Chapter Five
Courage
Eldarion walked slowly up the marble steps. He had walked the same stairway the night before, but now it seemed such a difficult task. Each pace was tedious and painful, his whole being loathed the movement. Every step of his feet, resounding as a dim thud in the high ceiling above him, took him closer to his own room; it was the one refuge that had comforted him so many times before, yet seemed now a pitiful substitute for genuine human sympathy. And he was also brought, unwillingly, farther and farther from the place he longed to be, the place he knew his mother yet lingered beside – that of his father's grave.
Death. The word had before carried no real meaning for him. But now, now it bore such a weight, such a terrible, gnawing resonance. It was unendurable. It was horrific. It made the little boy in him desire to crumple into a ball on the floor wailing, kicking, and screaming. It made him want to run away, to seek escape at all costs. But where would he run? And what good would escape do after all? For neither would bring him any closer to his father, and both would certainly bring harm to himself and those he loved who were yet alive.
His father's last words to him trickled through his mind, "Fear not, my son, for after death there is life. And it is life as we have never experienced it: brilliant, vibrant, awake, beyond description. There no sorrow dims the horizon and tears never fall except for joy. There the weary find rest, the blind see, the aching heart is soothed. And there, Eldarion, I will wait for you. Be comforted; we will all meet again. Then there will be no more partings and no more grief, but only eternity to contemplate the meaning of real love. For there we will know the answers to all our questions and rest in the security of our High King's mercy. Be comforted in this knowledge."
But Eldarion found little consolation in them. At present his own demise seemed so terribly far away that the lingering years of life bore more terror than his own death. He believed all that his father had told him, but he could not yet find courage from it. He sighed, supposing courage would come later. At least, he hoped it would.
What Eldarion did not know was that courage had already been awakened in him, as the very endurance of this day had proven. For it takes bravery to walk in a funeral procession, head held high and outward appearance unwavering. It takes bravery to take the winged crown of Gondor and the scepter of Arnor from the king's hands, knowing you have just been handed a kingdom. It takes bravery to look in the eyes of one you know will soon die and then to leave the room at their request.
What he remembered from the day was less positive: the flowers Gondorian's tossed noiselessly at the king's feet as he made his way to the Silent Street, the tears on the face of the little girl as she watched Elessar pass, the loud vibration of the door closing behind him and the chilling silence which followed. The fear he felt as he left the room after receiving the crown, how his hands shook and how he gripped the scepter more tightly in an effort to hide their quaking. The face of his mother: tight and tearless. The faces of his sisters: quiet and scared. He dared not imagine what his own face expressed.
And then, because there is always more than one layer of sorrow, there was the strange grief brought about by watching Theodwyn. How different she looked with her pale face hidden behind a black veil and her golden hair caught up and sheltered beneath the mourning shroud. She stood beside her father in quiet submission to the occurrences around her; nothing caused her to turn her eyes where they should not be or to plead release from her station. Ever the epitome of perfection, at least in Eldarion's eyes, she was as proper and poised as any lady ought to be under such circumstances. The expression he could see on her face was little, yet it portrayed strength he had not known her to possess. She did not weep, she did not sigh, she did not give any outward appearance of grief – none that one unaccustomed to her behavior would detect. But in the way she held herself, the way she clasped her hands, the way she never smiled, the way she kept so quiet, and the way she avoided looking at him all suggested to Eldarion the pain she felt and awed him with her ability to endure it.
Then came the moments of waiting in the hall, moments that stretched liked hours. His sisters were with him on one side, the steward and his family on the other, and behind them, more dignitaries, relatives, and friends. When Eldarion finally heard his mother call his name, he walked once again into the ancient chamber, the final resting place of so many kings. His father lay on a stone bed and his mother knelt beside it, her head resting on her hands and her face turned away from the door.
"He is gone, Eldarion," she whispered. "Go now and tell the others."
Her words were so simple, her request so plain. Yet Eldarion felt torn between obeying and running to comfort her. But he knew the latter would be beyond his ability, so he turned and left the room.
He did not know how to tell them. What should he say? Could he even trust his own voice? A sickening feeling erupted in his heart, he wasn't sure he could speak at all. He needed his father – no. He must not think that. His eyes drifted to the steward, who immediately understood.
"Our king has passed away," Barahir said, his voice calm and sure.
Eldarion breathed a sigh of relief, not because his father was no longer living but because he did not have to speak before the assembly. Barahir tilted his head to indicate to Eldarion that he should lead them out of the hall. And then, suddenly, Barahir spoke again, this time his voice echoing against the walls.
"All hail Eldarion Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor."
It frightened Eldarion. The majestic title could not belong with his name. Surely there must be some mistake! But deep inside he knew it was correct, and he stepped forward holding both crown and scepter and lead the way out of the Silent Street.
As he passed through the lines of people on either side of him they bowed their heads to him. It was unexpected. He did not truly enjoy it. And when he passed Theodwyn and her head fell also, he thought he would go mad. How he wanted to touch her chin and raise her head back to its proper position. How he wanted to look into her eyes. But he could do neither and so proceeded out of the hall, up the winding street, and into the palace.
Now he had reached the top of the staircase and was walking numbly to the door of his room. He pushed it open and almost with disgust laid the symbols of his kingship down onto his desk. He did not want to look at them. He fell onto his bed, exhausted.
Something small and hard was beneath his head. He sat up and turned around, annoyed. There, resting on a cape of green so dark it shone black, lay a brooch. Eldarion had seen them both before, many times, for they had belonged to his father. The pin was formed into the likeness of an eagle with outstretched wings, and in it was set a clear green stone. Eldarion clasped his hands around it, and they trembled. A little white note slipped from the folds of the cape. He picked it up and read it.
For my son, Eldarion:
All that is gold does not glitter;
Not all who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither;
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
Hope is a light in the darkness
And courage a beacon by night;
Truth will endure every hardship,
And duty is better than might.
With love,
Ada
Eldarion fell onto his side, and for the first time all day let himself relax. The tears fell quickly and before long he was lost in a torrent of sadness.
Author Note:
Sorry it took me so long to write and post this! I had difficulty with it because I kept daydreaming ahead about Theodwyn and Eldarion, and I really didn't want to get busy and write the next drama chapter... But, anyway, here it is now. I hope you enjoyed it!
Thanks for reading, and please remember to review!
Vané Alasse
Courage
Eldarion walked slowly up the marble steps. He had walked the same stairway the night before, but now it seemed such a difficult task. Each pace was tedious and painful, his whole being loathed the movement. Every step of his feet, resounding as a dim thud in the high ceiling above him, took him closer to his own room; it was the one refuge that had comforted him so many times before, yet seemed now a pitiful substitute for genuine human sympathy. And he was also brought, unwillingly, farther and farther from the place he longed to be, the place he knew his mother yet lingered beside – that of his father's grave.
Death. The word had before carried no real meaning for him. But now, now it bore such a weight, such a terrible, gnawing resonance. It was unendurable. It was horrific. It made the little boy in him desire to crumple into a ball on the floor wailing, kicking, and screaming. It made him want to run away, to seek escape at all costs. But where would he run? And what good would escape do after all? For neither would bring him any closer to his father, and both would certainly bring harm to himself and those he loved who were yet alive.
His father's last words to him trickled through his mind, "Fear not, my son, for after death there is life. And it is life as we have never experienced it: brilliant, vibrant, awake, beyond description. There no sorrow dims the horizon and tears never fall except for joy. There the weary find rest, the blind see, the aching heart is soothed. And there, Eldarion, I will wait for you. Be comforted; we will all meet again. Then there will be no more partings and no more grief, but only eternity to contemplate the meaning of real love. For there we will know the answers to all our questions and rest in the security of our High King's mercy. Be comforted in this knowledge."
But Eldarion found little consolation in them. At present his own demise seemed so terribly far away that the lingering years of life bore more terror than his own death. He believed all that his father had told him, but he could not yet find courage from it. He sighed, supposing courage would come later. At least, he hoped it would.
What Eldarion did not know was that courage had already been awakened in him, as the very endurance of this day had proven. For it takes bravery to walk in a funeral procession, head held high and outward appearance unwavering. It takes bravery to take the winged crown of Gondor and the scepter of Arnor from the king's hands, knowing you have just been handed a kingdom. It takes bravery to look in the eyes of one you know will soon die and then to leave the room at their request.
What he remembered from the day was less positive: the flowers Gondorian's tossed noiselessly at the king's feet as he made his way to the Silent Street, the tears on the face of the little girl as she watched Elessar pass, the loud vibration of the door closing behind him and the chilling silence which followed. The fear he felt as he left the room after receiving the crown, how his hands shook and how he gripped the scepter more tightly in an effort to hide their quaking. The face of his mother: tight and tearless. The faces of his sisters: quiet and scared. He dared not imagine what his own face expressed.
And then, because there is always more than one layer of sorrow, there was the strange grief brought about by watching Theodwyn. How different she looked with her pale face hidden behind a black veil and her golden hair caught up and sheltered beneath the mourning shroud. She stood beside her father in quiet submission to the occurrences around her; nothing caused her to turn her eyes where they should not be or to plead release from her station. Ever the epitome of perfection, at least in Eldarion's eyes, she was as proper and poised as any lady ought to be under such circumstances. The expression he could see on her face was little, yet it portrayed strength he had not known her to possess. She did not weep, she did not sigh, she did not give any outward appearance of grief – none that one unaccustomed to her behavior would detect. But in the way she held herself, the way she clasped her hands, the way she never smiled, the way she kept so quiet, and the way she avoided looking at him all suggested to Eldarion the pain she felt and awed him with her ability to endure it.
Then came the moments of waiting in the hall, moments that stretched liked hours. His sisters were with him on one side, the steward and his family on the other, and behind them, more dignitaries, relatives, and friends. When Eldarion finally heard his mother call his name, he walked once again into the ancient chamber, the final resting place of so many kings. His father lay on a stone bed and his mother knelt beside it, her head resting on her hands and her face turned away from the door.
"He is gone, Eldarion," she whispered. "Go now and tell the others."
Her words were so simple, her request so plain. Yet Eldarion felt torn between obeying and running to comfort her. But he knew the latter would be beyond his ability, so he turned and left the room.
He did not know how to tell them. What should he say? Could he even trust his own voice? A sickening feeling erupted in his heart, he wasn't sure he could speak at all. He needed his father – no. He must not think that. His eyes drifted to the steward, who immediately understood.
"Our king has passed away," Barahir said, his voice calm and sure.
Eldarion breathed a sigh of relief, not because his father was no longer living but because he did not have to speak before the assembly. Barahir tilted his head to indicate to Eldarion that he should lead them out of the hall. And then, suddenly, Barahir spoke again, this time his voice echoing against the walls.
"All hail Eldarion Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor."
It frightened Eldarion. The majestic title could not belong with his name. Surely there must be some mistake! But deep inside he knew it was correct, and he stepped forward holding both crown and scepter and lead the way out of the Silent Street.
As he passed through the lines of people on either side of him they bowed their heads to him. It was unexpected. He did not truly enjoy it. And when he passed Theodwyn and her head fell also, he thought he would go mad. How he wanted to touch her chin and raise her head back to its proper position. How he wanted to look into her eyes. But he could do neither and so proceeded out of the hall, up the winding street, and into the palace.
Now he had reached the top of the staircase and was walking numbly to the door of his room. He pushed it open and almost with disgust laid the symbols of his kingship down onto his desk. He did not want to look at them. He fell onto his bed, exhausted.
Something small and hard was beneath his head. He sat up and turned around, annoyed. There, resting on a cape of green so dark it shone black, lay a brooch. Eldarion had seen them both before, many times, for they had belonged to his father. The pin was formed into the likeness of an eagle with outstretched wings, and in it was set a clear green stone. Eldarion clasped his hands around it, and they trembled. A little white note slipped from the folds of the cape. He picked it up and read it.
For my son, Eldarion:
All that is gold does not glitter;
Not all who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither;
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
Hope is a light in the darkness
And courage a beacon by night;
Truth will endure every hardship,
And duty is better than might.
With love,
Ada
Eldarion fell onto his side, and for the first time all day let himself relax. The tears fell quickly and before long he was lost in a torrent of sadness.
Author Note:
Sorry it took me so long to write and post this! I had difficulty with it because I kept daydreaming ahead about Theodwyn and Eldarion, and I really didn't want to get busy and write the next drama chapter... But, anyway, here it is now. I hope you enjoyed it!
Thanks for reading, and please remember to review!
Vané Alasse