Chapter III: The Fire's Wakening
24 October, 3019
I waited for Aragorn to return to me, but he did not for many years. The years passed slowly, more slowly than they ever had before in my life.
Things changed—in Rivendell and in the world. The One Ring, so Adar told me. And later, a Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, came to live with us. He and some dwarves had visited us some half-century back, and he had occasionally dropped in for a month or two between times, but somehow I'd always been away. It was interesting to see one of the Shire, a land a few miles away where humans were unwelcome, and Elves thought of as an ancient myth. And yet, Aragorn's kin had spent so many years guarding them from the evils of Mordor… and they knew nothing.
Bilbo was a wonderful break from the solemnity of the Elves—he delighted us with poems in praise of the Valar and their kind—clumsily made, but reverent, for the most part. Bilbo's nephew, Frodo Baggins, was now the possessor of the Ring—if any but Sauron could wholly possess it. Suffice it to say he bore it, for a little while. Frodo remained in the Shire for some time after Bilbo came to us—a very long time, to a mortal.
But then Frodo and three of his kind made the trek to Rivendell, fleeing from Sauron's Nine Riders, who had learnt of the Ring's discovery and now made every attempt to regain it for their Dark Lord. For the valour displayed in the foursome, we had a banquet prepared some three days after their arrival. Aragorn had been their guide from the small village of Bree to the Ford, and I knew he would be there, so I came early to the banquet hall, and stood in the shadows.
Many passed me unseen, for I had eyes for no one but my beloved. There must have been servants preparing for the upcoming dinner, but I cannot remember anything but an empty hall, until…
Until a footstep on the floor made me turn to face the door. Until I saw him—Aragorn, returned from many journeys on many paths. Invisible to him, I examined him at my leisure. He was so changed—he was taller, sterner, older. No longer the youth I had known, his skin was darker, and his hair was flecked with grey. But his eyes—his clear, crystalline eyes—time had left their piercing gaze untouched. The same beautiful eyes that I had given my heart to were sweeping the hall, searching for me, hoping I would be there, afraid—I saw the fear in his eyes—that I would not, that I had in his absence forgotten him.
Then he saw me.
I had to restrain myself from running across the hall, in full view of the rest of the Elves and guests, and throwing myself on him, kissing him, and telling him I could never, never, never forget him.
Instead, I slowly approached him, and held out my hands to him. He took them and pressed both of them to his lips—our first physical contact since we had parted ways in Lothlorien. Then he pulled me closer to him, so that our faces almost touched. "You have changed, my love," I said.
"And you have not," he replied with a smile.
"Haven't I?" I returned.
"Not at all. Being immortal, you cannot be expected to change."
"And you are mortal, and you have changed."
"But my heart has not changed."
I laid a hand over his chest, and could feel his heart beating into my hand, matching my own beat for beat. "I did not say it did; I did not say it would. I said you have changed."
"Has your heart changed, milady?" He finally voiced the question I knew had haunted him through all his wanderings.
"No, milord," I said. "My heart will change when yours does."
He traced my heart with the tip of one finger. "In one way, I also am immortal."
"Yes," I agreed.
"You do not contradict?"
"Your heart does not change; your heart is immortal. What is to contradict? I am not a fool—I can recognise logic!"
"Can you?" he asked, giving me a mock-surprised look. "What else can you do, oh learned Elf?"
"I can do this," I said, kissing him gently on the cheek.
"You are, indeed, very learned."
"I am. But I had a good teacher."
At this point in our tender reunion—which rather boldly took place in the middle of a rapidly filling hall—Master Bilbo Baggins, aforementioned Hobbit, ran up to us. "Dúnadan, you have returned at last!" he exclaimed upon seeing Aragorn. "I've been waiting for so long! I need your help—I'm stuck on a rhyme, and I promised to sing this tonight—oh, milady!" he saw me as if for the first time, and bowed low. "Apologies, Lady Arwen," he said. "I didn't mean to… er… I'm afraid I may have… er…" His face took on a red tint.
Aragorn laughed merrily. "She may not hold it against you, provided you are less heedless of lovers' trysts in the future. What help do you need?"
"Er… just a little song I'm writing… a little ditty, really… I need a wee bit of help"—the Hobbit held up finger and thumb a space apart to show us what a wee bit of help he really needed—"with the wording. If you have time later, I… er…"
I put my hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Give this rude Hobbit the aid he requires; it will lessen the chances of his interrupting us at an even more inconvenient time."
Bilbo bowed low. "Thank-you, milady. And I am sorry…"
Aragorn shut him up with a look, and turned back to me. "We will meet, after the banquet?"
"Tonight in the garden," I whispered.
Bilbo took Aragorn's hand and led him away, talking rapidly the whole time. "You see, I'm writing a song for tonight, and—I'm sorry I interrupted—I desperately need help on rhymes and ideas. They expect something rather nice form a Hobbit, seeing as this whole banquet is for a Hobbit—it is rather foolish of them to suppose I'm a never-ending fount of tunes and words, but you know how Elves are—Goodness! you ought to know, I rather suppose…"
The banquet was slow… Elven banquets often last long, of course, but this one seemed to take years. I watched Adar eat, and drink, and pretend to be merry. I watched Lambë and Bragolcú kiss in the shadowy corner. And I watched the Hobbits laugh, and the Dwarves indulge in the alcoholic liquors on the beverage table, and the Men… who had none of the predictable characteristics of Elves, Hobbits or Dwarves.
I tried to guess their thoughts—Adar was thinking of me, and worrying. Lambë and Bragolcú were too wrapped up in one another to think of anyone else. The Hobbits were thinking of their food. And the Dwarves were too marinated in drink to think of anything else. And the Men… could have been thinking anything.
I left early and wandered in the gardens. I heard a familiar tune, and stopped.
The leaves were long; the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there,
To a pipe of music unseen,
And light of stars were in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
Then Beren came form mountain cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And in her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as soft as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wandering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glittered in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring
Like rising lark and falling rain
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the Elven-flowers spring
About her feet and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her Elvish name;
And she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadow of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the Elven-fair,
Immortal maiden Elven-wise,
And about him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore.
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Though halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
I ran to him as the final notes died away. There he was, leaning against the tree we'd first met at, smiling at me.
"Tinuviel!" Aragorn said with a chuckle—but I saw the pain in his eyes.
"What is the matter?" I asked. "We are together, darling one."
"For a time." He put his arms around me. I touched his forehead as he fingered a strand of my hair that had overflowed onto his shoulders.
"But now we are together, whatever time may bring," I said.
His arms tightened, as if he feared to let me go, and then he said, "Your father would have you go to Valinor."
"But I shall not."
He suddenly released me, and I staggered backwards. "I would have you go."
"But I shall not," I repeated.
"You would not obey me?"
"You would have me leave out of your love for me—I stay out of my love for you."
"Then we are at an impassé."
"I suppose so."
"To stay is to renounce the Twilight."
"I already have," I said, drawing close to him again. "Have you forgotten Cerin Amroth, when I told you I would cleave to you, leaving behind my kin and friends, without one glance back? Did you think I lied to you?"
He didn't answer me, just shut his eyes, and I sensed he was reliving the scene again. I was winning… Then his eyes snapped open. "Nothing can change your mind?" he asked in a weird, unnatural voice. It rasped—he was holding back tears.
"Nothing." It was my turn throw my arms around him and pull him close to me.
"You will die, Arwen," he said into my hair.
"Willingly: for, with, or after you."
"Arwen," he said, looking down at me: earnest, pleading, empathetic. "Le bainon6."
"You have said this before," I said. "I do not care for compliments from a man who will not believe me when I say I have already chosen. Must I give you a token, that you might remember better?"
I unclasped my necklace, mentally begging my mother to understand. I am never going to see you again. I know that I promised… don't be angry with me, ammé. Didn't you once love my father like this? I put it in his hand. "I choose you. I choose a mortal life."
"You cannot give me this." There was a hardness in his tone that I knew he couldn't feel. I knew he loved me as fiercely and as desperately as I loved him… so why was he saying this?
"I have already chosen."
"Do not make me bind you to this." He opened his hand, offering it back to me. The rigidity was still there. He was holding a veil before his feelings. He was trying so hard to deaden how he loved me to save my life. "Please… you have a chance for another life… away from war… grief… despair…"
"Why are you saying this to me?" I asked, looking from his face to the gem before me, and then back at him. Estel, when will you understand that I choose you because I cannot live without you? "Have you been talking with Ada?"
He ignored the question, confirming my suspicion. "I am mortal, Arwen. You are Elfkind. The Doom of Men will be hard for such as you…" He blinked rapidly, chasing away tears. "It was a dream, Arwen. Nothing more." Once more he offered the necklace to me.
I stood a moment, staring at it, trying to force illusive thoughts into words. Lúthien and Beren's life… only a dream? I wondered. A dream, and nothing more? The gem sparkled in the moonlight, reflecting on our faces and lighting up his hand, making it gleam as perhaps Beren's hand had gleamed as it grasped the Silmaril. A tear—equally illuminated by the moonlight—fell before I found the words and looked up at him. "If you will not have my promise," I said in low voice, "At least have my gift. It is a gift. Keep it… until we meet again." I closed his fingers around the pendant, forcing him to accept it.
He slipped it into his tunic, reluctant. "Arw—"
"Estel!" I broke in fiercely. "You are telling me things I know you do not feel—cannot feel. You are pretending to be cold and indifferent, but we both know what you truly desire. We both know neither of us could live without the other. Stop telling me this! Stop trying to change me!"
Silence. I glared at him defiantly. He stared at me. I saw the emotion in his eyes; I saw the kiss before it came; and I received it, returning it with every part of my soul. Somehow his hands found mine, gripping as if they would never let go.
And as suddenly as the moment of passion had begun, it ended. Aragorn pulled away roughly. "So be it," he whispered, and walked away easily, as if nothing had happened, as if I was not standing there breathless, desperate for more.
If it were not for the white marks on my palm where his fingernails had dug in, the pain where he'd pressed my wrist, the way my heart was drumming, the whole scene might have come from my imagination. I mentally beseeched the tears that sprang to my eyes: Do not fall. Please… I cannot cry now. Later… later I will cry. But please… do not fall yet.
As I turned back into the house, and walked down the halls to the hall of fire, where all the now-stuffed guests and various Elves were stuffed, and all the guests not-yet stuffed were still eating, the heedless tears ran unchecked down my cheeks. I ducked into a nearby room, behind a tapestry, to allow my emotions to settle. When I had cooled my hot eyes, I slipped into Adar's pavilion near the front of the room, hoping to escape notice.
Bilbo had just finished one of his comic songs, and some of the Dwarves had tears streaming from their eyes, so hard had they laughed. Bilbo bowed low and the rest applauded.
"Daughter," Adar called to me, laughing. "Sing something for us! Master Bilbo has entertained us with a feeble Hobbit's excuse for a song, and we crave the true music of the Elves to cleanse our soiled ears!"
I shut my eyes, forcing my composure to remain calm. Then I reopened them, determined that no one should see how close I was to breaking down.
"Perhaps not tonight, Ada," I said quietly.
"No… we need you, milady!" called Celebgil, the harpist. "Show them what true music sounds like!"
I hesitated, then stepped up to the platform where the artists performed. "Only if you will accompany me, milord."
Obediently, he began the opening chords to a song we often sang. It was one of my favourites, because of the sweeping melody that took you higher and higher, than lower and lower, and then took you soaring to the top in a sweeping finale. At his nod, I opened my mouth and began.
A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
A silivren penna míriel
O menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
O galadhremmeth ennorath
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, sí nef aeron!
As the last note died away, the audience broke into applause. Nodding appreciation, I returned to Adar, and sat down. Celebgil was urged to play a solo… He accepted, saying, "Very well. But I will play a new comic love song Bilbo wrote for me… not 'true' music as you have just heard, but pleasant. I hope it will not sound flat after the Lady Arwen's stunning performance."
He began, singing along with the melody that his fingers coaxed from the beautiful golden harp.
A fish asked a bird to teach him to fly
"If you don't," he begged, "I will surely die."
The bird agreed, for she loved him
And then asked the fish to teach her to swim.
But the fish, ungrateful and uncaring, refused, as he soared in the sky with the bird. Then he fell in love with a beautiful salmon, and married her. The bird helped the two of them escape from a fisherman, and taught the salmon to fly, as well.
The melody was like all Hobbit songs—simple, with a rustic beauty that hinted at more than was given. I felt sorry for the bird, though I wasn't sure why. Celebgil's voice was beautiful, deeper than most of the Sindarin, yet able to attain high notes. His fingers were talented, and moved up and down. They reminded me of water in a shallow brook, expertly moving around pebbles and stones.
As I enjoyed the music, someone touched my sleeve. I jumped, and turned around. Aragorn was there; my pendant was around his neck. "I accept your gift, and your promise."
I leaned close and kissed his cheek. "Hanna-le."
I turned away, and looked around the room. Frodo and Bilbo were standing by the door. Frodo was watching me. I smiled at him. He blushed and left the room hurriedly. I turned back to Aragorn, but he had gone. I looked at Adar. "I saw your gift, my daughter," he said. "It is more than any king could give. You gave him your life."
I nodded.
"You may come to regret it."
I ignored him and looked back at Celebgil. He was on the last verse. The bird died of love, dodging between an arrow as a curious huntsman fired at the flying fish. The two fish lived on, oblivious that anything odd had ever happened.
After the explosion of applause, I left, and went to my room, where I could find quiet in the cool of the night. I lay down on my bed and went to sleep.
6. Le bainon: You are so beautiful