Into The Shadow
By The Last Evenstar
A/N: Thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews!
This chapter is dedicated to Cassie (The Converted) for all her help with the Aníron Awards and the website that we have in progress. For more information about this very cool event that I urge you all to participate in, check out my profile.
Disclaimer: La la la. J.R.R. Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings, and the first verse of the poem Elrohir recites.
I wrote both original verses in ann-thennath, the form of Elven song, but it's a very difficult form of poetry, and doubtless they will not do Tolkien justice, but bear with me! For a better example of poetry, read Elessar e Undómiel. Shameless self-promotion, here we go.
Chapter Thirteen: Me'a te' Undómiel [Light of the Evenstar]
"The Light of the Evenstar does not wax and wane. It is mine to give to whom I will. Like my heart."
.
"You cannot have it!" Her hands flew to her neck, cradling the jewel.
The man glared at her with an admirable hatred. "You made a deal."
"I made no deal." She spoke calmly. "The Dark Lord proposed one. I simply arrived by means of his provisions."
"Wench!" he spat. "Common wench! I see that for all their mighty promises, the Elves are indeed no better than the common mortal!"
She looked at him icily, trying to conceal her inward trembling. "I claim no resentment on behalf of my people." She paused. "Which is more than you can say."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I simply ask why you consider yourself above the common mortal when in truth you know none to compare."
He fumed. "Your mind games are no use, Undómiel! Whether by force or not, the Dark Lord will claim the Light of the Evenstar, and so it shall pass that the Dark Lord with its power shall overcome. The choice lies in your hands – to relinquish it willingly and have spared thy life, or to wait until your are driven mad by long years of imprisonment and suffering."
"Then you know not the power which I hold," she shot back, "if you believe that unwillingly it can be given."
He fingered a heavy axe. "It can be unwillingly taken, and you can be unwillingly killed!"
She laughed bitterly. "Should that bother me? With all that I love restored to the world, is my purpose not complete? Do you hold death over me as a threat? Nay, Lord, on the contrary, I might welcome it, for the pain of loss bears heavily upon my soul."
"Mandos take it, then!" he shouted, and stormed out of the dungeon.
And Arwen wept, as she would not deign to before him. She wept for the light in her heart which was fading, and the love she had known which was gone.
~~~~~~~
"Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless."
Elrohir sang with no mirth in his voice, only sorrow. The scratching of his quill was the only accompaniment, as on soft vellum he inscribed his miseries.
"Celebrían first did go,
A star of silver shimmering,
Into the West she passed with woe,
Leaving just ourselves to blame.
Arwen her daughter glimmering,
Bright as Lúthien of old,
With love her light was dimmering,
Who knew her fate would be the same?"
"Stop it!" Elladan cried. "What are you trying to do?"
Elrohir looked up wanly. "I'm writing a poem."
His brother scowled. "Stop. I don't want to hear about it."
"You need to." Elrohir closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain. "You need to accept it. You can't just bottle it up inside, like when Naneth passed."
"I didn't!"
"Then why don't you ever talk about her?" He stood up and faced his brother. "It's as if you don't wish to remember her at all!" His eyes softened when he saw the clearly hurting look in Elladan's face. "What happened wasn't easy for any of us, toror nin. But the sooner you come to terms with it, the sooner the pain will begin to ebb."
Elladan clenched his fists. "I can't! Don't you see, Elrohir? They took our mother, and now they took our sister! The only way is to eradicate them, each and every one!"
"That's not the way, and you know it," his twin said softly. "It's revenge. But revenge doesn't lead to closure. It leads only to more anger and more pain. It will never stop, Elladan, and that's why you must."
His brother pointed an accusing finger. "Do not deny that you rode with me all those years. You were at my side, and slew just as many. Do not say that you never wanted revenge!"
Elrohir's eyes were deep and hollow. "I did not say any such thing. I did want revenge, just as you want it now. But the difference is that I accepted it. I cried, and I mourned, and sometimes I talked, for hours and hours, just to Ada. About her. But you keep your rage inside you, building evermore, until one day you will be powerless against it." A single tear fell from his eye. "We are long-ago kin of Fëanor, meaning Spirit of Fire, but let that rage that destroyed him take you not, my brother, lest I should lose my last sibling."
Elladan sank down, worn and defeated. "I shall try, toror nin. I shall try."
Elrohir nodded wistfully. "Then one only has left to wonder where this tragedy shall end."
~~~~~~~
Every day, Aragorn played over and over again in his head those last moments. Every second he analyzed, thinking that if he had just been quicker, or stronger, or braver . . .
By Midwinter he was strong enough to bear a sword. His imprisonment in Barad-dûr had stripped him almost of his very life, but through sheer will he forced his won muscles to move again.
"Forget," Glorfindel used to tell him, "forget everything. When you train, there should be only you and your opponent. No one else comes into play."
In regaining his strength Aragorn found that this was not so. Many a time he would have fallen to the ground, exhaustion taking hold, but for the picture in his mind.
The picture of her, and the knowing that each day he progressed was one day closer to her rescue.
It only hurts when you breathe.
~~~~~~~
"Sword and strength were borne again,
As Estel took back his name,
In hope he labored days on end,
Until again 'twas strong and hale.
For months he felt himself to blame,
For months his heart just could not mend,
But of efforts his were not in vain
To rewrite this tragic tale."