Chapter 7
Fear No More
I curse. The Mirror of Galadriel was a hateful thing to me. I knew not what could be worse, the Palantiri or that. How could she? I rub my head. I had never thought it possible for elves to feel pain within their skulls, but now I do. Curse that hateful thing.
Galadriel looks at me. I glare. "Satisfied now cousin?" I snap. "For now I intend to retire. I wish to conver with King Thranduil in the morning, and he need not know that the queen he will speak to is half-crazed with visions of a mad and dangerous past!" I flared. I stalk away.
If any orc should see me now, they will flee for the look on my face must indeed be frightful, I think.
Yet the visions had indeed haunted and hurt me further, and what was the point in that?
Yet I plead silently, Eru All-Father, help me, for I know not what to do. yet would He answer? My blood had been a great offense to Him, and now I dare plead for His help? Why should he answer, let alone help? Am I even worthy to think about Him? No, I believed not.
What had I done, though, to suffer so? Why did I lose my forefather, my grandfather my grandmother who dwells still upon Valinor, my uncles, my father and my mother, most of my kin and the Loved Ones I met during my time upon Middle-Earth? What had I done? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
By the time I stumble into bed, as elves hardly do, my vision is blurred with tears, but I force the sobs from choking my throat. The pain of past memories finally cloud me until I wish deeply I were within Mandos. Please, no more, I wish to scream.
Yet more comes, after my weeping brings the repose of sleep. More memories. I see Artanaro. He smiling as he slips the ring upon my finger. The adamant flashes brighter, than even Nenya's flickering stone. The people cheer. He kisses me, and children jump before my vision, throwing flowers, even as the threat of Mordor loomed near, for now it is forgotten.
More memories now. I see children waving at me, hands high in the air. One had the eyes of Artanaro. They wish to know when we will return.....
Now I see us, him and I, riding, dressed in armour. I was one of the few females that took upon her the tasks of a warrior, Artanaro's second-in-command. We had gone all over Middle-Earth, healing chasms, forging alliance, faster than bridges, earning loyalty, and love. We had fought and defended others, I healed many wounds then, in the souls and bodies of men. Then came the Battle of the Last Alliance. When Elves and Men marched against the armies of Mordor. The orcs had hissed and snarled, foully. We shot arrows, in the distance I could hear Elrond shouting a command on Artanaro's and my behalf. The Elves raised their shields in a straight unbroken line. Others shot arrows at another signal, whilst others readied their sword, freezing themselves in the position, that held without wavering, storms of orcs and trolls had come, yet we cut them down. The Men of Gondor were advancing, just as Artanaro had advised them to. They were jubilant, so close now, were we to victory and freedom. Then... a dark figure emerges, taller than even the elves and men of Gondor. Cloaked in black iron armour, bristling with the plate of spikes, a great mace is in his hand, of the same metal, and a gigantic helm covers its head. Sauron. Once Mairon the Admired.
On his finger, a ring of gold, brighter and more perfect in shape, no stone, only markings, red as the blood of the earth in Mount Doom, and in the form of the Tengwar my grandfather invented, but in a toungue, foul to the ears of men, elves and dwarves alike. He swings his mace and crowds of men and elves are flung far back. Artanaro shouts something to me, he wishes me to take the majority of our host, back. But he goes forward, to distract, or stop Sauron. I scream his name, and no,
he heeds not my words, and wields his spear Aeglos and throws it at Sauron. But Sauron deflects it, and Artanaro draws his sword, Sauron swings his mace at him, and the sword breaks, Artanaro falls to the ground and Sauron picks him. Before he throws, Artanaro's eyes held mine, remembering the joy we both felt and love. He whispers farewell and of his love for me in my mind, for me alone, before Sauron throws him on the rocks of the mountain...
The scene changes. Now I sit at a campfire, alone save for a man. Bard, called the Bowman, whom Aragorn son of Arathorn, would remind me so much of..... He gazes at the fire, without expression, and asks quietly, "Did you love him?"
I start. "Why do you ask me this?" I blink. "What is any love of such within me to you?" He is silent.
"Did I love Artanaro, or not? What do you believe and why? Why will you not tell me?"
He finally turns to me, more pain and grief within his eyes. Grief, not of what he once lost, but what he has yet to lose. "Because, although I can understand as of why he feels love towards you, I feel naught but pain and envy that he has held your heart within his hand, even if it was just once, and long ago." Silence. "I had hoped, despite our differences..." he falters. "But no matter, it can never, nor will it ever be, even as I would long for death against the evil of Smaug, rather than this I feel."
I was startled."Do you love me?" When he refuses to answer, and closes his eyes, to hide the agony from mine, I grab his hand. "You love me, do you not? Speak the truth!" I was agitated.
He turns his face towards mine, and opens his eyes and I see the pain there, so clear, and the love.
I thought at once of Finwe. How he had loved, first my foremother, whose skill I now inherit, then Indis, The Fair. I think also of my kin Faelivrin, who had fallen first with an elf, then with the man Turin, and then of couples such as Beren and Luthien and Itarille with Tuor....
I remember the smiles and laughter, we shared, how he looked into my eyes... the children that played before us, running and laughing, one a girl whom I taught to sew.... What had happened to them?
Then I had left, when the remaining Noldor had called me to be a queen amongst them. To rule. I left Dale, now free of Smaug and in my journey, having faded to less of his former self, he had died....His last words were my name and how he would have wished to see me one final time....
***
The next morning, my meeting with Thranduil and Celeborn and my cousin went to place. After agreeing with what I had to say, much- I admit- to my surprise, Thranduil stated that he would like to to go to Mirkwood, his realm, to speak with the ones present, the ones, he said to me, I had to speak to, to convince them to unite. I can sigh at the mere thought of that. Artanaro and I had both done such tasks, to heal rifts, to build bridges and form alliances never tried, in order for all to march upon Mount Doom, in the Battle of the Last Alliance, in the Second Age. Now, we are nearing the Dawn of the Fourth Age of the Sun, and I am expected to do that task once more, to unite others, to fight with Mordor. But this time, I am alone.
I am still shaken from my encounter with Galadriel's Mirror, and the visions it had produced, then and after. I had not thought that such power could overwhelm me enough to make me lose all sense of time and place. Such was the Power of the Mirror.
I ride out, with my warriors, to Mirkwood, but first, to Imladris, or Rivendell, as Men call it. I had felt a burning need to speak with one that I loved. My foster-brother and cousin, Elrond, had wished it as well. Imladris soon emerges, in all its beauty and grace, but it is deserted. Few remain, when elves march to war, or leave for the shores of the Undying Lands, few remain. He is there to greet me. I see him now. He holds his hands out in welcome, and speaks, not in Sindarin, but in Quenya, my cradle-tongue.
"Welcome, my cousin and the sister of my heart." He states somberly, as he stretches his hands out and bows. I smile. Him I had known, since he was but a boy, with his twin Elros. They had been rased by my father, and by Macalaure, my uncle.
"Elrond." I say warmly. "But these were not the circumstances I had wished to meet you.
"Alas, if it were." He sighs. "I am glad you are here though, cousin, I wish to confer with you."
He is silent, before he continues, "Arwen has left for Valinor, last night. She took the Safest Road."
I was startled. "How did you manage to convince her to leave? She wished to stay."
He sighes. Galadriel, mother to his spouse had told him, I now knew, he was glad of my understanding at least. "I told her of the vision I had seen." As a descendant of Melian the Maia, he had such a gift. "I saw her future. Were Aragorn to survive, and Sauron to be defeated, she must still taste the bitterness of pain and mortality, when he dies. She will have none to ease her pain, for all others would have gone, even in Lothlorien, even here, in Imladris. She will linger, under the aging trees, until she fades from grief." He shakes his head. " I could not let such come to pass."
"And if Sauron wins, all will be lost," I murmured. "I understand cousin, you wished to spare her of the pain that is to come. One quick slice of the knife, heals better than a plunge through the heart, though scars remain." My wounds had never healed. This I knew. "You did what was best, cousin, now we must confer. "
And we did so. After our meeting, I walked through the gardens. Its fairness held no charm for me now, as I was- again- lost in time. The last I had been here, was when a company of Dwarves- with one halfling- arrived. I had seen him, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, as he prepared to leave- to retake Erebor. I had passed him and stopped, saying "Leaving so soon, scion of the line of Durin?"
He was startled into stillness. "How do you know me?" I smiled. " You have the gaze, the bearing, and the stance of your forefather. And his walk."
"You knew my grandfather." I shook my head. "Nay, I never met him. I speak of Durin, your forefather, first of your line." he started. I said" Him I met, before he was king, at the Dawn of the First Age. " I paused, then asked, "Do you know me, scion of Durin?" He blinked, and stated, "I have not seen one of your like among your people, My Lady." "Indeed, for you knew not my people, nor my kin. Our greatness in Middle-Earth has waned, and most of us have left. Yet there are those that remain, and in the First Age, my people, and yours, were friends, in spite of all grievances any may have had. Thus, I met him, though I was but a child." I gaze at him, then, slowly saying, "I am Estela, child of Maedhros, grandhild of Feanor." His eyes widened, now surprised. Feanaro may have inspired mixed feelings among the elven kind, but among dwarves, he had inspired naught but the greatest respect, not only for his deathless courage, but also for his skill. The one elf they had looked up to, also in stubborness and pride. I almost smiled. "I wish I had been there, when your people suffered, " I said with true regret, "Yet, in the North, Smaug had also come, before leaving for Erebor, and he had passed, searching for the Lonely Mountain. We tended to our own wounds, and when we heard of yours..." I shook my head. "Will you retake your kingdom?" he nodded, "After so many years, we have little choice, now is the time, no matter how futile it may be."
"I cannot fault you for that," I said softly. "I was torn from the land that I lived and loved, when I was but a child, my forefather was butchered, all by an evil, whose strength seemed without limit, nor equal. I saw my grandfather, given to madness and raging grief, the cause of his fall, and my father and most of my kin, were put to torment, or simply slain or both." I was silent. I felt for the first time, he felt sympathy for an elf. "Why do you not return to the lands of your birth?" "Because it is not my time for such. Although Morgoth is defeated, I sense I still have purpose here, in Middle-Earth. I am an elf, immortal, I may be, yet, my destiny was chosen and foretold by the All-Father. As one who have the gift of Mortals, you may die, but also, you may choose, how to live the lives and decide the choices you have been given. If you do nothing, for all your lives,I sense you will somehow regret it. Do not do nothing, son of Thrain, for you have a choice to live- or die without regret." he bowed, grateful, for once. "Yet I must warn you something....."
At this my memories are jolted out of my mind, for I see Arwen running towards me.
Top Right and Above Left: Imladris/Rivendell. Bottom: Battle of the Last Alliance.
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