Evening of Sorrow
FROM THE PLAINS OF ROHAN
Dear Arwing,
I have received your letter. Thank you. It is good to hear my brother yet lives.
I have not been this optimistic for a long while, but now I have hope that he may be alive when we reach the city. Father seems less sad, but no less worried.
We travel with anxiousness, yet not with speed for Father's horse, though a good and faithful one, is not strong enough to carry two people great distances with equally great speed. It feels as though we inch along to Minas Tirith. Huinlas once suggested, on one of these silent, voiceless, uncountable days that I ride with him part of the time, to save one horse the burden. It was strange to hear his voice, for we rarely talk. Father didn't even look at him.
"No," he said.
"But we would travel more quickly," Huinlas responded.
"Our speed will not save Boromir," Father answered.
The other night I went walking a little ways from camp to collect water from a stream. Since we are now deep into Rohan Father seems not to worry about attacking orcs. I am allowed to do things alone, if within sight of camp.
I was very tired, and very worried about Boromir. I love my brother so much, I don't want him to die. No one had spoken since the day of the attack, and I was growing very wound up and tight. I knew it would just take one more little thing and then I would burst.
Huinlas walked up behind me. I knew him without turning around. Elven footfalls are hard to hear if you have never heard them before, but I knew Huinlas's. They are very familiar to me.
"Silwen," he said.
That was all it took.
Immediately the tears started to well up in my eyes. I dropped to my knees, unable or unwilling to stand any longer. It was the first voice I had heard in so many unbearably long, silent hours, and it broke me.
"Silwen," Huinlas said again, this time softer.
He walked over to me, knelt down and took my hands. And then.
Oh Arwing, forgive me. I have always been impulsive and overly emotional. Little things have always bothered me greatly, and big things drive me nearly mad. I was very pathetic just then. I felt like a very little girl. If Mother had been there I would have run to her, and if Father had been right there I would have gone to him. But Mother was miles and miles away, and Father was too wrapped in his own grief and worries to help me with mine.
But Huinlas was there. Arwing, I fell into his arms. I laid my head on his shoulder and just cried. I could not support myself at all, I fell to pieces. Or, at least I would have, if his arms had not been around me.
He supported me, comforted me. A song, there was a song he sang softly. I do not remember the words, but I do remember the reaction I had to them. I relaxed. I felt calmer.
Finally the tears stopped coming. I stopped shaking, and sat there only breathing. It was calming to hear the steady sound of my breath, instead of my thunderous heartbeat.
The moon shone brightly. Its face reflected in the running stream, mirrored in little eddies and dancing on the ripples.
"Do you never grieve, Huinlas?" I whispered. My voice was strange, weak.
A silence followed. The brook murmured to itself.
"More than eight lives of men I have walked this earth, much grief I have seen. Sorrow, yes, and heartache. I have felt both. And they linger. For me, Silwen, grief is not just a burst of emotion."
He moved so I could see his face.
"You, little one, are young. But your life travels at a pace I cannot imagine. Your days are numbered. Some day they will come to a close. But I will still be here."
A few hot tears started to fall again, very softly, very slowly.
"For you grief will last but a short time. A moment, a day, a year. Perhaps longer. But you are given the blessing of time. Time will heal you. As the days pass that separate you from your sorrow you will gradually learn to move on with life, not because you tell yourself you must, but because it is natural to you. "
"But for you?" I asked.
He sighed. A deep sigh. One like I have never heard before.
"For me." His voice trailed to nothing.
A silence.
"I must face every day with each grief as fresh as the day the wound was inflicted. My life goes on, but the sorrow does not heal. With each passing year I grow more accustomed to its ache, but it does not lessen. No. It hurts, but there is no escape. For me, I have no hope in time, for time does not heal me. Immortality is my lot, my portion. In it there is much that must be endured, but not overcome. I am bound to the world, and its sorrows are mine as long as it remains."
The tears were streaming in hot trails down my cheeks.
"Silwen, weep not. This is not your fate. Do not try to bear my burdens for me."
I leaned my head against his shoulder again. I tried not to cry, but it felt so good. I was letting go of my fear and my anxiety for just a few moments, and it was blessed relief.
My thoughts wandered to Boromir, and as they did I remembered the conversation I'd had with him by the lake, when he had suspected that I was engaged to Huinlas. I laughed just a little inside. At this moment I could think of Huinlas as nothing greater than a brother. And a brother is great. Perhaps not like a brother, perhaps even closer, a friend. A good friend. Yes. Huinlas will always be a friend to me, and I will never desire anything more. To have such a friend is more than many can boast.
Goodbye for now, Arwing. I have spent too long writing this. It is very late.
I hope to be soon in the city. And there we will meet for the first time, friend!
Silwen
Note: We have already written more letters, and are in the process of editing them. It may take a bit longer to post than before, because many of the letters contain plot we don't like anymore. Thanks to the reviewers! We LOVE to hear from you!
DofE and VA
PS Here's a question for all y'all: From what you've read so far, who do you think writes each letter?
a.) DofE and VA combine on both
b.) DofE writes Arwing and VA writes Silwen
c.) DofE writes Silwen and VA writes Arwing
We know, just wondered if you could tell.
BTW: what is so great about Huinlas anyway?
FROM THE PLAINS OF ROHAN
Dear Arwing,
I have received your letter. Thank you. It is good to hear my brother yet lives.
I have not been this optimistic for a long while, but now I have hope that he may be alive when we reach the city. Father seems less sad, but no less worried.
We travel with anxiousness, yet not with speed for Father's horse, though a good and faithful one, is not strong enough to carry two people great distances with equally great speed. It feels as though we inch along to Minas Tirith. Huinlas once suggested, on one of these silent, voiceless, uncountable days that I ride with him part of the time, to save one horse the burden. It was strange to hear his voice, for we rarely talk. Father didn't even look at him.
"No," he said.
"But we would travel more quickly," Huinlas responded.
"Our speed will not save Boromir," Father answered.
The other night I went walking a little ways from camp to collect water from a stream. Since we are now deep into Rohan Father seems not to worry about attacking orcs. I am allowed to do things alone, if within sight of camp.
I was very tired, and very worried about Boromir. I love my brother so much, I don't want him to die. No one had spoken since the day of the attack, and I was growing very wound up and tight. I knew it would just take one more little thing and then I would burst.
Huinlas walked up behind me. I knew him without turning around. Elven footfalls are hard to hear if you have never heard them before, but I knew Huinlas's. They are very familiar to me.
"Silwen," he said.
That was all it took.
Immediately the tears started to well up in my eyes. I dropped to my knees, unable or unwilling to stand any longer. It was the first voice I had heard in so many unbearably long, silent hours, and it broke me.
"Silwen," Huinlas said again, this time softer.
He walked over to me, knelt down and took my hands. And then.
Oh Arwing, forgive me. I have always been impulsive and overly emotional. Little things have always bothered me greatly, and big things drive me nearly mad. I was very pathetic just then. I felt like a very little girl. If Mother had been there I would have run to her, and if Father had been right there I would have gone to him. But Mother was miles and miles away, and Father was too wrapped in his own grief and worries to help me with mine.
But Huinlas was there. Arwing, I fell into his arms. I laid my head on his shoulder and just cried. I could not support myself at all, I fell to pieces. Or, at least I would have, if his arms had not been around me.
He supported me, comforted me. A song, there was a song he sang softly. I do not remember the words, but I do remember the reaction I had to them. I relaxed. I felt calmer.
Finally the tears stopped coming. I stopped shaking, and sat there only breathing. It was calming to hear the steady sound of my breath, instead of my thunderous heartbeat.
The moon shone brightly. Its face reflected in the running stream, mirrored in little eddies and dancing on the ripples.
"Do you never grieve, Huinlas?" I whispered. My voice was strange, weak.
A silence followed. The brook murmured to itself.
"More than eight lives of men I have walked this earth, much grief I have seen. Sorrow, yes, and heartache. I have felt both. And they linger. For me, Silwen, grief is not just a burst of emotion."
He moved so I could see his face.
"You, little one, are young. But your life travels at a pace I cannot imagine. Your days are numbered. Some day they will come to a close. But I will still be here."
A few hot tears started to fall again, very softly, very slowly.
"For you grief will last but a short time. A moment, a day, a year. Perhaps longer. But you are given the blessing of time. Time will heal you. As the days pass that separate you from your sorrow you will gradually learn to move on with life, not because you tell yourself you must, but because it is natural to you. "
"But for you?" I asked.
He sighed. A deep sigh. One like I have never heard before.
"For me." His voice trailed to nothing.
A silence.
"I must face every day with each grief as fresh as the day the wound was inflicted. My life goes on, but the sorrow does not heal. With each passing year I grow more accustomed to its ache, but it does not lessen. No. It hurts, but there is no escape. For me, I have no hope in time, for time does not heal me. Immortality is my lot, my portion. In it there is much that must be endured, but not overcome. I am bound to the world, and its sorrows are mine as long as it remains."
The tears were streaming in hot trails down my cheeks.
"Silwen, weep not. This is not your fate. Do not try to bear my burdens for me."
I leaned my head against his shoulder again. I tried not to cry, but it felt so good. I was letting go of my fear and my anxiety for just a few moments, and it was blessed relief.
My thoughts wandered to Boromir, and as they did I remembered the conversation I'd had with him by the lake, when he had suspected that I was engaged to Huinlas. I laughed just a little inside. At this moment I could think of Huinlas as nothing greater than a brother. And a brother is great. Perhaps not like a brother, perhaps even closer, a friend. A good friend. Yes. Huinlas will always be a friend to me, and I will never desire anything more. To have such a friend is more than many can boast.
Goodbye for now, Arwing. I have spent too long writing this. It is very late.
I hope to be soon in the city. And there we will meet for the first time, friend!
Silwen
Note: We have already written more letters, and are in the process of editing them. It may take a bit longer to post than before, because many of the letters contain plot we don't like anymore. Thanks to the reviewers! We LOVE to hear from you!
DofE and VA
PS Here's a question for all y'all: From what you've read so far, who do you think writes each letter?
a.) DofE and VA combine on both
b.) DofE writes Arwing and VA writes Silwen
c.) DofE writes Silwen and VA writes Arwing
We know, just wondered if you could tell.
BTW: what is so great about Huinlas anyway?