"Do I light up your day?"
"Uh, uhm, sometimes."
--from Bio-science class, seventh grade
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
*****
They tell me now that it was an act of kindness. I was a child, they say, and the only of my time. They wished for me to have companionship as they did as youths. Otherwise, things would be quite unfair. Loneliness is an awful fate for a child to suffer, they say. I believe them about loneliness. The rest is a lie, I am quite certain.
It was summer, not a boiling hot summer when everything, including skin, becomes sticky and uncomfortable and heat lines rise from the ground, but a mild summer, light breezes blowing throughout the valley. Legolas was in Imladris, and at the moment in which my memory begins sitting across from me on my bed. An open book lay between us, my letter-tiles spread across the pages. This was an enjoyable game we had invented: one person spelled out one word with the tiles, then the other used one of the first player's tiles to spell a second word. I had spelled 'morbid', 'open', and 'lore'. Legolas had spelled 'thrice' and 'fowl', and on his turn spelled out 'Eru'.
"That is not fair!" I protested. He had not allowed me to spell 'Elrohir' on my last go, saying no names allowed. 'Eru' was certainly a name! "You are cheating, Legolas."
"'Eru' and 'Elrohir' are different," he replied.
"I know they are different, but they are both names. If you want to spell 'Eru', we should have to go back one turn and I should be allowed to spell 'Elrohir'."
"Then 'Eru' would not fit. Why are you so upset about this?"
"I am not upset. You are cheating and it is not fair."
Legolas' insistence that I took the game far too seriously and the shame burning within me for months afterwards composed the unhappy memory which asserted itself as I descended into the valley of Imladris. Perhaps I expected to feel home approaching me, and yet...after so many years, to return as a near-adult to a place which I knew only from the mind of a child, I felt a sense of wonder and dread. What was this place to which I returned? It was home, but what was it? I knew nothing.
I realized then that when I left Lothlorien for Imladris, I did so to challenge myself and in a way to escape Lady Galadriel, for she and I never would overcome our differences (I believed), but more than anything I left Lothlorien to achieve a goal. "Forgive me," I whispered to the winds, swallowing tears. Whose forgiveness did I beg? Quietly, ever so quietly, I amended, "Forgive me, Grandfather."
I found my mother in her flower garden, tending the plants with soil on her hands and clothing. She had an aspect of sadness to her, but not an overbearing sorrow. She worked on, lived on, brave and boldly forgetting and forgoing weepiness in favor of strength. In this I wondered that I might have brought this sorrow upon her, that the loss of her only daughter drove Celebrían to this subtle mourning.
"Nana?" In seven and three tens of years this word had not graced my lips; it felt awkward now and hardly a whisper. Celebrían paused, uncertain if she heard or simply imagined the word, then returned to her work. "Nana," I said again, louder this time. She looked up and saw me: in that moment I saw my mother as my father must have seen, knew how he must have felt as a stranger in a strange land to behold this fair creature and feel at home.
"Arwen." She said the name with no awkwardness, addressing me as though I had been gone days, not years. Sparkle and magic, my mother: never exhausted, graceful in sorrow, calm under pressure. When she hugged me I rested my head on her shoulder and wished I could somehow absorb these virtues from her. "You have grown," she observed, holding me at an arm's length. "Mother must not have imparted this to you, so I will--chin up, girl."
She sounded so like Lady Galadriel that I laughed, holding my chin parallel to the ground and straightening my shoulders. Had Galadriel written? Did Celebrían know that for so many years I refused to speak? "Is it good to be home?" she asked.
"Am I?" I asked bluntly. "Forgive me," I added quickly, realizing what I had just said, "I only feel a little awkward here, after so many years."
Celebrían smiled gently. "I understand. Your father is in his study--why don't you go brighten his day?"
She showed mercy upon my return to Imladris, treating me with welcome and love yet without any sign of desperation. She made clear the fact that she had missed me, but promptly moved on from that topic. My father, on the other hand...suffice to say though I had always known him to have physical strength, I did not appreciate this fact until he had pressed the air from my lungs. I smiled, thinking of the saying, "True love hurts."
"It's wonderful to be home," I sighed happily, upon being released from my father's embrace.
"It is wonderful to have you home," he answered.
My father's happiness was such that I knew it for a contrast without having seen his sorrow. Whereas Celebrían wore her sorrows deeply, well hidden beneath a pleasant exterior, Elrond bothered naught with this concealment. Perhaps her strength came of his weakness. Perhaps she supported him because he could not support himself.
Surprised, I checked myself. 'He is still my father,' I thought, 'and as such I ought to respect him.' In later years, when experience hardened his emotions, I thought of my homecoming and wept. The difficulties of his childhood left my father a loving if misguided man, misguided only for knowing little of women. Tragedies later rendered him distantly affectionate towards his children, distant to others.
Harsh thoughts towards my father drove me to be obedient in later years and falsely affectionate when I could not be so truly.
My brothers I found sparring, easily located by the high, clear ringing of metal against metal. They wielded swords against each other, not wooden practice weaponry but true steel blades. Their display of arrogance failed to impress me: why did they assume those treacherous weapons would never turn against them? Even the most talented warrior errs.
Watching the twins, not so identical to me, sparring in the courtyard, I hoisted myself onto the rail and sat. Weapons and battle came easily to Elladan; one might think he came into this world with a sword in his hand-- figuratively, of course, for a literal such display would surely injure our mother sorely! Elrohir, however, learned everything, and so lacked Elladan's soul in fighting. Both had impeccable technique and skill, but Elrohir's motions were so scholarly, lacking the spark and flame of Elladan's.
When they finished their mock battle I approached them. "Has it been so long you have forgotten me?" I asked, throwing my arms around my brothers.
"Never that's our little sister!" Elladan joked.
"Imposter!" Elrohir added. "Oh, we have missed you!" He returned my embrace. "How are you?"
Somehow this struck me as amusing, after so many years. "Will you teach me the art of the sword?" I asked, forgoing niceties. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks, silently debating who would answer.
"Arwen, it isn't fitting," Elrohir said at last.
"You are a lady; think what will be said if you look to marry."
Again I laughed. "I do not look to marry, Elladan!"
He frowned, the skin of his brow creasing in displeasure. "Arwen...please do not make a case of this. Don't try the rules of our society." In his eyes I saw not only pleading but exhaustion. When last I left, I suddenly realized, there had been a great fight. I caused such a ruckus as must have taken months or even years to calm. The boys hoped I was changed for the better. I was not.
"Teach me," I repeated firmly. Elladan began to shake his head, and I knew that I pushed him too far, but would not relent.
In Lothlorien I learned a few things. Celeborn gave me some basic training in defense. Any man married to Lady Galadriel would have respect for the abilities of women. In one quick, fluid movement I pulled a folding knife from a pocket hidden in the folds of my skirt--and halted.
I remembered that knife, being given it years ago. It was morning. A shroud of mists laced the trees, a blanket of immaculate perfection concealing the haven Imladris from the rest of the world. Crickets played melancholy tunes. I bit my lip and refused to look back over my shoulder. "Are you ready?" Galadriel asked.
Am I ready? Wondering at the question, I nodded slowly. What choice did I have? "Wait."
I didn't say that, much as I wanted to. Looking down, for I was mounted atop one of the calmest mares in history, I saw a hand on my boot. Elladan looked up at me, his eyelids pink. "Take this with you," he whispered. "Keep it our little secret, yes?" He offered his hand and I took it, and for a moment we held desperately to each other. When Elladan withdrew his fingers, he left me holding my first weapon.
That day in Imladris, I could not bring myself to draw the blade against Elladan. He gave me the knife for protection, I suppose, yet I used it...I used it shamefully. I held the cool blade against my wrists and enjoyed knowing that everything terrible, I was master of it. Never would I have done it, ended my pain in such a manner, for by the time I knew what I could do I was chillingly sane and lacked the courage and stupidity.
Elladan saw my inability. He saw my temper controlled. "All right," he said, "I will ask Ada."
He was as good as his word and better. "Arwen is no longer a child," Elladan said. "She is sensible. Let her learn to wield a blade. I will teach her well."
Elrond sighed, and looked to me so sadly had he asked me then not to learn swordplay I would have agreed. Instead he said, "Arwen, please be careful. This is a privilege; do not abuse it. You are never to seek danger nor intentionally put yourself in its path."
"Yes, Ada." I could not meet his eyes. How had I done this terrible thing? How could I bear to make my father so unhappy? I wanted more than anything to cry out, "No! No, Ada, I was wrong, I do not wish to learn this deadly art, I only wish to be loved!" But I did not do this, and for the rest of my days would wonder how differently my life might have turned out had I had the courage.
*
I ran upon the wind with demons at my heels. I heard them baying, whining out their hunger and pain as they came closer. I felt their breath on my ankles and in it felt my doom. Branches reached out to grab my body, tearing at my flesh and clothes and hair. As the demons chased my soul the trees fought for my body. I kept running.
Cloth and skin tore upon impact as I slammed against the ground, kneeling. Voices roared from all directions and the world seemed to spin. Trees, plants and the wildcats I imagined blurred into one reeling vision, nothing settling long enough to be distinguished from its neighbor. From the light, the sun was near to setting. I gasped and drew in a lungful of air, forcing myself to be calm. 'Slow, slow!' I told my heart. 'Be at peace!'
Suddenly the forest slowed its churning, until at last the trees stood still. I watched unmoving as a path cleared, and before me trees drew back to reveal a clearing. Sunlight sparkled over the dew-laden leaves of grass. Every color appeared exaggerated, hues as rich as emerald and gold yet more natural, less intimidating. The world was as an adult looking through a child's eyes, seeing only beauty and knowing to appreciate it.
Into this clearing danced a girl. She spun and twirled, her white linen shift opening as a daisy. Two long, blond braids, woven tightly into hair not the color of gold but like canary feathers. She wore her feet bare and in childish innocence displayed her bare legs up to the knees in her spins. Budding breasts puckered the linen over her chest. She could not have been more than fifteen years younger than I! Gaily she leapt and whirled, until at last the girl collapsed onto the ground.
I rose to aid her, yet as I stood so did she, but different now. The girl standing in the clearing wore leggings over tightly muscled legs and a loose tunic. She, too, wore her hair braided, but in one long line. Her hair -was- rich as gold, darker of color than the early. A glint of competition and happiness induced by endorphins and victory shone in her sea-blue eyes. This girl was younger than the earlier, perhaps twelve, to a mortal.
She did not stand in the clearing, but upon a barely discernible path deep in a forest. Her sandal-clad feet pounded upon the damp soil as she sprinted away, pumping her arms back and forth for speed.
The last girl to appear in the clearing had blood on her cheeks, chin and hands. She wore dark hair tied back, but much of it escaped its bonds. Her clothing was torn. Leaves and dirt clung to the sticky blood upon her. Her chest heaved, as if in great sorrow or desperation. She looked as though she stood poised upon the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. She was selfish and childish.
With a blink I returned to my body, the body of the last girl. My mother, my grandmother--had I truly seen them? They looked so similar. Why did one become the other, yet neither become me?
Slowly I came to understand that neither became me because I was no part of them. I was a selfish, childish girl, thinking only of myself. I knew that I must forge my own path, and draw no other into my unhappiness.
When I rose, my legs were stiff from kneeling. Ignoring the dirt practically coating me, and did my best to wipe away the blood as I walked home. Sunset had passed. I stank of sweat and grime settled in my pores. I would take a bath, I decided, soak all the disgustingness off my body. Tomorrow, when I rose afresh from my bed, life would begin. Tomorrow, I would begin.
*****
To be continued
I am not turning Arwen into Peter Jackson's Arwen--at least, I don't mean to. She will at no point in this story be stealing Glorfindel's horse and rescuing wounded Halflings. She will, however, learn to defend herself.
"Uh, uhm, sometimes."
--from Bio-science class, seventh grade
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
*****
They tell me now that it was an act of kindness. I was a child, they say, and the only of my time. They wished for me to have companionship as they did as youths. Otherwise, things would be quite unfair. Loneliness is an awful fate for a child to suffer, they say. I believe them about loneliness. The rest is a lie, I am quite certain.
It was summer, not a boiling hot summer when everything, including skin, becomes sticky and uncomfortable and heat lines rise from the ground, but a mild summer, light breezes blowing throughout the valley. Legolas was in Imladris, and at the moment in which my memory begins sitting across from me on my bed. An open book lay between us, my letter-tiles spread across the pages. This was an enjoyable game we had invented: one person spelled out one word with the tiles, then the other used one of the first player's tiles to spell a second word. I had spelled 'morbid', 'open', and 'lore'. Legolas had spelled 'thrice' and 'fowl', and on his turn spelled out 'Eru'.
"That is not fair!" I protested. He had not allowed me to spell 'Elrohir' on my last go, saying no names allowed. 'Eru' was certainly a name! "You are cheating, Legolas."
"'Eru' and 'Elrohir' are different," he replied.
"I know they are different, but they are both names. If you want to spell 'Eru', we should have to go back one turn and I should be allowed to spell 'Elrohir'."
"Then 'Eru' would not fit. Why are you so upset about this?"
"I am not upset. You are cheating and it is not fair."
Legolas' insistence that I took the game far too seriously and the shame burning within me for months afterwards composed the unhappy memory which asserted itself as I descended into the valley of Imladris. Perhaps I expected to feel home approaching me, and yet...after so many years, to return as a near-adult to a place which I knew only from the mind of a child, I felt a sense of wonder and dread. What was this place to which I returned? It was home, but what was it? I knew nothing.
I realized then that when I left Lothlorien for Imladris, I did so to challenge myself and in a way to escape Lady Galadriel, for she and I never would overcome our differences (I believed), but more than anything I left Lothlorien to achieve a goal. "Forgive me," I whispered to the winds, swallowing tears. Whose forgiveness did I beg? Quietly, ever so quietly, I amended, "Forgive me, Grandfather."
I found my mother in her flower garden, tending the plants with soil on her hands and clothing. She had an aspect of sadness to her, but not an overbearing sorrow. She worked on, lived on, brave and boldly forgetting and forgoing weepiness in favor of strength. In this I wondered that I might have brought this sorrow upon her, that the loss of her only daughter drove Celebrían to this subtle mourning.
"Nana?" In seven and three tens of years this word had not graced my lips; it felt awkward now and hardly a whisper. Celebrían paused, uncertain if she heard or simply imagined the word, then returned to her work. "Nana," I said again, louder this time. She looked up and saw me: in that moment I saw my mother as my father must have seen, knew how he must have felt as a stranger in a strange land to behold this fair creature and feel at home.
"Arwen." She said the name with no awkwardness, addressing me as though I had been gone days, not years. Sparkle and magic, my mother: never exhausted, graceful in sorrow, calm under pressure. When she hugged me I rested my head on her shoulder and wished I could somehow absorb these virtues from her. "You have grown," she observed, holding me at an arm's length. "Mother must not have imparted this to you, so I will--chin up, girl."
She sounded so like Lady Galadriel that I laughed, holding my chin parallel to the ground and straightening my shoulders. Had Galadriel written? Did Celebrían know that for so many years I refused to speak? "Is it good to be home?" she asked.
"Am I?" I asked bluntly. "Forgive me," I added quickly, realizing what I had just said, "I only feel a little awkward here, after so many years."
Celebrían smiled gently. "I understand. Your father is in his study--why don't you go brighten his day?"
She showed mercy upon my return to Imladris, treating me with welcome and love yet without any sign of desperation. She made clear the fact that she had missed me, but promptly moved on from that topic. My father, on the other hand...suffice to say though I had always known him to have physical strength, I did not appreciate this fact until he had pressed the air from my lungs. I smiled, thinking of the saying, "True love hurts."
"It's wonderful to be home," I sighed happily, upon being released from my father's embrace.
"It is wonderful to have you home," he answered.
My father's happiness was such that I knew it for a contrast without having seen his sorrow. Whereas Celebrían wore her sorrows deeply, well hidden beneath a pleasant exterior, Elrond bothered naught with this concealment. Perhaps her strength came of his weakness. Perhaps she supported him because he could not support himself.
Surprised, I checked myself. 'He is still my father,' I thought, 'and as such I ought to respect him.' In later years, when experience hardened his emotions, I thought of my homecoming and wept. The difficulties of his childhood left my father a loving if misguided man, misguided only for knowing little of women. Tragedies later rendered him distantly affectionate towards his children, distant to others.
Harsh thoughts towards my father drove me to be obedient in later years and falsely affectionate when I could not be so truly.
My brothers I found sparring, easily located by the high, clear ringing of metal against metal. They wielded swords against each other, not wooden practice weaponry but true steel blades. Their display of arrogance failed to impress me: why did they assume those treacherous weapons would never turn against them? Even the most talented warrior errs.
Watching the twins, not so identical to me, sparring in the courtyard, I hoisted myself onto the rail and sat. Weapons and battle came easily to Elladan; one might think he came into this world with a sword in his hand-- figuratively, of course, for a literal such display would surely injure our mother sorely! Elrohir, however, learned everything, and so lacked Elladan's soul in fighting. Both had impeccable technique and skill, but Elrohir's motions were so scholarly, lacking the spark and flame of Elladan's.
When they finished their mock battle I approached them. "Has it been so long you have forgotten me?" I asked, throwing my arms around my brothers.
"Never that's our little sister!" Elladan joked.
"Imposter!" Elrohir added. "Oh, we have missed you!" He returned my embrace. "How are you?"
Somehow this struck me as amusing, after so many years. "Will you teach me the art of the sword?" I asked, forgoing niceties. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks, silently debating who would answer.
"Arwen, it isn't fitting," Elrohir said at last.
"You are a lady; think what will be said if you look to marry."
Again I laughed. "I do not look to marry, Elladan!"
He frowned, the skin of his brow creasing in displeasure. "Arwen...please do not make a case of this. Don't try the rules of our society." In his eyes I saw not only pleading but exhaustion. When last I left, I suddenly realized, there had been a great fight. I caused such a ruckus as must have taken months or even years to calm. The boys hoped I was changed for the better. I was not.
"Teach me," I repeated firmly. Elladan began to shake his head, and I knew that I pushed him too far, but would not relent.
In Lothlorien I learned a few things. Celeborn gave me some basic training in defense. Any man married to Lady Galadriel would have respect for the abilities of women. In one quick, fluid movement I pulled a folding knife from a pocket hidden in the folds of my skirt--and halted.
I remembered that knife, being given it years ago. It was morning. A shroud of mists laced the trees, a blanket of immaculate perfection concealing the haven Imladris from the rest of the world. Crickets played melancholy tunes. I bit my lip and refused to look back over my shoulder. "Are you ready?" Galadriel asked.
Am I ready? Wondering at the question, I nodded slowly. What choice did I have? "Wait."
I didn't say that, much as I wanted to. Looking down, for I was mounted atop one of the calmest mares in history, I saw a hand on my boot. Elladan looked up at me, his eyelids pink. "Take this with you," he whispered. "Keep it our little secret, yes?" He offered his hand and I took it, and for a moment we held desperately to each other. When Elladan withdrew his fingers, he left me holding my first weapon.
That day in Imladris, I could not bring myself to draw the blade against Elladan. He gave me the knife for protection, I suppose, yet I used it...I used it shamefully. I held the cool blade against my wrists and enjoyed knowing that everything terrible, I was master of it. Never would I have done it, ended my pain in such a manner, for by the time I knew what I could do I was chillingly sane and lacked the courage and stupidity.
Elladan saw my inability. He saw my temper controlled. "All right," he said, "I will ask Ada."
He was as good as his word and better. "Arwen is no longer a child," Elladan said. "She is sensible. Let her learn to wield a blade. I will teach her well."
Elrond sighed, and looked to me so sadly had he asked me then not to learn swordplay I would have agreed. Instead he said, "Arwen, please be careful. This is a privilege; do not abuse it. You are never to seek danger nor intentionally put yourself in its path."
"Yes, Ada." I could not meet his eyes. How had I done this terrible thing? How could I bear to make my father so unhappy? I wanted more than anything to cry out, "No! No, Ada, I was wrong, I do not wish to learn this deadly art, I only wish to be loved!" But I did not do this, and for the rest of my days would wonder how differently my life might have turned out had I had the courage.
*
I ran upon the wind with demons at my heels. I heard them baying, whining out their hunger and pain as they came closer. I felt their breath on my ankles and in it felt my doom. Branches reached out to grab my body, tearing at my flesh and clothes and hair. As the demons chased my soul the trees fought for my body. I kept running.
Cloth and skin tore upon impact as I slammed against the ground, kneeling. Voices roared from all directions and the world seemed to spin. Trees, plants and the wildcats I imagined blurred into one reeling vision, nothing settling long enough to be distinguished from its neighbor. From the light, the sun was near to setting. I gasped and drew in a lungful of air, forcing myself to be calm. 'Slow, slow!' I told my heart. 'Be at peace!'
Suddenly the forest slowed its churning, until at last the trees stood still. I watched unmoving as a path cleared, and before me trees drew back to reveal a clearing. Sunlight sparkled over the dew-laden leaves of grass. Every color appeared exaggerated, hues as rich as emerald and gold yet more natural, less intimidating. The world was as an adult looking through a child's eyes, seeing only beauty and knowing to appreciate it.
Into this clearing danced a girl. She spun and twirled, her white linen shift opening as a daisy. Two long, blond braids, woven tightly into hair not the color of gold but like canary feathers. She wore her feet bare and in childish innocence displayed her bare legs up to the knees in her spins. Budding breasts puckered the linen over her chest. She could not have been more than fifteen years younger than I! Gaily she leapt and whirled, until at last the girl collapsed onto the ground.
I rose to aid her, yet as I stood so did she, but different now. The girl standing in the clearing wore leggings over tightly muscled legs and a loose tunic. She, too, wore her hair braided, but in one long line. Her hair -was- rich as gold, darker of color than the early. A glint of competition and happiness induced by endorphins and victory shone in her sea-blue eyes. This girl was younger than the earlier, perhaps twelve, to a mortal.
She did not stand in the clearing, but upon a barely discernible path deep in a forest. Her sandal-clad feet pounded upon the damp soil as she sprinted away, pumping her arms back and forth for speed.
The last girl to appear in the clearing had blood on her cheeks, chin and hands. She wore dark hair tied back, but much of it escaped its bonds. Her clothing was torn. Leaves and dirt clung to the sticky blood upon her. Her chest heaved, as if in great sorrow or desperation. She looked as though she stood poised upon the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. She was selfish and childish.
With a blink I returned to my body, the body of the last girl. My mother, my grandmother--had I truly seen them? They looked so similar. Why did one become the other, yet neither become me?
Slowly I came to understand that neither became me because I was no part of them. I was a selfish, childish girl, thinking only of myself. I knew that I must forge my own path, and draw no other into my unhappiness.
When I rose, my legs were stiff from kneeling. Ignoring the dirt practically coating me, and did my best to wipe away the blood as I walked home. Sunset had passed. I stank of sweat and grime settled in my pores. I would take a bath, I decided, soak all the disgustingness off my body. Tomorrow, when I rose afresh from my bed, life would begin. Tomorrow, I would begin.
*****
To be continued
I am not turning Arwen into Peter Jackson's Arwen--at least, I don't mean to. She will at no point in this story be stealing Glorfindel's horse and rescuing wounded Halflings. She will, however, learn to defend herself.