Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Sorry for the formatting accident earlier...hopefully this one will be all right!
*****
When I was ten years old, I had a pet. It was the only pet I ever had, in the manner of a pet. Pets, it must be understood, can be known in two ways: the first manner being that of a companion or friend, one to relate to and share every secret with. This usually applies to dogs and horses, or creatures of such a nature. The second manner of a pet is one to protect, to look after, to see to it that the creature is happy and content. This is applied more to cats and frogs, although frogs are more oft kept simply for observation. Either manner in which a pet is kept, a close relationship is developed. Either the pet becomes dependent upon the master or the master becomes dependent upon the pet.
I met my little pet on a glorious spring day, the sort of day when the sun shines and everything in the world shines with it. The birds would chirp happily and the trees would seem more majestic than usual in the early hours of such days. Light glittered off the tops of leaves, which were dancing in the light breeze. It was the season with all the beauty of summer but none of the stifling heat. The air was sweet, the trees were full, the flowers were in bloom. The world was happy. And to share this happiness, my family breakfasted outdoors, if you call on the verandah outdoors. My brothers and my father were discussing the number of Orcs about; the twins were planning to accompany a party soon that would be hunting Orcs around the mountains, south of Imladris.
Having no interest in Orc-hunting, I merely sat, allowing my mind to wander as I picked at my food, not knowing or caring what I was putting in my mouth. "Arwen, dear, sit up straight," Nana said, and I did, shifting my weight and squaring my shoulders. It was a natural response. I think, however, that Nana must have been equally as bored with the conversation, because I had hardly slumped at all and she had practically jumped at the chance to correct me. At the time I did not realize this, but have of late had much time to meditate on the past, and judging from her tone, as I remember it, she was either as bored as I was or exasperated with my inability to sit up straight. (I prefer to think it was the former, for it implies that Nana and I had at least this in common)
It was shortly after that I noticed a blurred movement off behind Elrohir: blurred because I had trained my eyes not to focus. I squinted that I might more clearly see what it was, but I had been too slow and it was gone. With a dejected sigh I returned to my food, slumping over in my chair. This time Nana did not correct me. After a moment I felt something small and soft nudge against my left hand, which rested limply by my side. Looking down, I saw that my blur had been an orange-and-white cat no bigger than the both of my hands, and all over pink. The nose was pink, the pads on the paws were pink, and beneath the thin fur, the skin was visibly pink. It gazed up at me with a pleading look, standing on its back legs with its front paws resting on the chair beside me. "Kitty!" I exclaimed gaily, scooping the ragged little thing into my arms. My shout had drawn the attention of the rest of my family, and now they stared oddly at me.
"Arwen, put it down, it may be carrying any number of diseases," Ada said in a wary tone.
I looked at him almost defiantly, though as my looks were not unlike those of a porcelain doll I cannot say how defiant I appeared, and said, "I'm keeping him." The creature mewled hungrily, and without so much as a look at Ada yet always conscious of his actions I retrieved my glass of milk and offered it to the cat, who sniffed at it, then dipped in one paw and licked it. I nearly laughed when he dipped his entire head into the glass and came out with milky whiskers. At this point I looked back to Ada, whose face was set against my intentions, but Nana reached across the table and laid her hand atop his and looked to him, saying with her eyes something I could not understand.
"All right," Ada said. "You may keep this animal, but it will be your responsibility to care for it."
I nodded, and in that moment I swore not only my companionship and love, but my every waking moment also to that fragile little creature. As I held him against my chest I felt his heart beating, I felt how brittle his bones were, and I pledged myself to him. Years later I would think often of the cat, not as a loss, but with sudden understanding. In the darkness of my nights, I would think--not imagine, for this image came unbidden--that I was in that frail body. No one ever knew any of this, and so it was very difficult for them to understand what would come to pass in a few months' time.
The cat became my everything. I fed it from my own plate at mealtimes whenever I could get away with it. I slept with the cat beside my head on the pillow. And every chance I got, I walked in the woods with the cat by my side. Strangely, I never did name him. Many say that when one names an animal, one forms an emotional attachment to it. Although I never named the cat, he would be for ever within me. Even now, in my thoughts, he has adopted no title, although he has adopted a title of ownership: -my- cat.
Three or four months later, Elladan and Elrohir discussed the results of their orc hunt with Ada. It had been quite the success--but, Elladan maintained, there were more orcs out there, one hunt would not kill them all. This business of death and brutality frightened me. My eyes darted around, observing. Not only orcs had died on this hunt. Suddenly the world seemed a very frightening place.
"You need not worry, Arwen. In Imladris you are safe."
I know, Ada, I know I am safe, but I am scared nonetheless. If a child fears the monster in his or her closet, although their parent may open the closet door and show them that no monster is there the child loses no fear. So being told that in Imladris I was safe changed nothing.
Absently I scratched behind my ear at an itch that refused to go away. I drew my hand away when I felt a spot of blood. There, beneath my nail, was the insect. I knew it at once and moved to be rid of it but not quickly enough! "Arwen, how in Arda..." Nana did not finish this question: she knew the answer without my saying it. She looked to Ada. I fled before she could speak.
My door did not lock. I never cared much about that before, but now I could only slam the door closed and curl up on the bed. My cat mewled, jumped up beside me and began licking my face. I laughed bitterly, knowing I would never again feel his rough tongue against my skin. Having no conception of his fate, the cat went on licking away my tears and crying for my unhappiness. I cried harder for his ignorance.
"Arwen..."
"Take him," I said, refusing to look at my father. "Just take him. I hate you! I hate you so much it hurts!"
Later I would say to Galadriel that I hated my father and she would very gently tell me that I did not mean these words. Ada only said, "I am sorry you feel that way." He did take my cat, speaking softly to the animal without avail: my cat continued to cry for me. I remained on my bed, shaking with the violence of my sobs. I felt as though my best friend had been taken from me, a part of my heart ripped free.
I awoke in the evening, when the sun had set. Unconsciously my hand moved to the space beside my pillow where my cat slept--and found nothing. The events of that morning came back to me in a rush, but I did not cry. Tears faded to the past. I sat up and realized I was not in my own bed but my brother's. What was I doing there?
Silently I left Elladan's bed, reorganized the blanket and pillow (Elladan had strange sleeping habits, and although I often wondered at this, he never woke from guilt or grief in the middle of the night), and walked out of the room. I opened the door to my own room and stood in the doorway for a moment. There were no blankets on the bed. With a wave of guilt I realized that the cat's fleas would have gotten everywhere, and the blankets and pillow and probably most of my clothes were going to be washed before being safe for use again. "It's just a stupid bug," I said to no one in particular, and left the room.
Glorfindel was in the stables (but then, when was he not?) but he ignored me. Glorfindel usually ignored me: I do not think he liked me very much. For a while I sat on the gate of an empty stall and watched as he worked, mucking out stall. He did not have to do that, being a lord, but he did. I wondered why but did not ask.
Because Elladan trusted Glorfindel and confided in him, I found myself trusting him also. "Glorfindel?" I asked quietly. "How do you tell someone that you are sorry without saying what for?"
For such a time Glorfindel was silent that I did not think he had heard. Then he answered, "You must weigh your shame against your pride." He did not look at me as he spoke, and it seemed almost as though the words came from a being unseen. For another very long moment neither of us spoke, then Glorfindel said, "Perhaps you must decide if your father matters more than you do."
He knew. Glorfindel knew everything. Frightened by this, by his knowledge and judgment, I jumped off the stall door and ran. It was a strange thing to me, running, for though I walked or rode long distances often I rarely took them at a run. I did not go very far, anyway.
"Ada?" I stood in the doorway, looking into my father's study, bouncing nervously from my heels to my toes. "I do not hate you, Ada. I'm sorry I said that. It was a lie spoken of high emotion." I wanted to say, "I love you." I wanted to say, "It is difficult for me to be so alone." I wanted to say, "That animal was my best friend." I wanted to express the frustration of being the only child in Imladris, of feeling so lonely and useless, being treated like a child as I tried to grow into adulthood. Unfortunately, as a ten year old, I had neither the courage nor the understanding to say these things.
I walked away, did not run, settled myself down to sleep on the bare mattress of my bed. It was midsummer, too warm for blankets, anyway. I did not cry. My cat was never spoken of again. When someone acted unusually kind towards me I acted grateful but uncertain of their intentions, until at last the little creature who was my close friend faded into memory.
*****
To be continued
Sorry for the formatting accident earlier...hopefully this one will be all right!
*****
When I was ten years old, I had a pet. It was the only pet I ever had, in the manner of a pet. Pets, it must be understood, can be known in two ways: the first manner being that of a companion or friend, one to relate to and share every secret with. This usually applies to dogs and horses, or creatures of such a nature. The second manner of a pet is one to protect, to look after, to see to it that the creature is happy and content. This is applied more to cats and frogs, although frogs are more oft kept simply for observation. Either manner in which a pet is kept, a close relationship is developed. Either the pet becomes dependent upon the master or the master becomes dependent upon the pet.
I met my little pet on a glorious spring day, the sort of day when the sun shines and everything in the world shines with it. The birds would chirp happily and the trees would seem more majestic than usual in the early hours of such days. Light glittered off the tops of leaves, which were dancing in the light breeze. It was the season with all the beauty of summer but none of the stifling heat. The air was sweet, the trees were full, the flowers were in bloom. The world was happy. And to share this happiness, my family breakfasted outdoors, if you call on the verandah outdoors. My brothers and my father were discussing the number of Orcs about; the twins were planning to accompany a party soon that would be hunting Orcs around the mountains, south of Imladris.
Having no interest in Orc-hunting, I merely sat, allowing my mind to wander as I picked at my food, not knowing or caring what I was putting in my mouth. "Arwen, dear, sit up straight," Nana said, and I did, shifting my weight and squaring my shoulders. It was a natural response. I think, however, that Nana must have been equally as bored with the conversation, because I had hardly slumped at all and she had practically jumped at the chance to correct me. At the time I did not realize this, but have of late had much time to meditate on the past, and judging from her tone, as I remember it, she was either as bored as I was or exasperated with my inability to sit up straight. (I prefer to think it was the former, for it implies that Nana and I had at least this in common)
It was shortly after that I noticed a blurred movement off behind Elrohir: blurred because I had trained my eyes not to focus. I squinted that I might more clearly see what it was, but I had been too slow and it was gone. With a dejected sigh I returned to my food, slumping over in my chair. This time Nana did not correct me. After a moment I felt something small and soft nudge against my left hand, which rested limply by my side. Looking down, I saw that my blur had been an orange-and-white cat no bigger than the both of my hands, and all over pink. The nose was pink, the pads on the paws were pink, and beneath the thin fur, the skin was visibly pink. It gazed up at me with a pleading look, standing on its back legs with its front paws resting on the chair beside me. "Kitty!" I exclaimed gaily, scooping the ragged little thing into my arms. My shout had drawn the attention of the rest of my family, and now they stared oddly at me.
"Arwen, put it down, it may be carrying any number of diseases," Ada said in a wary tone.
I looked at him almost defiantly, though as my looks were not unlike those of a porcelain doll I cannot say how defiant I appeared, and said, "I'm keeping him." The creature mewled hungrily, and without so much as a look at Ada yet always conscious of his actions I retrieved my glass of milk and offered it to the cat, who sniffed at it, then dipped in one paw and licked it. I nearly laughed when he dipped his entire head into the glass and came out with milky whiskers. At this point I looked back to Ada, whose face was set against my intentions, but Nana reached across the table and laid her hand atop his and looked to him, saying with her eyes something I could not understand.
"All right," Ada said. "You may keep this animal, but it will be your responsibility to care for it."
I nodded, and in that moment I swore not only my companionship and love, but my every waking moment also to that fragile little creature. As I held him against my chest I felt his heart beating, I felt how brittle his bones were, and I pledged myself to him. Years later I would think often of the cat, not as a loss, but with sudden understanding. In the darkness of my nights, I would think--not imagine, for this image came unbidden--that I was in that frail body. No one ever knew any of this, and so it was very difficult for them to understand what would come to pass in a few months' time.
The cat became my everything. I fed it from my own plate at mealtimes whenever I could get away with it. I slept with the cat beside my head on the pillow. And every chance I got, I walked in the woods with the cat by my side. Strangely, I never did name him. Many say that when one names an animal, one forms an emotional attachment to it. Although I never named the cat, he would be for ever within me. Even now, in my thoughts, he has adopted no title, although he has adopted a title of ownership: -my- cat.
Three or four months later, Elladan and Elrohir discussed the results of their orc hunt with Ada. It had been quite the success--but, Elladan maintained, there were more orcs out there, one hunt would not kill them all. This business of death and brutality frightened me. My eyes darted around, observing. Not only orcs had died on this hunt. Suddenly the world seemed a very frightening place.
"You need not worry, Arwen. In Imladris you are safe."
I know, Ada, I know I am safe, but I am scared nonetheless. If a child fears the monster in his or her closet, although their parent may open the closet door and show them that no monster is there the child loses no fear. So being told that in Imladris I was safe changed nothing.
Absently I scratched behind my ear at an itch that refused to go away. I drew my hand away when I felt a spot of blood. There, beneath my nail, was the insect. I knew it at once and moved to be rid of it but not quickly enough! "Arwen, how in Arda..." Nana did not finish this question: she knew the answer without my saying it. She looked to Ada. I fled before she could speak.
My door did not lock. I never cared much about that before, but now I could only slam the door closed and curl up on the bed. My cat mewled, jumped up beside me and began licking my face. I laughed bitterly, knowing I would never again feel his rough tongue against my skin. Having no conception of his fate, the cat went on licking away my tears and crying for my unhappiness. I cried harder for his ignorance.
"Arwen..."
"Take him," I said, refusing to look at my father. "Just take him. I hate you! I hate you so much it hurts!"
Later I would say to Galadriel that I hated my father and she would very gently tell me that I did not mean these words. Ada only said, "I am sorry you feel that way." He did take my cat, speaking softly to the animal without avail: my cat continued to cry for me. I remained on my bed, shaking with the violence of my sobs. I felt as though my best friend had been taken from me, a part of my heart ripped free.
I awoke in the evening, when the sun had set. Unconsciously my hand moved to the space beside my pillow where my cat slept--and found nothing. The events of that morning came back to me in a rush, but I did not cry. Tears faded to the past. I sat up and realized I was not in my own bed but my brother's. What was I doing there?
Silently I left Elladan's bed, reorganized the blanket and pillow (Elladan had strange sleeping habits, and although I often wondered at this, he never woke from guilt or grief in the middle of the night), and walked out of the room. I opened the door to my own room and stood in the doorway for a moment. There were no blankets on the bed. With a wave of guilt I realized that the cat's fleas would have gotten everywhere, and the blankets and pillow and probably most of my clothes were going to be washed before being safe for use again. "It's just a stupid bug," I said to no one in particular, and left the room.
Glorfindel was in the stables (but then, when was he not?) but he ignored me. Glorfindel usually ignored me: I do not think he liked me very much. For a while I sat on the gate of an empty stall and watched as he worked, mucking out stall. He did not have to do that, being a lord, but he did. I wondered why but did not ask.
Because Elladan trusted Glorfindel and confided in him, I found myself trusting him also. "Glorfindel?" I asked quietly. "How do you tell someone that you are sorry without saying what for?"
For such a time Glorfindel was silent that I did not think he had heard. Then he answered, "You must weigh your shame against your pride." He did not look at me as he spoke, and it seemed almost as though the words came from a being unseen. For another very long moment neither of us spoke, then Glorfindel said, "Perhaps you must decide if your father matters more than you do."
He knew. Glorfindel knew everything. Frightened by this, by his knowledge and judgment, I jumped off the stall door and ran. It was a strange thing to me, running, for though I walked or rode long distances often I rarely took them at a run. I did not go very far, anyway.
"Ada?" I stood in the doorway, looking into my father's study, bouncing nervously from my heels to my toes. "I do not hate you, Ada. I'm sorry I said that. It was a lie spoken of high emotion." I wanted to say, "I love you." I wanted to say, "It is difficult for me to be so alone." I wanted to say, "That animal was my best friend." I wanted to express the frustration of being the only child in Imladris, of feeling so lonely and useless, being treated like a child as I tried to grow into adulthood. Unfortunately, as a ten year old, I had neither the courage nor the understanding to say these things.
I walked away, did not run, settled myself down to sleep on the bare mattress of my bed. It was midsummer, too warm for blankets, anyway. I did not cry. My cat was never spoken of again. When someone acted unusually kind towards me I acted grateful but uncertain of their intentions, until at last the little creature who was my close friend faded into memory.
*****
To be continued