Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
*****
I fear you may think yourself not missed, but you are. Often we speak of you and your letters are fulfilling in some manners, but parchment cannot hold a smile nor ring with your laughter.
Arwen, there is loneliness in Imladris without you. You are not forgotten. I remember you in Spring's every new bud, in the daisies and honeysuckle blossoms. Birds sing and you are not here to sing with them. The feathers of the tail of a hawk fell to the ground and I found them walking yestereve. I have sent them to you. Arwen...when you are again in attendance in our home, Sister, I hope we may speak. There are many things which I feel must be spoken between one person and another.
Ever your loving brother, Elrohir.
He writes to me and bids me come, and immediately I do. "Grandmother," I said, "I wish to return home to Imladris."
Lady Galadriel looked up at me but the rest of her being froze. She seemed to look through me: I looked back. She wiped the ink from the nib of her pen and rested the implement on her desk. "Very well. For your own protection, Arwen, I must know that you are fit for this journey. Are you ready to revisit that night?"
"The night I jumped out the window?" I asked her bluntly. She meant to teach me strength but I, being of a contrary mind, chose to learn sarcasm. In this instance my sarcasm took the form of false over-enthusiasm. "Sure thing, I would love nothing more than to discuss--" She silenced me with a single look. "Sorry." I was lying to placate her and we both knew it.
I knelt upon the hearth and spoke into the fire. "I would appreciate it if in this matter you would be kind rather than harsh. I need you to ask me questions, to keep me going, to hurt me by making me speak but also to help me by loving me."
She moved from behind her desk and I struggled to keep my gaze upon the flames, tracking Galadriel only by the rustling of her gown. She sat beside me and nodded. "Tell me," she commanded gently.
"I can tell you that I never tried to end my life. I only wanted to fly. I did not realize...perhaps I did not care...that elves cannot do this. There was an owl and I heard him, I became him, felt every feather ruffled by the wind and heard the scurrying feet of a fieldmouse on the floor. I spread my wings..." What was wrong with my voice? Words seemed unwilling to come and in a hoarse whisper I gasped out, "I spread my wings and took flight. I leapt from my perch to fly, to hunt. I just wanted to do as my heart commanded."
"Why did you believe this thing?" she asked. "What made you think you had the wings of an owl?" The word that came to mind then was perversion: Galadriel's voice spoke the word with tones but without syllables. I had committed a felony against our culture. We both knew it. To this day I question where her mind wandered, and whether she blamed my mortal blood.
As I told the tale I remembered wide-eyed young Arwen, her nails bitten down to stubs, clutching the wooden rail with her feet resting on the lowest slat as she watched her eldest brother and Glorfindel break a wild mare, imagining she was that horse, feeling the strength as she bucked. Arwen knew the horse so well she could predict its moves, control its moves. The reason I speak of this child as another is that she is such a different being from me, such a more believing and innocent soul, that I cannot think how she became this...me.
"When I was young I pretended to be animals. Mind you, not as some children who run about on all fours growling. I simply closed my eyes and I was soaring over Imladris, feeling the wind whistle beneath my wings! Other days I might burrow deep into the earth or bed down on warm straw. It was simply...what I did. I had even pretended to be..." I paused here and blinked, trying to recall if it had been so, or simply my imagination. "I even pretended to be you."
Galadriel blinked, taken aback. She thought of her own sorrows and the weightiness of her own heart. I thought of it, too, for coming out of my trance-like playing state I had staggered as though pressed upon by a giant hand. "It was just a stupid childhood game."
It was Galadriel whose mind caused me to withdraw from this practice of Becoming. It was magic, I believe that, but magic is a powerful and fearful. At the age of ten I sat boredly in my room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it in my outstretched hand. The night was oppressively cold, the chapping winds as potent as the stalwart heat.
The sound of footsteps drew my gaze to the window, and indeed Lady Galadriel strolled in the gardens. I could see her by pushing myself nearly out of the window completely. Dissatisfied with this, I fell back against the wall, closed my eyes and sent out my mind to find hers.
My eyes snapped open but I could not see. This was far more complex a mind than any other I had seen before, and she did not stroll for peace but deep in thought. The memories of the Two Trees, Feanor and the Valinor, of death and battle, shook me, but this was not all. The Lady felt sorrow as the deep lacerations of a lark's song on a clear morning, joy with the pain of tears and anger with the violence of destruction. All of these things flowed into me and I fought them, wrestled with concepts and powers until, at last, I sat freely panting in my room again.
That day in Lothlorien, Galadriel's eyes told me that she had felt my innocent trespass, but she spoke no such thing aloud. She nodded, and I saw in her face that she had not yet decided if I could return to Imladris. I became desperate, my heart thumping against my ribs and homesickness threatening to drown me in tears. This above all else forced me to speak. "The reason I have been upset lately, Grandmother, is that one of your marchwardens by the name of Haldir kissed me." She gasped, and I forced my story to continue, "He took me so by surprise that I knew not what to do. I hit him on the head."
"Oh, Arwen..."
Again I coerced myself into speaking more of the story, scraping raw my soul for the value of shock and that I might be sent home, "Although originally the kiss disturbed me, what kept me upset was that Haldir had done to me I had done to Legolas many summers ago. Do not be too angry with him, Grandmother, please, for though he has hurt me he has also healed me. I needed revisit that night, to see my mistakes and to face them. Too long had I run from my past That running is over. Haldir frightened me because his darkness mirrored my own. I must return to Imladris, to my childhood, to know for certain that I am no longer this person."
I looked into her eyes and saw respect, and knew that I had won the battle.
Celeborn approached me as I was packing my bags. "Arwen."
I jumped. "You frightened me!" That morning I had admitted to Galadriel Haldir's crimes and my own. At once I set to packing my things and planned to leave ere sunrise on the morrow. I would not allow Galadriel time to change her mind, nor did I wish to speak again to the marchwarden.
"Arwen, please, do not go if you are unready."
He truly cared. As with Galadriel I formed a bond of contention, this was not so with Celeborn. I trusted him. Often when I would not speak he sat beside me and spoke to me or told me jokes, but never treated me as broken. I loved him as a father, brother and friend. "I am ready, Grandfather," I promised. "Lady Galadriel would not release me into a wild world unprepared." I meant to reassure him, but inadvertently condemned his wife as something of a tyrant. Before I realized this mistake I would be a full day's ride from Lothlorien.
"You lie well, Granddaughter. If you are unhappy, Lothlorien will be ever open to you."
Tears stung my eyes. Words could not express the thrusts of my heart. I threw my arms around my grandfather and held tightly to him, desperate, thankful, grateful...so many emotions unnamed. We held each other for many minutes before drawing apart. I returned to my packing, thinking on the trip ahead, the difficulties of the road and the dangers of the solace at journey's end. These had been Celeborn's thoughts, also.
I took his hands in mine and whispered, unable to speak properly, "Now is the time for battle. May we see glory dawn and rejoice."
"Aye, my child, you will."
But those battles would hold no glory. We knew this, both of us, and accepted it. We knew that even a victory would come at high cost. When we prayed then for victory, praying to the Valar as much as to each other, we prayed truly for strength to carry on.
I did not sleep that night, but lay awake and listened to distant sounds, ruffling leaves, birds flapping their wings and dogs baying. My heart feared something unspeakable and denied me rest. Had I slept I know I would have dreamed of darkness and woken crying out.
When the moon reached its zenith I left the room. Taking cares not to make a sound, I passed to the room in which I knew my grandparents slept, hoping they would be asleep but at the same moment praying for them to be awake. Their voices carried softly into the corridor and I paused to listen.
"Are you certain of this? Galadriel, if you have Seen something, anything-- "
"I said," she interrupted in a decisive whispered, "that there is nothing. What I See, my lord, is not necessarily what will come to pass. I have examined the possibilities in my mind and if this one thing must come, if what I have Seen must pass, then Arwen's return to Imladris will have no bearing whatsoever."
Celeborn was unsure. "I will do as you say because I trust you, Galadriel, and because I believe that it is in Arwen's best interest that she return to her home. I want you to know that I am uncertain, but that I follow your judgment now. May this not be a mistake."
Galadriel sighed and for a long moment neither of them spoke. I listened, unmoving, until Celeborn's breathing deepened and he slept. The sounds of sheets moving about betrayed Galadriel as she stood and spoke to the night, "If it is a mistake, Celeborn, there is naught to be done. I may See the future on occasion, but I cannot change it. I want this no more than you."
Over two thousand years would pass before I understood this prediction, and more than seventy-two hours before I would sleep.
*****
To Be Continued
*****
I fear you may think yourself not missed, but you are. Often we speak of you and your letters are fulfilling in some manners, but parchment cannot hold a smile nor ring with your laughter.
Arwen, there is loneliness in Imladris without you. You are not forgotten. I remember you in Spring's every new bud, in the daisies and honeysuckle blossoms. Birds sing and you are not here to sing with them. The feathers of the tail of a hawk fell to the ground and I found them walking yestereve. I have sent them to you. Arwen...when you are again in attendance in our home, Sister, I hope we may speak. There are many things which I feel must be spoken between one person and another.
Ever your loving brother, Elrohir.
He writes to me and bids me come, and immediately I do. "Grandmother," I said, "I wish to return home to Imladris."
Lady Galadriel looked up at me but the rest of her being froze. She seemed to look through me: I looked back. She wiped the ink from the nib of her pen and rested the implement on her desk. "Very well. For your own protection, Arwen, I must know that you are fit for this journey. Are you ready to revisit that night?"
"The night I jumped out the window?" I asked her bluntly. She meant to teach me strength but I, being of a contrary mind, chose to learn sarcasm. In this instance my sarcasm took the form of false over-enthusiasm. "Sure thing, I would love nothing more than to discuss--" She silenced me with a single look. "Sorry." I was lying to placate her and we both knew it.
I knelt upon the hearth and spoke into the fire. "I would appreciate it if in this matter you would be kind rather than harsh. I need you to ask me questions, to keep me going, to hurt me by making me speak but also to help me by loving me."
She moved from behind her desk and I struggled to keep my gaze upon the flames, tracking Galadriel only by the rustling of her gown. She sat beside me and nodded. "Tell me," she commanded gently.
"I can tell you that I never tried to end my life. I only wanted to fly. I did not realize...perhaps I did not care...that elves cannot do this. There was an owl and I heard him, I became him, felt every feather ruffled by the wind and heard the scurrying feet of a fieldmouse on the floor. I spread my wings..." What was wrong with my voice? Words seemed unwilling to come and in a hoarse whisper I gasped out, "I spread my wings and took flight. I leapt from my perch to fly, to hunt. I just wanted to do as my heart commanded."
"Why did you believe this thing?" she asked. "What made you think you had the wings of an owl?" The word that came to mind then was perversion: Galadriel's voice spoke the word with tones but without syllables. I had committed a felony against our culture. We both knew it. To this day I question where her mind wandered, and whether she blamed my mortal blood.
As I told the tale I remembered wide-eyed young Arwen, her nails bitten down to stubs, clutching the wooden rail with her feet resting on the lowest slat as she watched her eldest brother and Glorfindel break a wild mare, imagining she was that horse, feeling the strength as she bucked. Arwen knew the horse so well she could predict its moves, control its moves. The reason I speak of this child as another is that she is such a different being from me, such a more believing and innocent soul, that I cannot think how she became this...me.
"When I was young I pretended to be animals. Mind you, not as some children who run about on all fours growling. I simply closed my eyes and I was soaring over Imladris, feeling the wind whistle beneath my wings! Other days I might burrow deep into the earth or bed down on warm straw. It was simply...what I did. I had even pretended to be..." I paused here and blinked, trying to recall if it had been so, or simply my imagination. "I even pretended to be you."
Galadriel blinked, taken aback. She thought of her own sorrows and the weightiness of her own heart. I thought of it, too, for coming out of my trance-like playing state I had staggered as though pressed upon by a giant hand. "It was just a stupid childhood game."
It was Galadriel whose mind caused me to withdraw from this practice of Becoming. It was magic, I believe that, but magic is a powerful and fearful. At the age of ten I sat boredly in my room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it in my outstretched hand. The night was oppressively cold, the chapping winds as potent as the stalwart heat.
The sound of footsteps drew my gaze to the window, and indeed Lady Galadriel strolled in the gardens. I could see her by pushing myself nearly out of the window completely. Dissatisfied with this, I fell back against the wall, closed my eyes and sent out my mind to find hers.
My eyes snapped open but I could not see. This was far more complex a mind than any other I had seen before, and she did not stroll for peace but deep in thought. The memories of the Two Trees, Feanor and the Valinor, of death and battle, shook me, but this was not all. The Lady felt sorrow as the deep lacerations of a lark's song on a clear morning, joy with the pain of tears and anger with the violence of destruction. All of these things flowed into me and I fought them, wrestled with concepts and powers until, at last, I sat freely panting in my room again.
That day in Lothlorien, Galadriel's eyes told me that she had felt my innocent trespass, but she spoke no such thing aloud. She nodded, and I saw in her face that she had not yet decided if I could return to Imladris. I became desperate, my heart thumping against my ribs and homesickness threatening to drown me in tears. This above all else forced me to speak. "The reason I have been upset lately, Grandmother, is that one of your marchwardens by the name of Haldir kissed me." She gasped, and I forced my story to continue, "He took me so by surprise that I knew not what to do. I hit him on the head."
"Oh, Arwen..."
Again I coerced myself into speaking more of the story, scraping raw my soul for the value of shock and that I might be sent home, "Although originally the kiss disturbed me, what kept me upset was that Haldir had done to me I had done to Legolas many summers ago. Do not be too angry with him, Grandmother, please, for though he has hurt me he has also healed me. I needed revisit that night, to see my mistakes and to face them. Too long had I run from my past That running is over. Haldir frightened me because his darkness mirrored my own. I must return to Imladris, to my childhood, to know for certain that I am no longer this person."
I looked into her eyes and saw respect, and knew that I had won the battle.
Celeborn approached me as I was packing my bags. "Arwen."
I jumped. "You frightened me!" That morning I had admitted to Galadriel Haldir's crimes and my own. At once I set to packing my things and planned to leave ere sunrise on the morrow. I would not allow Galadriel time to change her mind, nor did I wish to speak again to the marchwarden.
"Arwen, please, do not go if you are unready."
He truly cared. As with Galadriel I formed a bond of contention, this was not so with Celeborn. I trusted him. Often when I would not speak he sat beside me and spoke to me or told me jokes, but never treated me as broken. I loved him as a father, brother and friend. "I am ready, Grandfather," I promised. "Lady Galadriel would not release me into a wild world unprepared." I meant to reassure him, but inadvertently condemned his wife as something of a tyrant. Before I realized this mistake I would be a full day's ride from Lothlorien.
"You lie well, Granddaughter. If you are unhappy, Lothlorien will be ever open to you."
Tears stung my eyes. Words could not express the thrusts of my heart. I threw my arms around my grandfather and held tightly to him, desperate, thankful, grateful...so many emotions unnamed. We held each other for many minutes before drawing apart. I returned to my packing, thinking on the trip ahead, the difficulties of the road and the dangers of the solace at journey's end. These had been Celeborn's thoughts, also.
I took his hands in mine and whispered, unable to speak properly, "Now is the time for battle. May we see glory dawn and rejoice."
"Aye, my child, you will."
But those battles would hold no glory. We knew this, both of us, and accepted it. We knew that even a victory would come at high cost. When we prayed then for victory, praying to the Valar as much as to each other, we prayed truly for strength to carry on.
I did not sleep that night, but lay awake and listened to distant sounds, ruffling leaves, birds flapping their wings and dogs baying. My heart feared something unspeakable and denied me rest. Had I slept I know I would have dreamed of darkness and woken crying out.
When the moon reached its zenith I left the room. Taking cares not to make a sound, I passed to the room in which I knew my grandparents slept, hoping they would be asleep but at the same moment praying for them to be awake. Their voices carried softly into the corridor and I paused to listen.
"Are you certain of this? Galadriel, if you have Seen something, anything-- "
"I said," she interrupted in a decisive whispered, "that there is nothing. What I See, my lord, is not necessarily what will come to pass. I have examined the possibilities in my mind and if this one thing must come, if what I have Seen must pass, then Arwen's return to Imladris will have no bearing whatsoever."
Celeborn was unsure. "I will do as you say because I trust you, Galadriel, and because I believe that it is in Arwen's best interest that she return to her home. I want you to know that I am uncertain, but that I follow your judgment now. May this not be a mistake."
Galadriel sighed and for a long moment neither of them spoke. I listened, unmoving, until Celeborn's breathing deepened and he slept. The sounds of sheets moving about betrayed Galadriel as she stood and spoke to the night, "If it is a mistake, Celeborn, there is naught to be done. I may See the future on occasion, but I cannot change it. I want this no more than you."
Over two thousand years would pass before I understood this prediction, and more than seventy-two hours before I would sleep.
*****
To Be Continued