A Choice to make
She runs towards me, and I am startled. Arwen. She leaps into my arms, and throws hers around me. She wears a travelling cape of the darkest blue velvet, its hood askew, thrown, from her hair, a brooch pins it at her breast, but it is half loose. "Arwen, what is the meaning of this? I believed you had left for Valinor!" She pulls herself free gazing straight at me. "I could not." "But why?" I ask aghast. She begins her tale. Riding with many elves, holding lanterns, flickering, of my grandfather's invention, she did not hear the elves all around, singing laments for the lands they would leave, the loved ones they had parted with, the hopes of what they would find in Valinor and asking the Queen Varda, to protect and guide them. She saw not the journey her horse was making. But she did see a vision. Something ran past them, something akin to a small child, or a small fawn. But it was a child, a young boy, wearing a tunic of billowing white, edged with silver thread and laces, and black leggings. He had ran, and she saw, a room, opening to a balcony, with pillars, all made of white marble, in the style of Gondor. A tall man was there, dressed in fine raiment, a tunic of dark velvet, bordered with silver and gold, and black leggings. His hair was silver-grey, as was his beard, but she saw it was Aragorn, her beloved. The boy ran to him, and Aragorn turned, holding out his arms, and hoisting the child high, both laughing with delight. Then the boy was set down, and more children, beautiful girls, ran into the room, younger than the boy. Aragorn had laughed and embracing them, held them high and fast to him. The boy wore a stone, she had given Aragorn. She knew then, who they were... Her son and daughters.
I was silent. "Is this true, that you have foreseen it?" "Both I and my father, I am certain that we both saw it." I was silent again.
I thought of the things I had seen in Galadriel's Mirror, and the waking dreams and visions in my sleep. I thought of Bard the Bowman and Artanaro, the ones I had loved and lost. I thought of the beautiful children I saw in my memories. Feanaro's madness and rage, my loved ones whom I had lost, and the helplesness, due to my youth, to save them and my parents. I thought of how they all died. Save me. I lived, but what for? To see eternity in regret and lingering pain? Was it worth it, much better than death? for many times I had wished for release...
I looked at Arwen. In her face I saw resemblance to my mother her kin also. Before their parting, most of my uncles had forced their spouses ad children to remain. Carnistir had been particularly harsh with his wife and four children. Yet my mother insisted, and although both she and my father had wished otherwise for me, never did she regret coming herself. I recognized the likeness of Luthien, her foremother and my kin. She too had loved a mortal. Beren. And I had been cynical of that. All she had done was save him. He was given the task for her hand, she did most of it for him, and when he died for her, she faded, from grief. I thought him unworthy, of the price she had to pay, yet, what if she did not pay, would it have been worth that?
If I had given up, why do I still fight?
I turn to Arwen. "I know the pain of deep regret, I would wish it no enemy, save the one in Mordor, and Morgoth, now gone. You, I would never wish it upon- an eternity of regret is worth less than a mortal lifetime spent in satisfaction. Do not regret, my child, not ever. Go to your father, confront him, and remind him of this..." I drew, from my robes, a book. I turned the pages and gave it to her. She read..
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wonder are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King."
I nod. "Tell him, reforge the sword. Only then, can the fire of Kings be woken. Sauron will fear the broken blade that caused his defeat. A whole blade, would extinguish him. For good."
I turn away, I know what to do.
***
Someone arrives, before we both can depart, I hurry to Arwen's rooms. Inside, she rests on the bed, paler than death. A lurch of fear strikes my heart. I run to her, dropping to my knees and taking the hand she holds to me. Barely with strength. "Arwen!" I know the cause.
Sauron. Ever does that name seem foul within my mind. My father had mangaged to trick him once, somehow, before he tricked any. His power now grows sapping Arwen of strength. The younger ones had already felt this. Arwen was but a millenia in years. Those who were born during the Time of Trees, or the First Age of the Sun, were more resistant.
Elrond arrives. Arwen says, "It is time." Her voice is weak. "You must go to Mirkwood."
I bow my head. I sense Elrond's reluctance, and my own, to leave her. But go we must, and so we ride.
***
Mirkwood looms ahead of us. Greenwood, it was once called, before the Giant Spiders, children of Ungoliant, arrived,and the orcs who settled at the edge of the wood. Darkness grows, the trees reach their tendrils and shadowy branches at us, as if pleading. The ground grows soft with murk. We shall have to go on foot.
The palace of Thranduil is ahead. The guards who welcomed us form an honour guard. Elrond insists on my coming first. "The Forces of Rohan are preparing to join for Gondor's aid, " he murmured.
He sensed their movements.
The doors swung open, inside a hall, Thranduil sits on his throne, but he stands, as do others, who sat in chairs, many of the Noldor are already here, as well as the Sindar and the Silvan, and some of my mother's people, Teleri, who arrived after Morgoth's downfall. The doors close. Thranduil steps down to greet me.
He says, "come", and leads us all to a greater hall, round, built of branches and live trees painted gold, and shaping rich patterns. In the middle is a fire, but, there are lamps here... And many more elves. They stopped their conversations and turned to bow.
Thranduil whispers, "Now you must speak. They have waited long to hear you. Not only the remaining Eldar upon Middle-Earth, but also Avari. Those who have never seen Aman. The Cuind, Kindi, Kinn-Lai, Penni, Hwenti and Windan. All elves."
Like before. Artanaro once stood here. I remembered. I was just behind him, giving him strength, as he spoke. Yet now it is me. And I am alone.
No never alone.
I step forward. "Those of you who hold great numbers in years present, may yet remember me.
Years before, in the First Age of the Sun, I stood behind him, Artanaro, whom others called Gil-Galad whilst he spoke to you all and convinced you to unite. Unite we did, we marched towards Mordor, to the slopes of Mount Doom, wherupon, all losses were in vain. Isildur, whom I called a Colossal Fool, fell to the power of the Ring. That foul dark thing, whose beauty masked only evil, for when Sauron first forged it, when the metal was soft and likely to stick, he cut open the part of the finger, which held it and placed part of his dark spirit within."
Murmurs of shock and fear resonate. Yet I keep going.
"Artanaro- Gil-galad- convinced you to unite and fight for your futures, for lives lost to enslavement, torment, and butchery were no lives at all, to unite was to stand strong, he said. Yet Isildur kept the Ring and evil survives. It seems indefeatable. Many times I question, was it worth such pain, such loss?" Murmurs resonate once more, agreeing with me. "I was bitter, I felt as if hope was worthless. Many of you know the history of my kin. I was but a small child, only twenty, when my forefather Finwe was butchered by Morgoth and Feanaro, my grandfather went truly mad, and committed fell deeds. His sons followed him. I was torn from the cradle of my childhood, and thrust into a world of darkness, to watch my loved ones fight an evil which seemed indefeatable, while still small and helpless, I watched as their names were darkened, and their lives were lost to torment- and later death, and few would help."
Pain, so much of it, was painted in my face, and one voice protested, "We do not question the honour of your father, my Queen, and we have know the pain you felt as a child- such evil cruelty- has never left you. yet you still fight for all on Middle-Earth."
"So I do. Yet now I feel another pain, one that may yet wound me unless, you, would wish otherwise." Shock. " I felt pain and grieved for the past, my fellow elves! Yet I should weep for another pain- the future. I lamented, questioned, yet now I know the answer! Think, the Avari, most of all, of how little children are now born to you, and of how the creatures of darkness still comes to devour you! How many children have you to lose now?"I challenged. "Do you not love them? Would you fight for their lives as well as their futures? Mistake me not, for I fight, not for vengeance against evil, that can never undo the past, as I learned. I have none left, but all the elves of Middle-Earth, whom I fought for on the slopes of Mount Doom, do you question the fact that I would die for you?" Denial. "Do you believe I would ask you to do something I would not?" More denial. "Then why must you hesitate? Hope never dies, it has been renewed.
" The heir of Elendil now rides forth, to defend Gondor, with Rohan. Should they triumph, they will march for Mordor. I intend, whether you come or not, to join them. I fight for all of you. Two others now journey to Mount Doom, they have the One Ring, and they intend to destroy it. They march with no army, no guard. Yet they still go, and so will I, for all of you, alone, if I must. But know this, a mortal life in spent in satisfaction to make a difference is worth more than an eternity in regretful pain, I learned. Yet you have not an eternity until the forces of Mordor devour you..."
Silence. I turn to my captain, " I shall leave now, you do not have to come with me." Shock. " I go for Gondor, to offer my services against Mordor. Stay with them, all of you." I walk away.
"Stop!" I turn. Shame and pain is written on their faces, but resolute. Thranduil says, "If they agree, we shall march with you, as a whole race." Murmurs of consentment. "If they also agree, you shall be our High Queen upon Middle-Earth." Now I am startled. Yet I acknowledge not that. he turns to them, "Do you all agree, for the vote must be unanimous." They shout, "Yes!" He turns to another, "Bring the crown." He arrives, in his hands, a diadem of Mithril, studded with adamants and other stones. Thranduil takes it. I kneel. He places it on my head, I then rise. Not formal, yet official still. "Rise now, as High Queen of the Elves on Middle-Earth."
I rise. We march to war.
Top: Thranduil, Father of Legolas and King of Mirkwood prepares for Battle. Middle Left: Elendil, Father of Isildur, first King of Gondor and forefather of Aragorn in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Middle Right: Elrond and Artanaro/Gil-galad leading elevs in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Bottom Left: Bard the First-made King of Dale. Bottom Right: Eldarion, son of Aragorn-Elessar and Arwen.
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