In An Age Before – Part 279
Chapter One hundred sixty-three
"What a gruesome old world" – The Third Age of the Sun
Now on the fifth day of the month of Lothron, T.A. 2510, Álfrhestr set out from Lothlórien and all of the Galadhrim were sorry to see him go. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had bid him farewell at the city gates and they offered him what blessings they could, though the tradition of parting gifts had to be foregone. Indeed, what more than clean water and good fodder did he need upon the road? What could he bear hence from his long home? He took 'naught but his memories and the friendships he had made, in the end, much like any Elder Child of the One.
Go now with our good wishes and our blessings for safe travels, mellon nín, the lady said silently eye to eye.
Would that I had time to store up sufficient Light to teleport again, Álfrhestr jested, but I have not the required centuries to wait.
Is there 'aught that we may do to aid thee? Lord Celeborn asked.
Perhaps look in on me as I travel the High Pass, the stallion said after a moment's consideration. I shall call out to ye if the need arises.
Of course, Galadriel said, understanding his meaning, though I hope t'will not be necessary.
I shall follow my nose and hope to scent trouble ere it finds me, he said. I thank ye again for your hospitality, my friends. Fortunate indeed I have been.
Be well then, 'til next we meet, Galadriel said.
May the stars of Elbereth watch o'er thee, Celeborn added.
After dipping his head to them in respect, the Oracle Horse cantered away 'round the road encircling the city 'til he came northwest and then made his way through the Golden Wood towards the Dwarf Road leading north. All through the forest, whispered good wishes and parting blessings came from the flets of the watchers and marchwardens, but finally Álfrhestr passed the borders and left Lothlórien behind.
Five hundred years and more I have dwelt there, he thought. Could the time truly have passed so swiftly? It seems like but a season ago that I came to stay. Yet now 'tis time for a new adventure and I find I have missed traveling.
'Neath his hooves the miles passed smooth and effortless. He ran at his own pace, stopped when the notion took him, drank when he felt thirst, and grazed when he felt hunger. On the fifth day, he followed the shifting paths through the marshy Loeg Ningloron, and three days later reached the Old Forest Road that led east to the Old Ford of Anduin and west to the High Pass. He turned towards the mountains, following his nose and the memories of the trip he had taken to Eriador in 2008 when Helluin had escorted Annuihír and Lainiel home to Celenhár.
During the ninth and tenth days of his journey, he ascended the climbing track to the switchback trail and finally set foot in the High Pass. His 'sight' revealed the memory of dark deeds seeping from the stones, but the bodies had long been removed; either to Imladris for burial, or into the caves of Kâpul Ulot for the roasting spits and stew pots.
On the twelveth day, Álfrhestr looked back from the heights, east into the Vale of Anduin, and recalled the view. Herefrom I first sought to see all things, though they had grown small. Now I realize that distance makes all things grow and shrink as the miles increase or diminish. I have also learnt that the world I see is not the same world that another might see from some great height. Do all things look even larger when seen from 'neath the ground? Do fish see the world much larger than I do when viewed through water from the depths of the sea?
Álfrhestr was still pondering these things when his nose reported the presence of Goblins, a few watching from the rocks above the path. The stallion sent a call through the aether to his friends in the Golden Wood and then he came to a halt, looking directly at the five hunters who crouched above.
At first, the Goblins looked on in surprise as the horse came to a halt and stared up at them. They had been sure that they were well hidden and none could mark them, but prey was prey, wary or no. They bent their bows and prepared to loose some arrows.
Suddenly the horse glowed strongly, and that glow grew to encompass an Elf Witch supported by a full company of archers, all with bows drawn and aimed directly at them! In their shock at so startlingly supernatural an apparition, they recoiled and ducked behind cover, ne'er marking that many of the archers were standing well beyond the edge of the path, their feet somehow suspended in mid-air o'er a drop of a couple hundred fathoms!
When no arrows had clattered on the rocks 'round them and the glow had faded away, they chanced a look back. The horse, the witch, and the archers had all disappeared leaving the path empty with only the distant sound of hoof beats signifying a failed hunt. The five Goblins looked to each other and wondered what had happened. In the end, they agreed to say 'naught about it and pretend it had not happened at all. None would believe them anyway, thinking rather that they had eaten what they had shot and not deigned to share.
A furlong down the trail, Galadriel's astral projection stood serenely as she floated beside the galloping stallion.
I thank thee for thy timely aid, my lady. Pray offer my gratitude to the gate company as well, Álfrhestr said.
'Twas my pleasure and thou art welcome of course, she replied, grinning as she recalled the fearful Yrch. Thou should have seen their faces, though thou wast already safely on thy way. Be well, my friend.
And thou, my lady, he said as he slowed to a canter and she vanished.
On his fifteenth day of travel, Álfrhestr descended the east wall of the Hidden Valley and made his way to the Last Homely House. There he was met by Lindir and escorted to the terrace outside Elrond's study. It seemed that the folk of Imladris had received word of his coming.
I reckon thou art actually here this time, the lord's seneschal said with a bit of uncertainty as he addressed the stallion, for so said the Lady of Lothlórien when she appeared, uh, not actually here. He grimaced at his own wording.
I am here in the flesh this time, if that is what thou mean, my good Lindir, Álfrhestr replied.
The singer gave a heartfelt sigh of relief. Most of the time, his position was straightforward, but on occasion his lord's guests proved…challenging, peculiar even. At heart, Lindir still bethought himself a simple musician, though that had not been strictly true for millennia. Finally, he recovered himself.
My lord shall attend thee shortly, mellon nín. 'Til then, might I offer thee some refreshment? Cool water and a bucket of oats perhaps?
In truth, I had hoped to sample some of thy lord's seeded cakes and that lovely, full-bodied red wine," the stallion said, and then at the shocked expression on the seneschal's face, he neighed and confessed, I jest with thee, sir. I am fine and require 'naught at present.
For the second time in as many minutes, Lindir sighed in relief. He was even more relieved when he espied the Lord Elrond stepping from his study and out onto the terrace.
"My lord, Álfrhestr of Lothlórien has arrived," he announced.
"I thank thee, Lindir," the Peredhel said, and the singer bowed and fled as swiftly as decorum permitted. Elrond turned to the stallion and offered welcome, saying, "Mae govannen, Álfrhestr, I regret thine unfortunate meeting with the Goblins in the pass, but the lady tells me that all turned out well."
My thanks for thy welcome, Lord Elrond. All is well thanks to the lady and her archers. I am told that I missed the expressions on the Orcs' faces though. Apparently, they were rendered entertainingly nonplussed.
Elrond chuckled at that, but then said, Lady Galadriel has revealed that thou art called hither and then to the Havens. Hast thou had any further clarification of thy purpose?
Nay, I have not, though I reckon those details should soon be forthcoming for the trip 'cross Eriador to Mithlond is at least a month and a day at a steady walking pace.
And thou saw thyself taking ship on the Re Anaro, Loëndë, forty-two days hence.
Aye, just so, my lord. Within a week and a half, I should know more, Álfrhestr said.
The Lord of Imladris nodded, accepting the timetable. He said no more on the subject at that time, but they both knew what he feared. Instead, the Peredhel simply said, Thou hast my thanks for coming, Álfrhestr. Pray avail thyself of 'aught the valley may offer, my esteemed guest.
The stallion bent a foreleg, dipped his head, and said, I shall appraise thee when I know more, my lord. I take myself now to the pastures to sup and then to rest after my journey.
That night, having eaten his fill, the Oracle Horse lay dozing in the pasture 'neath Ithil's waning quarter. To one long used to being outdoors in the artificially mild clime of the Golden Wood, he had eschewed the stables for the weather was fair. 'Twas 20 Lothron.
Now for the next week 'naught out of the ordinary befell and Álfrhestr could not but wait with patience for some 'seeing' or some inspiration in dream or waking to come upon him. During that time, he conducted himself as a 'normal' horse, declaring no prophecies, voicing no conjectures, and propounding no revelations. He drank water, cropped grass, and produced his dung like all the other steeds of the Hidden Valley. On the 27th, he marked the dark of the new moon when Tilion rests from his pursuit of Arien.
On that night, finally, something out of the ordinary came to pass and fortunately, being outside in the pasture rather than indoors in a stable box, Álfrhestr was free to see it. Perhaps 'twas only by virtue of his centuries abiding in Lothlórien that he marked it at all. Lit only by Varda's stars, he espied a robed figure moving smoothly down the trail from the residences and heard the soft padding of slippered feet, almost silent even to his swiveling ears. She was making her way towards the stables.
Huh. An elleth of Imladris comes 'nigh. The night is pleasant and the stars bright without the moon. Perhaps she desires to enjoy a midnight ride. If so, then I can spare those within from waking and carry her wheresoe'er she would go.
He rose and began to make his way 'cross the pasture towards the stable, but as he continued to watch, she bypassed the doors and instead crept towards the muck pen. 'Twas far too late for chores. He deemed that something strange was afoot, and so he stopped to watch for her to reveal her intent. This she did shortly after climbing o'er the low fence. Whilst standing amidst the dung and fouled straw, she doffed her robe revealing her nakedness, and then began to dig.
Now at first, Álfrhestr imagined that she sought for some trinket of value but recently discovered missing, and not wishing to befoul her robes, had stripped to conduct the search. Yet as she continued frantically excavating, he realized that he was manufacturing excuses for what was, on the face of it, aberrant behavior. He walked o'er in hope of discerning the truth of the matter.
The stallion had been standing with his head o'er the fence watching her frenzy for some time ere she marked his presence. Then she jerked her head up to regard him as if caught at some guilty pleasure ere she looked at him closely and muttered, "'Tis a horse, of course, of course."
Having caught her eye, Álfrhestr replied, A horse I am and have always been, my lady, and now a curious horse as well. What notion, pray tell, has recommended this course to thee?
Thinking him no more than an attendant factor to her delusional architecture, she answered as an exercise in self-analysis, I seek to inter myself to the neck in revisitation of my treatment during my captivity in a den of Yrch. They buried me thus in their own accumulated excrement and I feel compelled to recreate my state in memorial to those who gave their lives to save me and died fruitlessly on my behalf.
I see, said Álfrhestr. 'Tis an elegant reiteration of thy trauma. Doth it assuage the guilt of thy survival? Doth it make thee feel better?
Nay, she said, or at least not for long, for my friends are still dead and the memory still lives to incite my guilt again and again.
Perhaps the muck in this pit fails to feel authentic to thine experience at the hands of the Yrch?
The elleth paused in her digging and seemed to consider this a while ere replying, Perhaps thou art correct and therein lies the flaw in my reasoning, for I am compelled to repeat this tableau monthly on the darkest night, for dark too was their lair 'neath the mountains.
Ahhh, thou strive for authenticity in homage to the precipitating experience, the stallion said, yet thy simulacrum inevitably falls short of satisfaction.
'Tis just so, she agreed, thus I am doomed to repetition, dissatisfaction, and fixation. Very perceptive thou art. Hast thou e'er considered a career as a healer of damaged minds?
I have not but dabbled a time or two, the oracle Horse admitted, though I am convinced that the root necessity for successful therapeutic intervention is non-judgmental empathy.
Again, the elleth paused for consideration of his silent words.
A well-known and esteemed healer is my husband, and thus far, he hath offered sympathy and emotional support, acceptance and loving understanding, she revealed with less than full conviction. Indeed, whilst appreciative, she also seemed hopeless.
Panaceas that have obviously proved lacking in reducing thy suffering, Álfrhestr finished, and she nodded sadly in agreement. Perhaps, rather than this muck pen, thou would feel the authenticity of the experience increased by choosing the pig wallow or the latrine pit instead.
Her eyes lit at his revelatory suggestion and she muttered, the latrine pit, of course!
But Álfrhestr was not convinced that interring herself in the latrine pit would be curative.
Howe'er, I am not persuaded that 'aught other than the original Yrch den can truly offer satisfaction in thy case, he said, for I deem that experience but one of several and not the true precipitating event.
There is more and worse, is there not, my lady? he continued, to her dismay. Something endured that threatens thee most closely. Something that brings thee self-doubt more than guilt. Something that diminished thy self-worth such that the sacrifices of thy friends became undeserved, an untenable torment of many deemed worthy, dying for the sake of one polluted and undeserving. Is it not so?
The lady's lower lip trembled and her eyes grew wet with as yet unshed tears. The apparition of a horse, (which she still did not believe actually existed as more than a figment of her own imagination), had drawn all too close to her most deeply sequestered truth. She met its eyes, for her fear of speaking this revelation was coupled with the possible relief that t'would become known, for the withholding of it alone was surely driving her mad.
By the Valar, how couldst thou know of this? she silently whispered.
'Tis simple really, Álfrhestr said. If thou valued thyself, then the sacrifices of thy friends would engender thy thanksgiving for their desire to preserve thy life, but as thou art assailed with guilt instead, it can only be that thou feel thyself unworthy of their lives being given in trade for thine own. Thy self-condemnation has blinded thee to their freely given gift and in seeking to assuage thy guilt o'er it, thou hast taken up a practice of compensatory self-debasement.
Then the lady's tears o'erflowed and with arms wrapped 'round herself, rocked as if encradled, and a keening arose from her throat as of one inconsolable in their mourning.
Weep, my lady, and mourn for the loss of their lives, but more, for the loss of thine own self-esteem, that what befell thee slew thy self-image as surely as did the Orcs' swords that felled thy friends. Despite kind words and hopes to the contrary, I deem that both their lives and thy past life are gone from Middle Earth, casualties of deeds and chances beyond thy control.
Then long she wept and wailed the wordless anguish of her spirit as she acknowledged the truth of his words, words she had known in her own heart for many months. She sat in the muck pen buried to the waist whilst he looked down upon her unmoving and the vault of the stars crept westering o'erhead.
Eventually the lady sniffled and wiped her eyes, (with her filthy hands, smearing muck 'cross her face), and returned her gaze to the apparition of the horse. It had not moved, but regarded her still with a clear glance.
Thou say that my prior life is gone from the Mortal Lands as surely as the lives of my friends, to which Álfrhestr nodded gravely. Am I then forsaken upon the Hither Shores, even in this fair valley?
I deem that the place matters not so long as thy memories plague thee with torments unamended, and is it not the nature of the Eldar to retain their memories in full and with clarity?
Aye, 'tis so, or so I have e'er heard, she admitted.
Then unless thou find some way to accommodate thine experience and sublimate it so that it no longer poses a threat to thy self-image, thou shalt continue to be afflicted.
But is there no way to expunge such memories? she asked plaintively.
My lady, upon the Hither Shores each memory is connected to all others and each gives rise to the many branches of feelings that grow from them by association. A tree cannot flourish and flower if a section of its trunk is hewn away. At her look of devastation, Álfrhestr thought on the more radical treatments he knew, but had doubts about their desirability, if not their efficacy. There is a treatment used amongst mortals from time to time when the case is extreme, he said. She gave him a brief look of hope, 'til he completed his thought. In which a needle is inserted through the eye socket and the forebrain stirred, rendering the patient docile and bereft of purpose. I have ne'er heard of the procedure being used on Elves save as a form of torture.
The lady blenched and blanched in response and then began to weep afresh.
Woe is me! Oh, woe is me! she cried, I am indeed forsaken and shall pass the Ages steeping in guilt and buried in the latrine pit. She arose from the muck and began climbing o'er the fence. There is time still this night for me to inter myself ere the morn's chamber pots are emptied.
She began to squeegee the clinging straw from her body with the edges of her hands and sling it away with flicks of her wrists. Come, wise horse, I would that our conversation continues.
By then, Álfrhestr was loath to let her out of his sight lest she injure herself irreparably and so he agreed to accompany her, though he was able to prevail upon her to rinse her body with water from the stable's well pump, Lest the residue of the muck pit diminish the possibilities of the process pending, he rationalized. To his logic, she agreed after a moment's contemplation. She pumped the lever by starlight to initiate the flow and then sat in the gush, though she was obligated to repeat the process several times ere the clinging straw and dung were washed away. Once clean, she recovered her robe and they made their way 'cross the valley to the latrine pit. During that time, the stars had begun to dim.
They found the cesspool covered with a trap door of wood. Álfrhestr grasped the line holding its counterweight in his teeth and pulled it to raise the lid. They were immediately struck by the stench and the lady gagged, but she recoiled not and looked in carefully. 'Neath the waning starlight, the depth could not be told for the liquid came to within a foot of ground level and copious chunks of flotsam could be seen.
My lady, in truth I cannot recommend this course, the stallion said, for surely it cannot be healthful. Besides, I wager 'tis far deeper than required to be neck deep.
Yet being so foul, it compels feelings closer to my recollection of my trauma and I deem t'will be more satisfying for the strength of the revulsion I feel, she said.
My lady, a moment please…
Alas, she waited not on his words, but rather dove headfirst in a beautiful arc that caused barely a splash. She came up sputtering but grinning, happy as a pig in its wallow, and floated there a while on her back treading sewage. Álfrhestr expressed no disgust, but rather looked 'round at the buildings hoping against hope that none would come forth to discover the lady's impropriety.
His worries were rendered moot when a cock crowed in the distance to welcome the faintest blush of dawn o'er the mountains in the east. The lady's head jerked up and she paddled to the edge and heaved herself up onto solid ground. She seemed furtive, looking about hastily and checking for any who might be about early. So far, they had remained undiscovered, but surely that could not last. Álfrhestr released the line so that the counterweight rose sharply as the lid crashed down, covering the cesspool. 'Twas the morn of 28 Lothron.
In the next moment, the lady was furiously working the handle of the well pump that the servants used to rinse the chamber pots so that she could wash the sewage from her body and hair. Though for lack of soap she still smelt rather sour, she appeared acceptable enough to draw no suspicious looks as she made her way back to the House of Healing.
Ere she had taken her leave, she had remarked, My thanks for thy counsel this night, O wise horse. Pray come to me in the House of Healing that we may continue our conversation. For what 'tis worth, I am now deservedly filthy and thoroughly debased and have not felt such relief since returning from my ordeal.
He nodded to her as she turned and fled back to her sickbed, leaving him thinking, Alas, the night ended ere I could enquire as to why she hates her mother. Have I been remiss in my role as therapist?
That morn, Celebrían managed to reenter her quarters in the House of Healing unmarked. There she ruffled the bedclothes to create the facsimile of a restless night's rest and then adjourned to her privy chamber for a proper bath. Once refreshed, she met her husband and together they broke their fasts.
They spoke of inconsequentialities and the Peredhel thought it good that his wife seemed untroubled after the night of the dark of the moon. He dared to hope that her cure had proceeded and her memories were troubling her less after the intervening months. In fact, the case was quite the opposite, but she dissembled convincingly in hope of delving deeper into her plight with the aid of the imaginary horse whose insights she had found uncannily precise. Deeming him but a figment of her imagination, Celebrían spoke 'naught of him to Elrond, reckoning t'would only upset him with a newly acquired symptom.
During that day, Celebrían attended to the pruning of some rose bushes in a distracted manner, but 'naught of remark occurred and soon enough evening drew 'nigh. She supped with her family in the Hall of Feasting and then retired, "to relax o'er a book of poetry," she claimed.
Now the lady did indeed engage with the authors of rhymes, at least 'til the hour had grown so late that no longer did she hear 'aught of activity through her open window. The night grew silent save for the whispering of the breeze amongst the leaves at the tail end of spring. A grimace of anticipation shaped her lips as she extinguished the bedside lamp, darkening her chamber so that only the light of a single candle on a sideboard 'cross the room provided soft and wavering illumination. Then she did off her sleepwear and lay naked upon her coverlet.
With the closing of her eyes, the images and feelings came readily from her memory, for having relived them oft enough in private aforetime, 'twas no difficulty to conjure them again. With the undertaking of the new and more rewarding therapy inaugurated the previous night, she could even dismiss the fact that that month's dark of the moon had already passed. Ithil's nail paring sliver brought no sense of mistiming.
If I am to exercise the same rigorous candor of the night just past, then I must embrace the true precipitating event with the same acceptance as the interment, she told herself sternly. I must relive the experience fully and discern the truth of my feelings to properly understand its impact.
And so she assumed the pose in which she had lain with the Orch Rûgûrz-gajol and allowed herself to feel again his ministrations to her flesh, and hers to his. Her body reacted to the memory of his suckling and she felt his turgid girth as her hand stroked his phantom shaft at the apex 'twixt her parted thighs. She felt his hand laid o'er hers, depriving her as she positioned him for penetration. So complete and convincing was her recall that she even experienced the same intense climax and could have sworn she felt his heated seed spurt 'cross her belly and breasts. In the aftermath, she lay panting and longed to feel them drag her to the hole they had dug in their desiccated excrement.
When her heartbeat had slowed and her breathing returned to normal, she immediately realized that she had not properly recreated the nausea and the semi-swooning, vertiginous sensations of her concussion, nor the full measure of her fear at being made captive. She had been o'erly preoccupied with the physical act and its significance and had not paid sufficient heed to her emotional and medical states. The lady deemed that she would have to try again…in the interest of therapeutic candor.
She found it more difficult to recreate the disorientation, fear, and horror than she had the simple physical sensations, and this clue escaped her wholly as she struggled to re-experience the precursors of her molestation. It took her two more tries ere she managed to truly relive the time of her captivity in the Yrch warren, and she found it both revealing and supremely exciting.
As she lay panting and soaked in sweat with the fluids of her arousal oozing from 'twixt her folds, the lady floated in a thoroughly sated and intensely shameful state of elevated sensitivity. It had 'naught to do with love, her marriage, her family, or her beliefs in any proper mode of conduct, but battered and abused, she had been forced to the heights of pleasure.
"And what does that say about me?" she whispered to herself. "I am a slave to the most pitiful depravity and concupiscence." 'Cross her bedchamber the candle guttered as the horse's head protruded through her window. "Ahhh, just in time," she said to him, meeting his eyes.
Álfrhestr sniffed, confirming that the exudation 'twixt her legs had produced the scent of wanton sexual activity that he had marked all the way off in the pasture.
My lady, hast thou again the inclination to submerge thyself in the latrine pit? As aforetime, I cannot recommend it, he said, though I must wonder if thy repeated self-stimulation has also partaken of the experience of thy trauma. Hath it some bearing on thy dis-ease?
Indeed so, and I must confess that 'tis the root cause of my affliction, this shameful act I have sought to recreate.
I see, said Álfrhestr. He then revealed that, In truth, all afflictions of the mind derive from sex, whether it be expressed as guilt o'er what was enjoyed when one deems it illicit, or as depression from regret o'er what was forgone after one deems it should have been embraced. One's predisposition to one reaction or the other is a result of the sufferer's childhood relationship with their mother.
Now the lady pondered his words for some time as she lay abed. In her case, 'twas certainly guilt o'er her enjoyment of the unseemly acts she had engaged in with Rûgûrz-gajol that had whelped her guilt. Had she been predisposed to wanton harlotry because of her childhood relationship with Galadriel? It had been so long ago that she was unsure.
I know not how to answer for my relationship with my mother, for that has been e'er loving and supportive. I am curious if thou think the effects of my physical condition might also have played a part?
Then pray tell, my lady, what was thy physical condition at the time of thine…indiscretion?
Aside from the pain of superficial cuts and bruises, I had a concussion resulting in nausea, vertigo, and inability to concentrate. Then there was the sorrow for my slain friends, the fear of captivity, the fear of torture, and the fear of defilement. Only of late have I been able to replicate the effects, if thou would care to experience them.
Álfrhestr understood that like their ongoing conversation, he had but to allow it and he would feel what she had felt as easily as he heard the words they shared. He was curious, but beyond that, his diagnosis depended on taking into account all the available factors of the precipitating event. He nodded 'aye' and braced himself.
After a moment to summon the full effects of her memories, the lady projected them to the horse. Instantly, he was assailed by the experience of her injuries and emotional state. Though of stern constitution, he was not prepared and reeled, his neck slamming into the window frame and tearing down the curtains so that they shrouded his head, breaking their connection eye to eye.
The dizziness was slow to pass, and blinded by the fabric, he staggered and lost his balance, landing butt-first in an undignified heap amidst the flowerbed outside the windows of the Healing Hall. There followed a brief and frenzied struggle to free his head from the draping curtains, in which he flailed the plantings with all four legs ere he disentangled himself from the cloth by vigorously shaking his head.
Álfrhestr considered the entire experience not only disorienting, but also mortifying as he eyed the ruined flowerbed. He required many deep breaths and some moments ere his equilibrium returned. Surely, this is not the conduct of an esteemed guest, he could not help but think, Lord Elrond shall be furious!
After several more moments, he staggered to his feet, only to see the lady wrapped in her robe and staring wide-eyed at him as she leaned out the window.
My lady, is that truly how thou felt in the time of thy captivity? he asked.
Aye, she said, and t'would seem that state was difficult for thee to endure.
Indeed so, for I felt my fëa dislodged from my hröa such that I failed at coordinating the two. In that state I could not keep my footing, let alone distinguish right from wrong according to my prior beliefs, and any foe would have found me easily subdued.
So I was, and found myself accepting of that which I had aforetime deemed repulsive.
Yet I wager that with such a separation of spirit from body, thy body reacted ungoverned to all stimulations as were provided, much as a creature devoid of higher consciousness would react to a poke or a prod. It know'th not right from wrong and makes no informed judgments, relying only on reflex and instinct.
Then by thy reckoning, I am not responsible for my behavior whilst so impaired? she asked.
I deem it so in part, my lady. If thou touch the rectum of a frog, thou shalt induce it to jump. If thou poke the head of a slug, it shall retract its eyes. If thou prod a worm, it shall wriggle away. Thy higher self is blameless.
Then the lady fell silent whilst she contemplated these declarations, for they seemed to offer some absolution, yet there were aspects of her symptoms that discomfited her still.
Why then am I still so driven by my guilt? Why do I still feel myself unworthy of the sacrifice of my friends? Why am I still so excited by the recollections of my stimulation at the hands of the Orc?
Because thou hast a body, my lady, and the hröa carries memories of its own. Those memories collide with the beliefs of right and wrong to which thy fëa adheres, and the conflict 'twixt the two creates the dynamic that afflicts thee with shame and guilt. Thy fëa and thy hröa are still divided within thee, and so long as each recalls differently what came to pass, so thou shalt remain.
Then I am doomed, she wailed, doomed to pass through life conflicted and ridden with shame and guilt, each day as dark as the den of Yrch wherein I was divided spirit from body.
Thou hast come to understand the cause of thine affliction, my lady. Surely, that must count for something. Much in life must be borne and accepted even if 'tis also bemoaned, he said, loath to offer any false hope. 'Tis a gruesome old world at times.
Indeed his words offered her no hope, false or otherwise. She broke down sobbing, her hands covering her face in despair. Álfrhestr stood by, patiently waiting for her to recover her composure. That ended up taking quite a while, for she had finally confronted and accepted the certainty that her cure would not be forthcoming and she would continue on indefinitely 'til she withered away in guilt, shame, and sorrow unending, and then faded from the o'erbearing grief.
'Twas much later when the lady sniffled and drew her hands from her tear-streaked face. By then, Álfrhestr had dozed off standing upright and the lady marveled through her puffy, reddened eyes at the blank look of peace on his face.
"Ahhh, would that mortal sleep could deliver me such surcease," she moaned, "yet I am doomed, doomed to wither away in guilt, shame, and sorrow 'til it ends with my fading from the o'erbearing grief. Alas for my pitiful, sullied self and the futile longing of my forlorn fëa to once again be united with my hedonist hröa. In this growing darkness, my fate is growing darker, and all things wax dark and depressing." (She was somewhat repetitive in her despair). "'Tis a gruesome old world indeed."
The lady had little difficulty bemoaning her fate, though the acceptance of bearing it would take some time. She gazed at the sleeping horse, understanding that 'twas through his counsel that she had realized her dismal prospects, though she still deemed him but a figment of her imagination, put to sleep to reflect her lack of concentration in animating him.
"A strange thing 'tis that I would conjure such an apparition for my own torment, though in truth he hath done no more than verbalize my own state. I reckon him 'naught but a shortcut that my mind has created to force upon itself the acceptance of its own fate. Yet now its work is done so whyfor doth it linger still?"
She mulled this o'er, wondering if her mind had yet further fearsome revelations to proffer.
"Oh be gone, phantom of my torment," she cried out, "be gone, O haunt of my wretched soul!"
At her raised voice, Álfrhestr shook himself awake, looked at her in confusion and asked, Huh? What?
Pray leave me now to my despair, for by thine intervention I am come to the recognition of my hopeless circumstance. I am woebegone and now woe begotten, bereft of my panacea of denial and doubt. Would that I could go back to hoping that my salvation lay in the latrine pit. Alas, with thy counsel, even that pitiful fantasy has been stripped from me and 'naught awaits me now save my fading. I curse myself for creating thee. I bid thee hence, O insubstantial avatar of my torment.
My lady, I do not believe that I am thy creation, for I had lived many centuries ere we met, Álfrhestr said hesitantly in his confusion. He wondered if perhaps she had acquired some further symptoms during his nap. I was not foaled to torment thee. I have but sought to aid thee by clarifying the origins of thy turmoil. Alas, we have found no cure, that much I admit, yet not all maladies have a favorable resolution. Adversity may not always be o'ercome.
His repeated confirmation of her hopelessness felt like a kick to an already injured puppy and her lower lip trembled as tears threatened to flow again, yet after a few moments, she also marked what else he had claimed. She reached out and poked him in the nose, then jerked her finger back after it made contact.
"Real? Thou art a real horse?" she gasped. "But how can this be? In all my years, I have ne'er aforetime held converse with a horse and certainly ne'er accepted counsel from one."
My lady, of course I am a real horse. I lifted the lid of the latrine pit for thee, did I not? he reasoned. After taking a heartbeat to recall the memory, she had to nod in agreement.
Preoccupied as I was in that moment I marked not thy proof, she said silently.
Should further proofs be required, there is the destruction of this flowerbed, he added self-consciously. The trampling and hoof prints 'neath her window she took in at a glance and found 'twas as he had said. No insubstantial avatar had wrecked such havoc upon the landscaping.
Very well, I shall accept that thou art a real horse, she said, conceding the point, yet still I bid thee be gone. I thank thee for thine aid in understanding my condition and despise thee for it as well. I cannot abide the same realm with thee in comfort.
That is well then, my lady, he said, for in another two days at most, I must be away. The trip 'cross Eriador shall take the full month of Nórui and I am due at the Grey Havens on Loëndë. There I shall take ship into the West and trouble thee upon the Mortal Shores ne'ermore.
The dawn of 29 Lothron lay but hours away.
Quoth the stallion, ne'ermore, she huffed and offered him a grimace.
My lady, I bid thee namárie¹. With that, Álfrhestr dipped his head in farewell and turned to canter away, back to the pasture to resume his night's sleep. ¹(namárie, farewell Quenya)
Long the lady stared into the night after him, at first shocked to the core by his words and then seething with a swiftly growing jealousy. To be saddled with eternal misery by a horse and then to learn that he intended to escape all the trials of Middle Earth by sailing into the West simply reeked of inequity to her. She felt like returning to the cesspool and drowning herself in it.
Perhaps thereby to outpace his wretched hide to the Blessed Realm, she thought petulantly. 'Tis a gruesome old world indeed.
By dawn, the wheels had been turning in her head for several hours and had Álfrhestr known of it, he would hath fled the Hidden Valley immediately rather than awaiting 1 Nórui.
Whilst breaking their fasts that morn, Celebrían questioned her husband about a horse claiming to be going to the Havens to take ship into the West.
"My love, of late I have met a horse that claims to be traveling shortly to Mithlond where he hopes to find passage to the Blessed Realm," she said. "Can this be true? A horse?"
"Thou speak of Álfrhestr, who arrived from Lothlórien nine days past," Elrond replied. The Peredhel shook his head, recalling his own experiences with the stallion. "He is a strange case, that one. At first, he was a horse like many, but came to crave becoming a warhorse after Helluin found him at an abandoned farm of the Éothéod in the lands east of Anduin."
"Helluin? This Álfrhestr is her horse?"
"Aye, beloved, or at least he was somewhat o'er five hundred years ago," Elrond said and saw his wife's eyes widen in surprise. "He hath dwelt since then in thy mother's realm where he is called the Oracle Horse."
"And she hath worked some enchantment upon him?"
"Indeed so," her husband confirmed. "I first met him in 2008 and by then he was already enriched, though still a warhorse in Helluin's service. When next I met him, 'twas 2061 and he had accompanied thy parents hither from Lothlórien as astral projections. He spoke aloud with words at that time. 'Twas quite a shock, and by then, he was already 'nigh three score in age."
"And now he hath passed five centuries," Celebrían repeated, still amazed.
"For long he hath been gifted with foresight and farsight," Elrond added. "He hath foreseen himself leaving the mortal shores. He hath foreseen himself bearing one from Imladris hence."
Celebrían nodded at his words. Elrond's face was grim. Ere Álfrhestr's appearance in the Hidden Valley, his mother-in-law had warned him of the stallion's 'vision'.
…on the Re Anaro I shall step foot from the Mortal Shores at last and take ship into the West. In Imladris, I shall find a passenger needing counsel and a steed to reach the Havens, he had told Galadriel and she had reported those words to Elrond verbatim. In another two days, the stallion would go west and the Peredhel guessed who his rider would be.
"Hast thou taken counsel with Álfrhestr?" he asked his wife, and felt his heart breaking as she nodded 'aye'.
"We spoke of my affliction and he convinced me that no cure exists, and in hurt and anger, I dismissed him from my sight," she said. "I had taken him for 'naught but a figment of my imagination, self-conjured as a foil to my own thought and as a prompt for my contemplation of my plight. I had no idea he was a real horse 'til after my words had been spoken."
Elrond nodded, entertaining the hope that she would not seek to sail, would not seek for Álfrhestr to bear her hence to Mithlond. Perhaps she had herself foiled the possibility he had feared to hear for the past months. Alas, he was still at a loss for further treatments that could forestall her by returning her joy in life on the Mortal Shores. He had only been grateful thus far that she had not voiced the desire to leave Middle Earth.
"Thou art foremost amongst our people in lore and healing, husband," Celebrían said. "Know thou if there could be some chance of finding the surcease of my suffering in Aman that abides not in Mortal Lands?"
Elrond sighed. She had asked the question he had hoped not to hear, and yet 'twas a natural question for her to ask. Neither of them had lived in Aman, but the Peredhel had visited there once briefly, when he had sought for Helluin's fëa after she had been stricken by the loss of Beinvír in 1851. He had come at last to the House of Nienna in the furthest west of that land and there he had found the dark Noldo seated with the Valier of Lamentation, staring out into the Void. He recalled her first words to him upon his arrival.
"Here 'nigh this house is the one place in all of creation where I can find a measure of relief from the sorrow and the rage that I know is to come," Helluin said.
"I know not for certain, my love, but I cannot deny the possibility," he admitted. "Thy mother or Helluin would know better than I. Perhaps also Lord Glorfindel can offer thee counsel."
How he loved her, more strongly with each passing year, and he would deny her 'naught, even if the chance for her relief was paid for by their sundering now and his sorrow e'er after. His duty as a healer demanded it, but far more, his love as a husband required that he put her welfare ahead of his happiness. And one day, someday, they would be reunited in that Blessed Realm 'cross the sea; he had to keep faith in that.
"If thou would have it so, my beloved, I shall speak with Álfrhestr and secure thee passage to Mithlond. I would trust him to convey thee hence," Elrond said, ignoring the tears that threatened to fill his eyes.
"He shall not leave Imladris 'til 1 Nórui?" she asked, and the Peredhel nodded 'aye'. "Then ere the morrow's night, I shall make my decision," she said. "T'would be so hard to leave thee and our children."
Despite wondering if it made him seem desperate and clingy, he bid them spend the day together wandering the long familiar grounds of their home and it seemed the lady desired to keep his company as well. Arm in arm they walked the garden paths and the terraces, past fountains and waterfalls, and 'round statuary and sculptures. They took delight in the late spring flowering of the vines, shrubs, and trees, now verging on summer. 'Twas soothing and bittersweet, as each thought t'would the last time.
That night, the family dined together in the Hall of Feasting, for Celebrían deemed that if 'twas to be one of their last meals together, then her people should see their lady with her family. After the meal, they adjourned together to the Hall of Fire and spent the night listening to the lays and songs being sung, committing all to memory as sustenance for the coming years alone.
"I have had a most marvelous day, my love," she told her husband as they prepared to retire, "but now I must take counsel with myself for I have a decision to make that cannot be lightly reached."
"I understand," he said, and then kissed her and whispered, "I love thee, now and fore'er, my Silver Lady, come what may." They both shed tears and held one another for a long time ere parting, each to their own counsels.
Neither rested, but passed that night recalling all their years together and the trials they had endured apart and together as the years in Middle Earth had passed. From their first meeting in Imladris in S.A. 1701 following the War of the Elves and Sauron, they had felt an immediate connection and that feeling had grown through all the long years of their courtship. One thousand eight hundred and forty-nine years later, they had wed, and few had endured so long a betrothal even amongst the Eldar. 'Twas a testament to their love, and a second had come soon after. Within a century and a half, their children had been born, twins like their father and his brother, and a daughter who had soon been acclaimed as the renascence of Lúthien, her distant foremother.
I have loved them with all my fëa and hröa, yet now I am parted within and how can I continue to love them as I have when I am no longer as I was? Staying would bequeath them a fading wight, no longer the wife and mother they knew, and slow would be the growth of their sorrow, only to that same end as shall be made if the leave-taking is swift. I would spare us all the extension of our heartbreak and perhaps find healing as well.
By dawn, her decision had been made. 'Twas 30 Lothron. When they met for breakfast, Elrond read her choice in her eyes and they shed many tears together o'er their meal. Then they called their children to attend them and as gently as they could, they spoke of what was to come and why. Elrond marked the hardening of their sons' eyes, and if they had hated the Yrch for tormenting their mother aforetime, now their hatred grew to a cold craving for vengeance whose like he had only seen at times in Helluin's eyes.
Arwen was heartbroken as expected. She sobbed and clung to her mother with a desperate embrace as Celebrían held her and offered what comfort she could. To her horror, she realized that she felt not a mother's instant empathy for their distraught child and this but reinforced her certainty that her course was right. Into her daughter's hand, she pressed a jewel, a great green crystal whose setting recalled an Eagle.
"Remember me by this, dear daughter and one day, perhaps pass it on to thine own daughter as 'twas passed to me by mine."
Arwen closed the Elessar in one hand, but her voice hitched with her tears as she said, "I need no jewel to recall thee by, mother, for beside thousands of years of thy love 'tis but a bauble."
Celebrían smiled and kissed Arwen's brow.
"Still, perhaps one day, it shall come to one thou love," she said.
They spent that day together as a family, save for a short span when the lord went to speak with Álfrhestr.
I shall take my leave at dawn, my lord, thereby to diminish the heartbreak of farewells, the stallion told the Peredhel and he had nodded in agreement, hoping to reduce the spectacle of his wife's departure.
Celebrían made her travel preparations that night in the company of her family who refused to be parted from her 'til the last possible moment. That she understood and indeed welcomed, for she deemed t'would be long ere they were reunited in Aman. There was actually little that she decided to take, for she would need little once she left the Mortal Shores and 'aught she required for the trip would be left behind in Mithlond. In the end, she packed several changes of practical riding clothes in a travel bag and added some rations of long-keeping foods to augment 'aught she found along the way. Her husband had told her that Álfrhestr bore no tack and so she could not fill saddlebags.
As the night faded, she cast her glance 'round the room she had shared with Elrond for 'nigh two thousand five hundred years. Then, after their final hugs and kisses, she took her leave and walked out to the terrace to find Álfrhestr waiting. She did not realize in that morn's dim light that she would ne'er again meet her daughter.
"Well, Oracle Horse, t'would seem we shall be keeping company a while yet," she said.
So t'would seem, my lady, and I hope that the trip shall be safe and satisfactory, he replied.
That I shall discover when our destination is reached, but ere that, I would thank thee for all thou hast done, welcome or not.
He dipped his head to her and she mounted, her bag slung 'cross her shoulder and a sword at her waist. It had been centuries since she had practiced at swordplay, but like all Elves, a thing once learnt was ne'er forgotten. They passed from the Last Homely House, down the path leading to the Ford of Bruinen at a comfortable trot. In respect for the illusion of secrecy they sought to create, the many hundreds of eyes that watched them leave remained indoors, looking discreetly out past curtains, or outdoors from behind trees.
They crossed the river in peace, saluted from the high cliffs by the sentries on duty there and then passed onto the Great East Road leading through the Troll Fells of old Rhudaur. 'Twas only then that they began to mark others. Along the verges of the road, indistinct from long habit, stood many archers clad in mixed greens, moving only so slightly as to be perceived with effort.
They pay thee homage, my lady, Álfrhestr said as he swung his head from side to side.
Dúnedain Rangers of Eriador I reckon them, Celebrían replied. But the stallion begged to differ.
Nay, my lady, for those we shall meet later. These are Laiquendi of whom Helluin once spoke, but whom few e'er see. We need fear 'naught upon the road, for if they are allowing us to mark their presence now, I deem they shall watch o'er us all the way to the Havens.
How could they know that we take our leave this morn? We have announced it to none, not even our own folk, Celebrían asked.
I have heard long aforetime that 'naught passes in these lands that is unknown to them. Indeed, I reckon that no few walk the valley of Rivendell, unseen and undetected by any. It should not surprise me if it hath e'er been so.
Thereafter, the lady dipped her head to those they passed and received like acknowledgement in return. Soon enough, the visible guardians became fewer, just a figure here or there amongst the trees, but these continued to move slightly so that they could be perceived. Ere they reached the Last Bridge on 3 Nórui, the lady realized that they had already passed many hundreds.
They had soon marked another uncanny factor. At such places as they chose to camp, they found firewood and sometimes freshly snared or shot kills awaiting their arrival. There were ne'er any Green Elves to be found lingering 'nigh, nor any footprints. The lady took to bowing to the empty forest and whispering her thanks to the trees. But most of all, she felt safe camping out in the open woods. Álfrhestr too demonstrated his sense of security by lying down to sleep deeply as his kind ne'er did when fearful of their surroundings.
O'er the following weeks, Celebrían and Álfrhestr continued their journey 'cross Eriador untroubled. On several nights, Ranger of the North joined their camps and the lady found herself welcoming their company. They were Men of the West in service to the aging seventh Chieftain Arahad. Of them, she learnt that the attack she had endured was but part of a renewed presence and threat by Yrch of the Misty Mountains. Many times in the past few decades, Rangers and their Laiquendi allies had thwarted intrusions by those ancient foes in the lands of the west.
"Yet they are fearful of these lands," a Ranger named Boron had said, "and this from of old, though we know not why."
Álfrhestr whickered, drawing the lady's attention.
Bid them ask any prisoners they take if they know of the Butcher of Bruinen, the stallion said, I deem the mention of that name shall chill their blood.
At his words, she gasped, recalling a few rumors from the time when she had first met her husband. The one given that epithet had struck terror into the Glamhoth during the War of the Elves and Sauron. Few recalled 'aught of that tale now for 'twas very dark.
"Pray recall to them the Butcher of Bruinen, good Ranger of the North," she said. "Perhaps that name relates to their beliefs about these lands, though 'twas very long ago now."
Boron and his comrades nodded, but they had ne'er heard of such a one.
"We shall ask after such lore in Celenhár, my lady," he replied.
Where the road crossed Baranduin, Álfrhestr took a detour through an old forest rather than ride into the heart of Sûza. For the time they spent passing through the lands of the Halflings, they remained out of sight from road or hamlet and if any marked them, they dared not approach. On 27 Nórui, the Tower Hills came into sight at last and once past the town of Undertowers, they rode openly into the highlands.
From the heights at the base of Elostirion, they could finally glimpse the sea, a glimmer in the sunlight still two score miles distant. They reached the coastal lowlands on the 29th and passed the gates of Mithlond on the 30th with a day of Nórui still remaining.
In the city they were met by the Lord Círdan and he welcomed the Lady of Imladris to his mansion o'erlooking the quays. They sat at noon on the same terrace where Helluin had once arrived with the Eagle Meneldor and ate a light repast.
"Well timed is thine arrival, my lady, for a ship shall sail on Loëndë. Thou art welcome to join its company and pass into the West."
"I thank thee for thy welcome and the confirmation of my voyage to Aman, my lord," Celebrían said. "What of Álfrhestr? Is it not unusual for a horse to pass thus from the Mortal Lands?"
"Had I not received word from one exalted upon all shores, he would not set a hoof upon the quay, let alone aboard a ship, but I have received…instructions that I cannot gainsay and so he shall accompany thee thither."
The ancient Sinda shook his head as if unable to fathom why he had received such a command. Still he would do as his old friend had twice done and honor the Lord Ulmo's charge, for 'twas not his place to oppose such a directive. And yet he still wondered, why a horse?
"What knowst thou of this creature, my lady?" he asked.
"He is a horse most strange, my lord. I have heard that at first, he was Helluin's warhorse, but that was five centuries ago ere my mother set some enchantment upon him. Perhaps he can explain more, for he hath both foresight and farsight and came to Imladris o'er a month past already knowing this doom."
"I shall speak with him then, for I find myself quite curious," he said, intrigued.
That night, the Lord of the Havens indeed came to the stable where Álfrhestr was relaxing and when the stallion marked him, he bent his neck to offer the equine equivalent of a bow. Círdan met his eyes and they traded words in thought.
Suilaid nín, Hír Círdan, Álfrhestr said. I know my presence and purpose may be a source of curiosity, but I reckon there is some purpose as yet unknown to me.
Thou art correct, noble Álfrhestr, and I had hoped thou might enlighten me.
Alas, the notion of coming hither on Loëndë and bearing a rider from Imladris came upon me as a whisper of imperatives during a night of rain. I understand not wherefrom, though oft enough such inspirations have proved true and so I doubt them not.
On a night of rain, thou say, Círdan remarked, and the stallion nodded 'aye' ere returning to meet the Ship Wright's glance. I too have received instructions regarding thy voyage into the West. Yesternight the Lord Ulmo appeared, directing me to provide thee and Lady Celebrían with passage to Aman. I was most surprised, and yet ye are come hither ere the appointed day.
My lord, think thou that my inspiration too comes of Lord Ulmo?
I deem it may well be so, he said, and with that I have no qualm. I am only curious. The lady speaks of thee being enchanted long ago by her mother, the Lady of Lothlórien. How came that to pass, pray tell?
At the mention of the lady, Álfrhestr had dipped his head in honor and Círdan marked this. The horse exhibited the respectful mien of a proper courtier rather than a steed or beast of burden.
In 2008, I unearthed evidence of an ancient civilization, he began, ere recounting his discovery of the trove of gold coins of Doriath left behind by the Lady Nimrodel. He then described Galadriel's transference of the residual blessing in the coin to himself, its power attributed to the touch of Queen Melain long aforetime. And since that day, I have lived with undiminished vitality and acquired new senses, and now I am called from Middle Earth. If thou hast any conjectures regarding why all this may be, my lord, I am very curious to hear them.
After hearing thy rede, I have but one theory, the Ship Wright said, that some power indeed remained from the queen's touch and now those in the West desire to reclaim that virtue. 'Tis but a theory, yet I can think of 'naught else.
Then I thank thee for giving it thy consideration, my lord. I shall return what is theirs to the great ones in the West, if that be their desire. Álfrhestr dipped his head again to the ancient Sinda in parting and the Lord of the Havens withdrew.
Now with the ebb tide on Loëndë of 2510, a grey ship set sail from Mithlond. With furled sails it rode out onto the Gulf of Lune and passed away into the West. Here ends the tale of Celebrían and Álfrhestr upon the Hither Shores and whatsoe'er more came after, none upon the Mortal Shores know 'aught of it.
To Be Continued
superman103174: Thanks for your review. Glad you're continuing to enjoy the story! Most of the events in Chapter 278 are outlined in "Unfinished Tales" and they're important to the later Third Age. I'm happy that you liked my adaptation of the battle and the founding of Rohan.