropriate, I swallowed a lump of bread and asked, "You do not like my father much, do you, Galadriel?"
I do believe she nearly spat out a mouthful of juice in surprise. How I would have loved to see that! Nonchalantly, I raised my cup of milk to my lips, if only to hide my smile. Galadriel recovered quickly, and she said, "Your father and I. . .have had our differences, yes."
"But you dislike him? It is not as though you have a friendly argument between you." Hours ago I would not speak. Now I would argue. How confused Galadriel must have been then!
"This is true," she admitted.
"I wondered, if I may ask--may I ask?" The question sounded innocent and natural, but in truth I had choreographed the entire conversation in my head the night before as I lay awake in bed, too giddy for sleep.
Whether out of happiness for my new vocal expression or because she actually cared what I wished to say, Galadriel granted that I might ask whatever I wished.
"Why do you not like him? Surely, if you allowed your daughter to marry him, you must have thought well of him once."
"Lord Elrond and I have simply not seen eye to eye on too many occasions," Galadriel said. "We do not hate each other, Arwen, nor are we enemies, we are simply not friends. Perhaps when he had grown I treated him too much like a child, for I did know him in his youth. Perhaps I tried too often to interfere with the way he raised his children."
Her answer left me open-mouthed in shock. She spoke not only the truth, but the blatantly unedited facts. This is not what I had expected. "When you brought me here," I asked, struggling to recover my calm, "did you mean only to spite him? Or did you think that he would harm me more than help me?" I looked daggers at her, daring her to answer me honestly.
Galadriel sighed. "I thought it best for you, child, because Elrond cannot see as I can and because in Lothlorien none knew of your actions. Your reactions were. . .not at all as I expected."
This hurt me, this knowledge that she thought me an immature child, as though I were mute by election! Nevertheless, I replied, "I fail to see the logic in displacing an emotionally troubled youth."
"You are not a mother."
Ah. The mother card. The response, 'You are not my mother,' came to me unbidden, but then, just as I opened my mouth to speak these words, I realized that I was being tested. "Nay, I am not, but though situation changes emotion remains the same."
Galadriel looked at me with grave interest, then she nodded. "You are yet half-child, but some day you will be a sharp woman. The fire within you burns, Arwen. It is starved of fuel. Now ends the period of starvation and enters a period of great educations, should you deem to learn them." She underestimated me then, I felt, but said nothing. She knew my thought and nodded. "Perhaps one quarter child."
Then she drew something from the folds of her skirt and tossed it to me. I caught the projectile and looked at it, surprised. "Just in case you find need to whet your tongue," she said, and she smiled. I slipped Elladan's knife into my pocket and never took it out again. Whenever I felt nervous, I would finger that knife and think of my brother, then I would feel strong again.
Galadriel left the flet then, her radiant self swishing and sweeping to somewhere, I could not have said where, leaving Celeborn and I in silence. Stunned, I tipped my head back and emptied drank the remained of my milk. Celeborn looked at me and smiled. "You see what I mean? Beautiful."
Amin-rin. . .u-nallon, na sinome yallume.. [My remembrance. . .I do not cry, I am here, in this place, at last.]
*****
To be continued