Two o'clock in the morning, May 19, Third Age 3019
I consider also the Elves, begging their pardon
I have wondered sometimes why the Elves – called the Eldar, the "People of the Stars" – hold the lights of the night sky in such reverence while Men, the second comers, instead turn to the day. It has been said that the Firstborn Kindred of the Children of God love the evening because when they awoke beside Cuivénen, the Water of Awakening in Beleriand that is lost, only the stars shone in the heavens above them, and the creator of this magnificent glory they worshiped. Whereas Men awoke when the Sun, the last fruit borne by Laurelin, and the brightest light that illumines the sky, was shining, and so they give their honor to this celestial body. Still, even the Elves look upon the dawn as a symbol of hope and upon the night as one of sorrow because of the contrast of light and darkness. The sunset should symbolize the loss of hope, if the sunrise means the opposite, should it not, even though the Sun sets in the West where lie the Undying Lands? But upon thinking about it (for I have been given abundant time to think), I have hypothesized that perhaps because the Elves are both "young and old, gay and sad" – to quote as closely as memory allows my dear, astute friend Samwise – they favor the bitter sweetness that is the evening and the West that has lain just out of their reach until their labors are done here in Middle-earth that they have loved, for a time, as their home. The Elves are a people of bitter sweetness, for as immortals, they live and turn and grow and change with the earth, and they fade with it as well; they watch its sunset fall as their own works and they themselves must fade and go and a new dawn must rise without them, a beginning that heralds also an end, as every beginning by its nature does.
I cannot pretend to know what meaning the stars and the end of day have for a people older, greater, wiser, and far more hidden in their ways than mine. But I know why I now see more wonder and glory in the stars than in the sun, when before the Quest, my reverence for the night had only been derived from my awe of the Eldar and my knowledge of the love they bore for the stars. Having learned of it myself and deeply felt its absence, I know that there is more of a sorrowful beauty in the elder light that shines at night, the light amid the darkness, the hope that shines in the midst of drear despair and hopelessness, than in the radiance that shines unchallenged.
While giving but dim light, the Moon and the stars that glow despite the darkness all around them give hope to the heart that will see in metaphor: We, too, may shine when surrounded by shadow and near being swallowed by despair; we, too, can defy the darkness and, feeble and fallible as we are, we can prevail against it. Still with upraised lamps we may light the path, like the stars, for the wanderers blinded by night until the dawn comes to banish all fear, for as sure as the Sun's setting is its rising; not in vain do we and the stars preserve light throughout the despair of night. This did every soldier who gave his life to stave off the Shadow; this did Merry and Pippin, who kept their hearts hopeful even in the darkest hour; and so did Sam, my stars where no stars shone and my lantern where no light dared fall. This I thought I did as I struggled through Mordor; I thought that my desperate, torturous labors would enable the night to end and the Sun to rise again. I thought I understood the part of the Elves, guiding and shepherding the wayward race of Man through the years of darkness until it came into its own and its day dawned.
But I remember sitting with Sam at the top of Mount Doom while the world burned and roared around us, while the dark tower fell and all ended in fire and ash. I recall looking north, where the sky was clear; watching the Sun rise, not minding that it would rise without me, for I had had some part in paving the way for the Sun's rising, but in the end, this dawn was neither my doing nor my dawn. Then, I thought, I more truly knew how the Elves felt as their time faded – that their setting gave way to a dawning not theirs. Like the stars that dim in the darkest hour, just before day.
Which will be coming soon, as I was feeling very restless and pensive when I would much rather have been sound asleep, and decided to write down some of my thoughts in the hope that I could at least alleviate the restlessness, if the pensiveness, alas, is a chronic condition. Yet I do not think that what I have recorded is the whole of the thoughts that were troubling me, though I cannot quite put a figurative finger on the cause of my recent restlessness, and it is difficult to explain. I often feel as if there are answers just barely out of reach, always hovering at the periphery of my vision, an unceasing itch in my brain. An empty feeling that tells me there is something else I should be thinking, should have realized, and perhaps if I had followed the train of my thoughts just a little farther, I would have found it; that there is somewhere else I should be, or something else I should be doing. And currently, that is sleeping, because my eyes are starting to sting and my mind is wandering. Dú nuin-elenath* to you, O reader, and dú ú-nuin-ely** to me.
* "Night under stars" – an idiomatic Sindarin "good night" expression I thought up.
** "Night not under dreams" – the word ol, "dream," refers (considering the usage of both J.R.R. Tolkien and the linguistics people on the movie-making staff; I don't know J.R.R.'s true intentions) both to dream as in daydream, or hopes and imagination, and as in dreams at night. There is a bit of double entendre here – Frodo wishes himself not only a night undisturbed by nightmares or any dreams at all, but also untroubled by stray waking thoughts.
Author's Note: Ooh, check out the foreshadowing in that entry. And while you're checking things out, check out my other stories. Check out that transition! I'm feeling very artful today.
My, but this entry took a long time! I was experiencing difficulties in finding a good way to end it without getting sappy or pedantic, and it took drinking an entire cup of coffee (that's a lot for me, because I'm not acclimated to the stimulant effects of caffeine) at so I could stay awake and do my homework at 10:00 at night and then not being able to get to sleep until 4:30 A.M. to come up with the "not my dawn" thing. It's going to come back in later entries, just so you know. The next entry won't be as long in the posting, because it's already mostly written, you may be happy to hear. So review, please, and I may grace you with the privilege of reading more of my excellent prose. Just kidding; I'm not really that arrogant. I don't think. Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, especially repeat reviewers (serial reviewers?). It means more to me than you know that you like my writing enough that you come back for more.