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Immortal

By Elendiari

She sits on a little green tussock in the meadow, arms hooked around her knees, eyes gazing up at the stars. Her raiment is silver white and midnight blue, giving her the illusion of another such a one as I once knew. She has the subtle glow of our kind, although she is denied that blessing, or that curse. It is my curse.

I approach slowly, not wanting to startle her, not wanting to wake her two brothers, who lie sleeping closer to the campfire. I walk softly, so softly that she does not see me until I am a mere few feet away.

“Undomiel,” I say, and she jumps slightly.

“Who are you?” she asks in a soft, startled whisper. “Are you mortal or elvish kind?”

I smile slightly, knowing how I must look to this little Evenstar. A tall, ragged Elf in a worn jerkin and ragged cloak, wearing a battered harp across my back, my long hair unkempt.

“I am an Elf, my lady, and I do not doubt that you know of me,” I say. “Do not fear, I will not harm you.”

She stares at me still, as I come to sit next to her. I am ancient to her, even more ancient than her father. I see the dawning of recognition in her eyes and smile. I have remained away from my kind these past thousands of years, years of self-denial as punishment for my crimes. And yet, I have been drawn to this child, a mere elfling with the looks and air of Luthien Tinuviel.

“Maglor,” she says, eyes gone wide. “So you really are wandering the earth still.”

I nod, a smile still playing on my lips. “Aye, child, I am. History becomes legend, as they say, even with the Elves. Yes, I am here. Not for me is the Blessed Realm.”

“No,” she murmurs. “Nor for me, either.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both gazing starward. Then she speaks. “Do you regret it?”

I hesitate. How can I tell my grief to this child? She has lost so much, and is close to losing her own life, as well. “Yes. I regret losing my brothers, I regret the evils that we did, and I regret not repenting the oath we took. Do you regret it?”

I mean her own choice, and she knows it. She looks at me again, than rests her chin on her knees. “No. I love him, and I’ll see him again, beyond the circles of this world. But I miss my family. I’ll never see my mother and father again, nor my brothers. And yet at the same time, I will see all of my mortal friends. I am torn, but I do not regret it.”

I nod. The choices are the hardest part of life. I have often wondered of immortality were more of a curse than a blessing, living forever and seeing ones mortal friends pass on. I put my arm around the little Evenstar.

“Fear not, child. This, too, shall pass,” I say, and she smiles.

“The stars are not sad. They seem almost happy for me; they sing with joy,” she says.

I nod. “Yes, judge by the stars. It is they who sing the final notes, and they are not wrong.”

She nods, seemingly comforted, as am I. I had not known what a balm to my own battered soul it would be to speak with an Elf again, even one who has become mortal. We sit in silence until she falls asleep, then I lay her down on the grass and tuck her cloak around her.

“Namarie, Undomiel,” I say, and kiss her forehead. “We shall not meet again.”

I stand and walk away from the meadow, back to my vigil by the Sea. Perhaps I have been selfish tonight. Perhaps she will beg for my forgiveness, wherever she goes. For now I will wander. For now I will wait. The End.