Title: The Tale of Marian
Chapter: 38/39 – there will be an Epilogue after this chapter.
Rating: PG13 this chapter.
Pairing: OFC/Haldir
Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst
Timeline: AU, modern times.
Beta: None this chapter.
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive criticism always appreciated.
Warnings: None.
Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.
THE TALE OF MARIAN
Chapter 38 – Every Good and Excellent Thing
"I know that every good and excellent thing in the world stands moment by moment on the razor-edge of danger and must be fought for. . ."
-Thornton Wilder
We stayed for that night and the next in a recess that I found in a rock outcropping further up the hill. Marian was too exhausted and too distraught to go further. She drifted in and out of sleep, grabbing my arm to ask dream- or anguish-induced question: Was Allinde cured now? Haldir had forgotten his harp – we had to get it for him. I had been worried enough when she had asked me if Toto was safe: She sank into a safer childhood place where fantasy mixed with reality. Seeing Cirdan and Haldir recede along the Straight Road had been too unreal for her to accept. But more worrisome still was that when she awoke she would cry quietly, curled up in a ball, or simply rock herself and stare, unfocused, at nothing, and refuse to speak or respond to me in any way. We had no food and only a small amount of water. We couldn't stay in the rocks longer without compromising Marian's health. When dawn came I forced her, against all of my softer feelings for her, to get up and start walking again.
For the next three days I coaxed a reluctant and dazed Marian up the hill, into the trees, and a little way toward home. We traveled during the day for as long as I could get her to, then I let her sleep the rest of each day and through the night. I had no illusion that I could manage to get her to walk in the dark. She would not accept food; she would barely take the water I tipped into her mouth. I had never seen any elf survive the deep depression into which Marian had descended. She appeared to be taking the loss of my brother just as hard as any of my kin suffered the death of a bond-mate. Perhaps, even, it was worse for her than if Haldir had died. I knew I would see my brother again, so my separation from him was bittersweet but bearable, as Orophin's had been. Marian appeared to be fading in front of my eyes. By the end of our third day, in spite of my encouragement and what ministrations I could manage, I became fearful that I might lose her.
I reminded myself that mortals were more resilient than elves in such situations – too resilient, Marian had said to me once – and I persevered. She had told me many times that the redwood forest felt timeless, that it made her feel a small part of a much larger universe, and that she felt right when she was among the great trees. So I made her a bed with fresh ferns, pine and redwood needles each night, fragrant and soft. I kept up whatever conversation I could muster, and held her as she slept, singing her songs of the forests. Truthfully, though I am extremely resourceful, I did not know what else to do.
Finally late on the fourth day since the ships departed, when I was almost at a total loss, she woke up from a fretful sleep, focused her gaze upon me for the first time, and spoke.
"I'm sorry," was the first, deeply remorseful thing that she said to me, in a voice that nearly broke my heart. I asked what in the world she was sorry for.
"That you felt that you had to stay."
"I am not sorry," I told her, and waited.
I'm a disaster." she replied after a time, pulling a lank tress of hair behind her ear.
"You are a total mess," I agreed. "You are scaring me out of my wits."
"Rumil. . . I would never have made it out of that cove without you. I would never have made it out. . . of anything."
"I know," I replied humbly, and sang her back to sleep. But I believe it was the trees that brought her back to me, at first. In the days that followed, it was her promise to Haldir that gave her the will to carry on.
We made it back – this you know from what came after. There is still one thing that you do not know: Why I told you, in the beginning of this tale, that this was a story of love. How was it, do you think, that Marian's despair for Haldir transformed itself into the abiding and loyal passion that she lavished upon Methentaurond and all who cared for it? How did it come about that her boundless devotion to him revived in her the iron strength of will to persevere, and triumph?
I will tell you.
We arrived at last, into the waiting arms of our friends – except Mason's, and curiously Dieter's as well. To our distress, and more especially to Arianna's, we were told that Dieter had not yet returned.
To the expected questions, Marian responded with a reserved voice that my brother and my kin had safely escaped the bounds of Arda, and that I had chosen to remain. They saw the mingled relief and hurt in Marian's eyes, and gracefully did not ask her more; except for Joel. Upon our return Joel again made clear his expectation that Marian surrender to him that which she could not. It would be the last time he would do so.
It happened shortly after I escorted a weary and still heartsick Marian back to the private, comforting familiarity of her talan. Along the way she made the dear offer that I should have it back as my own and she would move to another. I firmly but gently refused. I did not tease her, as I would have before without hesitation, that I would certainly join her there if she asked. It was not a time for teasing. I accompanied her into the front parlor, where she dropped what was left of her backpack onto the bare table. The table had not been bare when we departed. Sensing something was not as it should be, I pulled aside the curtains to her bedchamber. Likewise, it was bare of her possessions.
Turning to me in confusion, she was about to speak when Joel stuck his head into the bedchamber and cleared his throat. In apparent excitement and, if I was not mistaken, some nervousness, he held out his hand and told Marian that he had something to show her. Receiving only a blank look, he stepped into the room and took her hand in his, and led her purposefully to the door of Haldir's talan. To her tired questions, he would only answer that she would have to wait and see. I followed, of course. Joel threw my brother's door open as though it was his own and pulled her inside. He looked back over his shoulder as I entered, clearly uncomfortable with my added presence. I folded my arms over my chest and blinked at him.
Wisely he did not attempt to ask me to leave. Opting to ignore me instead, he led Marian by the hand around my brother's parlor, which now looked nothing like my brother's parlor, pointing out to her with pride where he had placed his things, and hers. Gone were my Haldir's harp and his divan. Gone were the crimson curtains leading to Haldir's bedchamber, replaced by iridescent green ones plundered from who knew what talan.
The truly unfortunate thing for Joel, I told myself to hold my rising temper, was that he obviously expected Marian to be immensely pleased by his redecoration of my brother's chambers into a couple's apartment that existed only in his own ambitions.
"What do you think?" he asked her in momentary and blissful ignorance of her growing horror. "We can live here together now," he told her triumphantly. At her silence, he explained further. "Manage Methentaurond, you and I."
"Where are Haldir's things?" Marian asked weakly, looking dazedly around the changed room, her eyes brimming with tears that would soon fall. I knew that inside, only beginning to heal as she was, the fragile world that she had managed to partially reconstruct for herself on our journey back was shattering.
"He left you, Marian. All of them left," Joel answered with some exasperation, then remembered belatedly that I was still there, behind him. "I'm still here for you. I told you that you can lean on me. We can build what we will of this place now, together," he said, hesitating at last as Marian reached a shaking hand out to touch one of my brother's chairs that remained in the room.
"Where are Haldir's things?" Marian repeated, clutching his chair for support. "What have you done with them?"
"I moved them," he said, becoming somewhat cross at not receiving the response from my poor girl that he had expected. "I've ordered such artifacts to be placed in several of the lower telain across from the Great Hall, where the public will be able to view them. This area should be more private, more controlled," he concluded for himself.
I looked back out the door to the entry garden. We had begun to attract an audience; an audience that looked contrite and uncomfortable.
"Come on, Marian," he chided her, oblivious to the growing storm in her eyes and to the tightening grip that she had on the chair. I would have almost felt sorry for Joel if I had not myself been so incensed at his thoughtless actions and the hurtful effect it was having on my sweet Marian. "Things are different now," he went on. "We need to adapt; to anticipate and prepare for the changes that will come when people arrive. You can't expect that everything will stay exactly the way it was before."
"Oh but I do," she said stubbornly. "That's precisely what we all agreed to when I first chose you to come with me," she said, looking out the door to include everyone standing outside. "Have you all so quickly forgotten why we're here?"
"Of course we haven't, dear," Sandy said, coming in through the doorway while shooting Joel a reproving look that clearly said 'I told you so.' She patted me on the shoulder and then gave Marian a matronly hug. "Everything else is exactly the way it was before you left."
"Thank you Sandy. And it will all stay that way. Nothing in Methentaurond is going to change," she insisted, tears running down her cheeks, her control on the very edge of breaking.
"Put it back," Marian ordered Joel, tilting her chin up and straightening her shoulders in growing resolve. Briefly, I thought she held herself somewhat like my brother. "Put all of Lord Haldir's things back in HIS talan, exactly the way they were before, and don't ever – EVER – touch them again."
Joel stared at her incredulously. "You really do love him," he accused her. "Even now, when you know he's never coming back to you, you still love - him."
"We'll start bringing his things back up," Sandy interjected, taking a wordless hint from me and closing the door to leave only Marian, myself and Joel inside.
Joel took stock of Marian, her hands shaking on Haldir's chair with fury and hurt, and the reality of his true position finally began to dawn on him. In my opinion, it was about time.
"I'm sorry," he redeemed himself by saying to her. With a practiced doctor's bedside manner that was also completely sincere, he assured her that he had not understood the depth of her feelings for "the elf," and that he held no grudge against her. He would stand by her wishes to preserve Methentaurond as it was. "You have chosen a lonely life, Marian," he warned her. "I'll be here if you should change your mind. You have my promise." And with that, he walked past me without further comment and left the talan.
"No one will change Methentaurond as long as I breathe," Marian said to me with a rock-solid determination that never wavered from that moment on. Insofar as everything had already changed, I believed her.
We did not have long to wait to test the Fellowship's readiness for the changes that would come. It was only a few hours after our arrival that Roger ran stiffly into the Great Hall where we had gathered for a midday meal. He told us in a panic that he and Yasmin had heard people coming – a helicopter over the next hill, and many voices in the woods - and Yasmin had stayed hidden outside, to see who they might be, and if they would find us.
"What should we do?" Arianna cried out in alarm.
Before we could decide, a pounding on the entry doors echoed in the passage above. Marian and I ran up the steps to the entry hall. Instead of scattering as I suggested, the rest of the company followed us. Again, someone pounded heavily on the great mallorn doors.
"Should we let them in?" Roger worried, wringing his hands.
"You have to hide!" Marian told me. Hide? Really, it was just too insulting to consider.
The pounding on the doors intensified. The Fellowship stood frozen in indecision. Had Marian and I been followed? Surely not – I would have known.
All at once an explosion rocked the caverns, but it hadn't come from the entry doors – it had come from below the Great Hall.
"Stay here. And don't open the doors! Arianna, go outside by the back way near the Linluin and try to find Yasmin," Marian told the others, and she and I rushed into the Hall. Smoke and dust billowed up through the arch to the stairs going down into the lower passage. Covering our noses and mouths with our sleeves, we plunged down the stairs. Our eyes stinging from dust and a biting chemical smell, the debris and thicker smoke led us down the curved stairs to the barricaded chamber that held the palantir. Climbing over broken stones, the one remaining lantern in the hall that had not been shattered revealed the twisted remains of the iron doors which, in spite of Haldir's precautions, had been blown open by some powerful explosive. I took the lantern from its hook on the wall, and by its light we cautiously entered the chamber.
The Anor Stone was gone.
We heard the unwelcome sounds of shouting above, and running steps on the stairs. Again Marian insisted frantically that I hide, and looked around helplessly for something for me to retreat behind.
She should not worry, I told her calmly. I could, though it was not my personal style, disappear into the background in time of need.
She hissed at me that this was a time of need.
The voices grew closer, accompanied by the shuffling of heavy boots on loose rock, and more disturbingly, the sound of weapons being cocked.
"I believe I will reconsider your request," I told her under my breath, "although it is most unseemly. I will not, however, allow you to be harmed."
"Rumil, please!" she pleaded with me, and I reluctantly stepped behind the misshapen leaf of one of the iron doors. Marian held the back of the lantern against her chest so that its light shone only out into the passage.
"Who's there?" she called out bravely just as three uniformed men with gas masks and rifles broke into the chamber and surrounded her. One took the lantern from her hand. He and another searched the chamber with its aid. The last held Marian by the arm, which I seethed at. Yet I sensed that she was in no immediate danger from these strange intruders.
"It's already gone – what you're looking for," Marian said heatedly. They did not reply, but ordered her out of the chamber. I waited until they had passed, and followed them. I had suitably pony-tailed my hair over my ears and dimmed my appearance. I would have no trouble passing for a mortal if seen in this light. I would ensure Marian was not harmed, and observe how many more of them were in the caverns, and where. I had no intention of disarming them – not yet.
Marian was marched up the stairs and into the Great Hall, yet curiously the soldiers – for that is how they appeared – guided her gently and with a guarded respect, taking her arm as she climbed over the debris and referring to her as "ma'am".
Marian was taken to the rest of our Fellowship, who had been gathered together near the hearth by several other green-uniformed men. Our friends were arguing and complaining spiritedly. Only Arianna and Yasmin were missing.
The three men then removed their gas masks and saluted a man in a well-cut suit who stood with his back to the Fellowship, speaking intently to another whose stance and casual attire were familiar to me. This was a most curious development. Momentarily, the man acknowledged the salutes, gave an order that sent the three trotting out of the Hall and across the bridge over the Linluin, and turned to approach our group, his dress shoes clacking on the marble floor. As I was hidden just behind the arch near the fireplace I saw their faces at the same time that Marian did. There was the stranger in the suit, with short, graying hair and a stern face, and Mason.
Marian's eyes flew wide when she recognized Mason, and Joel stepped to her side, bristling immediately. Before the stranger could speak, Marian demanded to know if it was he who had blown up the chamber.
The man considered Marian for a moment, which gave me the chance to study him more thoroughly. He appeared both shrewd and composed. He was obviously a man who was accustomed to being in charge, yet he did not seem to be one who would abuse his authority. I decided that I did not completely dislike what I saw, and I was comforted somewhat in my concern for the Fellowship and my home.
No, the man replied, he had not caused the regrettable damage that had occurred. The man who had, however, and who had stolen the object from the room, was being pursued. He had taken a hostage outside the cavern: a petite young lady, he described, with a Germanic accent and medium-length brown hair.
"Arianna!" Marian said worriedly, and I wondered what had become of Yasmin, who had also been outside. "She and this man are in terrible danger," Marian said, and warned him that the object was treacherous and must not be looked into if they find it.
"I've explained about the Stone," Mason told Marian, and told her not to worry.
"Don't worry?" Marian said, aghast, and Joel asked Mason how he could have betrayed them like this; how had he found his way here, and who were these people who had herded them into the Hall like they were criminals?
"Mason isn't a traitor, Marian," another man's voice called, and a lanky, freckled man walked smiling into the Hall, a grinning Yasmin by his side. To my surprise Marian's whole demeanor relaxed and she gasped, running to the man and throwing her arms around him. "Matt!" she squealed. He hugged her back enthusiastically. I admit I became slightly jealous before remembering that this was Marian's childhood friend, the lawyer whom, against my advice, she had trusted to plead our anonymous cause to the world. Apparently we were anonymous no longer.
Matt introduced the stranger in the suit as the Secretary of the Interior. This seemed to be good news to the Fellowship, but as I was unfamiliar with the title, I would have to ask Marian about it later. At the moment, I used the distraction to slip myself around the arch and into the company of Roger, Sandy and Joel.
The uniformed men were National Guard, brought here by the Secretary to protect the Fellowship, not to harm them, he explained.
Still, Marian told the Secretary with grave concern, they were overrunning Methentaurond; perhaps damaging it without meaning to. What if they took things? They needed to understand what was here first, Marian warned him. They mustn't disturb anything else.
The Secretary gave her his word that this was not happening – they had strict orders to touch nothing.
"Then who stole the palantir?" I asked over Marian's shoulder, and one of the guards looked at me strangely, then decided that I must have been there the whole time. Marian twisted around in a fear for me that was truly touching, saw that I had donned my "ears", then rolled her eyes and shook her head at me in awe, I'm sure, of my cleverness. She was about to say something to me when two more guards entered the Hall supporting Arianna, who was in tears.
We ran to her aid and helped her to a seat by the fire, where she shivered and clasped her arms about her.
The guards saluted the Secretary again, reporting that the person who had taken the dark orb had escaped in the forest. The Secretary ordered them crisply to pursue the individual until he was caught.
In the meantime, Marian and I knelt by Arianna's side and listened to her tearful story.
"It was Dieter!" she cried in hurt and dismay. "He told me he was leaving with the palantir – that he would prove to everyone in the military that he was smarter and more powerful than they were. That's all he came back for," Arianna told us brokenly. I comforted her as best I could. "As soon as I wasn't any use to him anymore, he let me go," she said. "He said. . . he said there wasn't anything else valuable here," she cried, and I knew her meaning – that she had not been valuable to him either. He had deceived all of us, or perhaps he had not at first meant to, but his pride and hatred of the military had grown to be more important to him than Methentaurond, or us, or even, most sadly, Arianna.
Mason told us then that he had become suspicious of Dieter and followed him after he had let him go. He called Matt, he admitted, based on information he had gathered from one of Marian's notebooks he had found in the greenhouse and not returned. He had continued to follow Dieter's whereabouts until he started back here, Mason explained. Then they had simply followed him.
I believe that few mortals become truly evil. Most simply lose sight of what is true, blinded by their desires and fears, be it money, or power, or simply recognition. Mason had found his way back to the light; Dieter had lost his.
"Oh, and I took these," Mason said and handed Marian a packet of photographs.
Marian spread the photos out on the table – the pictures of Haldir and the others of my kin that Sandy had photographed. I saw that the pictures of me had been removed, and I gave Mason a look of thanks that he received with a small smile. The Fellowship gathered round the table with Arianna, Matt and the Secretary. Haldir looked out with lordly arrogance from the picture that Marian picked up and carefully held in her hand.
"So here is proof at last," the Secretary said. "This is most exciting."
"I'm surprised that you consider photographs to be proof, Mr. Secretary," Marian said absently, immersed in the memories that the photograph surely brought to her.
"Some things cannot be faked," the Secretary said, looking at the photo that she held. "This – elf – for one. His presence comes through the lens as if he is here in the room with us. He must have been a mighty leader."
"Yes, he is," Marian replied, and set the picture gently down on the table.
"And this place," the Secretary continued. "It's truly amazing. Besides," he said to her kindly, "I grew up in Scotland with fairies in my back yard. Why should elves not be real as well? But most of all," he indicated Mason, "I have been convinced by a most reliable source that elves do in fact do exist. Your friends are most persuasive, having, as they did, more proof than pictures."
"The lanterns," Mason said apologetically. "And a few other things."
"What happens now?" Marian wondered out loud. "Your guards are everywhere. We aren't ready for them yet. It's overwhelming," she said, and the rest of our Fellowship agreed nervously.
"Yes, the cat is out of the bag," the Secretary told her. "Our troops will be needed to protect this place and you, especially until the United Nations World Heritage Commission arrives and things calm down."
The Fellowship was stunned. Was Methentaurond being taken away from them before they could even start to take care of it?
"The U.N.?" Marian asked in grave concern. "The U.N. is corrupt, and they have no real power. How can you ask us to trust them? Even if they haven't any self-interest in us, and their intentions are pure, how can they protect Methentaurond? There must be another way, a different. . . group."
"There is no other," the Secretary said. "Perhaps some day there will be, but for now, this is our only option." He looked at Marian with an understanding that I found both surprising and encouraging. "I share your concerns, but be assured that the United States will never let Methentaurond be exploited. It's too important for all of our futures. The world needs what you all have found here, more desperately than most of us realize. I would go so far as to say that this could be our salvation, and salvation is hard to come by these days. We won't let such a vital resource be squandered. I give you my word." Then the Secretary gave Marian a look that was a curious mixture of humor and danger. "I have the right dirt on the right people. I've called in all of the favors I've ever been due. In fact, I've staked my entire career on this place, thanks to your rather forceful friends here."
"I have staked my life on it," Marian told him with a level stare, and pointed to the rest of the Fellowship. "We all have."
"Forgive us if we don't necessarily trust what you're saying," Joel started. "Politicians – bureaucrats – "
"Mr. Secretary," Marian continued, "your people don't know how Methentaurond functions. We understand intimately how to protect it, and how to teach others the wisdom it represents. We're the only people who've been taught by the. . . former residents. . .
"The elves," the Secretary nodded.
"With all due respect," Marian continued, "we won't give it up to just anyone who walks in the door. "
The Secretary holds his hand up for her to stop. "I understand. . ."
"No, I don't think you do," Marian insisted. "This is an extremely delicately balanced ecosystem, unlike any in the world. Plants that exist nowhere else, structures that are so organic they cross the boundaries between biology and non-living systems. It can give us the means to help us heal ourselves and Arda. . . I mean the Earth. . . "
"Which is why," Matt interrupted her, "The U.N. is putting you personally in charge. You will be the director of a World Heritage Site, Marian. You won't have to hand it over to just anyone," Matt interjected, and held out an official-looking piece of paper to her, which she took with shaking hands.
Marian held a U.N. resolution signed by every member country.
"The World Heritage Commission," the Secretary explained formally, "is dedicated to the identification, documentation and safeguarding of the cultural, artistic, and environmental heritage of humanity. Methentaurond will be studied and preserved as just such an irreplaceable treasure."
"I still don't understand," Marian persisted. "You aren't from the U.N., you're from the Interior Department."
"A World Heritage Site is a place, if you will, without its own administration," the Secretary said. "Therefore, for that purpose Congress and the President have designated Methentaurond as a National Park. I have named you the first Park Superintendent, with a few unique but important departures from the authority that this position traditionally holds," the Secretary proudly told Marian. "You have the authority to hire and keep your own staff, and to name your own successor. I presume," he said with a smile to the rest of us, "that many positions may already be filled. And you will have complete control over Park policy."
"What does that mean, really?" Marian asked cautiously.
"It means," Matt beamed at her, "that nothing will happen in Methentaurond that you don't want to, even if the Secretary here has second thoughts, or the next Secretary, or the next President."
The Secretary continued: "The world realizes that this is a unique situation, requiring unique solutions. Nothing will be done here without your express direction and approval."
"This is so much more than I'd dared to even hope for," Marian said, looking at me with hope in here eyes at last. "Methentaurond can truly be a sanctuary on our own terms then; it won't be run over by greedy people trying to get whatever they can out of it, then leaving it ruined behind them?"
"Not if you can keep that from happening," the Secretary cautioned.
"Watch us," Marian told him.
"I intend to, with great interest," he replied. "And to make sure you have the means to succeed, in addition to the full status of a National Park, you will have a U.N. contingency of Swiss Guards stationed here at all times, sworn to protect Methentaurond, courtesy of the Swiss government and ours."
"Like at the Vatican?" Sandy interjected, impressed. The Secretary told her yes, just like at the Vatican – except their uniforms wouldn't be quite as. . . colorful.
"This is amazing," Marian told him, blinking at us all in shock. Then she turned to me with cautious enthusiasm. "The Swiss keep their promises," she assured me. "They always have." Of course, having been around a lot longer than Marian, I knew from experience and not just history that this was true.
"It's going to be all right," Matt said, and hugged her. "It really is going to be all right."
"I believe we owe you all dinner," Marian recovered enough to say politely. "Please sit down, and let's talk more over a glass of miruvor, to start with."
"Miruvor?" Matt asked curiously.
"A most delicious cordial," I said, guiding our guests to their seats. "It's effects can be quite entertaining if one overindulges," I warned them, giving Marian a private look that made her blush.
"Indeed?" the Secretary said with interest.
"Oh yes, just ask Marian."
"Jason!" Marian scolded me by my "mortal" name, and retreated into the kitchen.
Endings are never quite how you think they will be.
Marian lived a long life for a mortal in this day and age – until she was 93. Still, it was very difficult for me to let my dear friend go. Frail but tenacious to the end, somehow she managed to get to Haldir's talan by herself. I would have helped her if she had asked. I think, though, that she simply wanted some time alone in his rooms to say another, last goodbye to him.
That is where I found her, lying in his bed and holding the photograph of Haldir that she was never without. She had dreamed of him again, finally, she said with a melancholy smile. Why would this be after so long, she wondered? I had no answers for her. I don't think she expected me to.
Though I knew she was on the very cusp of leaving me, by some Grace we spoke until there was little else left to say. She told me she still had faith that mankind would not squander the gifts the elves had entrusted to them. Adam, Roger's grandson, would see to it. He was in charge now. She told me that I was to go home. Haldir would be missing me - she had already kept me from him for too long. I was to go home immediately, she repeated with a stern eye that told me she knew I wouldn't - not right away. Time would tell how the healing of Arda would unfold; I wanted to be here to see it.
What shall I tell him for you? I asked her, hopefully changing the subject.
"Tell him that I. . . did my best," she replied doubtfully.
"I will tell him that you were worthy of his trust, and that you did very well indeed," I corrected her. "Anything else?"
"No," she said, knowing exactly what I meant, "he already knows." Still, I will tell Haldir that Marian kept her vow to him – she never loved another after.
Marian closed her eyes tiredly. I thought she might be going, and I shook her gently in protest. Her eyes fluttered open, and she laughed weakly. "You are a pain in the ass, Rumil," she teased. "And you're much too young for me - people think I'm terribly wicked," she winked. Then she tried to make me take the ring that was on her finger – my grandmother's ring. I don't know if she couldn't get it off because she was so weak, or if it simply did not wish to leave her finger. I chose to believe the latter, and I refused to take it. She rolled her eyes at my stubbornness. What good would it do me stuck six feet under the ground? She argued, but I told her that it was a gift. She was family, and I would not take it back.
Then she became unduly serious. "I love you, you know."
"Of course you do, I am irresistible," I teased back, but she could no longer hear me.
I took her wrinkled hand and kissed it. I think the ring sparkled – but I could not tell from the hot tears that fell from my eyes. Still, none can foresee where love will take us, or what journeys Marian may yet embark upon. Not even the wisest know where mortals go after their all too brief lives have ended.
You know the rest of your story, but not mine.
I have stayed longer than I had intended, and far longer than Marian would have wished of me. Methentaurond is deserted now except for a few caretakers. Our Fellowship, and the Fellowships that followed, succeeded such that it is no longer needed. I have returned, one hundred and forty-four years to the day after Haldir sailed for Valinor, only to leave this book and say goodbye to my Marian. I miss her company dearly. I have no one left to tease and fight with, not the way that we did.
She lies in the caverns under Haldir's mallorn, with simbelmynë2 ever-blooming on her grave. I know not from whence the simbelmynë came, for they have been long unseen in Arda. Still, I've brought some of Haldir's white flowers from his garden for her as well, because I know that he would have wanted to do it himself if he was here.
Yes, what each of us loves, and how we choose to show our love affects us all. For Marian, the love of my brother, her duty, Methentaurond and what it could do for Men, became not different loves that divided her affections and her loyalty, but the same, great love. She poured all of her grief and love for Haldir into protecting and nurturing Methentaurond and all of the Fellowship like a lioness protecting her cubs. She was unstoppable. The elves gave her the tools, and she found the moral courage to do right by Arda and her kin. She did not just try, she achieved results – that is what Haldir had expected of her, and that is what she did. She would have been so happy to see what has come to pass. She would have known without a doubt that Haldir would have been proud of her.
Soon I will tell Haldir and Orophin all about it: The mortals finally remember that in wielding their power to shape their world, they also have the power to shape their own well-being. The air is sweet and clean. Buildings live and breathe and repair themselves, mimicking the kelvar and olvar1 in the most imaginative yet deceptively simple ways. Men are ever inventing new tools to help them invent other new and curious things - but now wiser things that do not sicken the earth. Their drive and creativity never cease to be a source of amusement and surprise to me. Now that Arda is truly healing, many types of cancer no longer occur; those that do can be cured by medicines the mortals have created from some of the very plants we ate daily in Methentaurond. Other, newer diseases that damage Men, however, have appeared. Sadly, this is ever the way of Arda for Men, it seems, and like their mortality, is simply what IS.
These and other things I will tell them. With such news I hope to sooth Haldir's mind if not his heart, for I am sure that his love for both Arda and Marian has not waned with absence or time. Of course we will also have guests gather in our home nightly to hear Rumil's Tales of Arda, of which I have composed several already. Surely I will receive numerous invitations to dinner - perhaps even at the houses of Elrond or Celeborn or - well, really, the opportunities are boundless. I should be the source of entertaining tales around a roaring fire for years to come. It is thus that I eagerly look forward to gaining the attention and favor of as many lovely ellith as possible. Perhaps on occasion I will ask Lindir to join me - he is a master storyteller, quite polite, and safely bound to another.
I am going. But first I must take this final opportunity to correct a few misunderstandings.
First, the palantir is not a secret weapon designed to destroy the race of Men by elves seeking revenge for Arda being taken away from them. Those ridiculed for propounding that it is a device of the Devil are in fact closer to the truth of what it became, in the end, than anyone knew. First Dieter, and then the scientists who studied it were slowly driven insane, had strange fatal accidents or family tragedies, until the government finally decided that it must be destroyed. But did they in fact destroy it? I don't know. No one has heard of its whereabouts for a century, and it has passed into myth.
Aliens did not land and take off from the coast of California in the Spring of the year when my kin departed, nor was a secret military experiment conducted on these shores. The West Coast was not attacked by China or Korea, nor did the Son of God arrive in Arda a second time, by ship.
There. The tale is ended. I am ready now to return to Valinor and reunite with my brothers. I did not build or buy my own ship, but I noticed quite a handsome one in Sausalito Harbor that should do nicely. I have a fancy to test Haldir's theory about borrowed ships not being welcome into the West. After all, Haldir is not always right.
So now I will see myself off. This tale will be your only memory of me, except perhaps in myths shared round a fire, or in another's book, or in that nether-world of your computers and gadgets. The sunlight is yours, Children of Iluvatar: May it always fall soft and warm on your path. As for me, may Manwë set fair wind to my sails, and the stars guide me home.
1 Olvar and kelvar: Plants and animals.
2 Simbelmynë: Evermind, the flower that ever grew on the burial mounds of the Kings of Men.