Athrabeth

Arwen looked across the rolling hills, their bright green now mellowed to a sensuous copper as the summer son sank towards the horizon.  All seemed to glitter, from the distant gilt on the columns of Meduseld, to the River Snowbourn, turned to liquid gold on the plain below.  The mountains in the distance slowly came out of their misty veil, only to become shadows as evening fell, and a brisk breeze began to ruffle the grass and the white Simbelmynë spotted around the barrows that lay nestled near to Edoras’ mount.  Already the moon was in the sky, like a streak of chalk against the pastel coloured clouds.

It seemed so foreign; so bare and exposed compared to the high trees of Lórien and their gilt shadows, or the warmth of Imladris, ever filled with the songs of birds and the lilt of the Bruinen.  This land was not held by any ancient power. It would not remain unchanged.  She lay open to the ravages of time, of weather and of men.  Uncertainty seemed to waft on the wind with the first chills of night.  Like the sands at the edge of the shore, nothing seemed to know when it would be upset or shifted, or what its future would hold.

Arwen stared for a long while across the hills and distant plain, her hair flowing behind her each time the wind swelled, fresh and wild against her face.

This land held such a strange beauty, so different to that which she had known.

Finally, she sighed and turned away, walking back towards the crest of the hill, where she found her father sitting on an outcrop of rock, his attention fixed on the ground at his feet.  Arwen watched him for a while, studying his face and the deeply troubled frown he wore.  Even in his darker velvets, closer to the attire of Rohan’s royalty than to the elves, he bore himself with natural elven grace and dignity. Unaltered, thought Arwen, since the day she first beheld him; a bewildered father gazing down upon his first daughter.

Though they had spent long years apart, still she could not imagine life without Elrond.  By keeping his gaze low, Elrond sought to hide the tears that had started to well, yet Arwen saw and swallowed hard.  For nearly an hour her father had been silent, while she took in the view, letting the wind soothe her and order her thoughts.  Yet now Arwen wished he would speak again, without knowing what she wanted him to say.  So much had been said already, since they left Edoras and climbed high into the foothills.  Arwen felt the warmth of tears at her eyes, without a single droplet manifesting.

Sitting on the stone beside him, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body against hers, as reassuring as it had been to her in childhood.  All she wanted then was to be close to him, to feel that there was not a great divide between them, though she felt a chasm widening with every passing moment.  She reached over and gently prized his hands apart, taking one into her own.  Elrond continued to regard the ground, but he drew in a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself and draw himself out of his reverie.  Arwen slipped her arm around him and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“The stars are coming out,” she said softly.  “Night is falling.”

Elrond shuddered, an almost imperceptible gesture, yet Arwen felt it and hugged him tighter.

“Perhaps they look upon the same stars across the sea, even beyond the circles of the world,” Arwen mused.

“There is no going back,” said Elrond finally, his voice low and controlled. “You know this.”

“It is not something I have chosen in a moment, Father,” replied Arwen.

“You were content amongst the Eldar.  You have never before been troubled with that life.”

“And I am not troubled by it,” said Arwen.  “Yet I have the promise of another life.  One that is fulfilled, for I will have my beloved at my side.  Tell me, father, if my mother had been one of the Edain and not of elvenkind, would you have turned away?  Would you have forsaken your love for her?”

Elrond sighed deeply.

“So rarely do we find love, father,” Arwen went on, “that is what you once told me.  Some wait a lifetime to find their partner, yet are left alone.  Would you rather I sailed into the West, and lived forever forlorn and weary, for I had thrown away that which we all prize beyond life?”

Elrond nodded, then straightened and closed his eyes for a moment.  “I know that when I looked upon you in the White City, I thought again of Celebrían, and saw the look in your eye that I once wore…” He sighed, the shadow across his features making Arwen’s heart sink even lower.

“I have no choice,” he murmured, gazing towards the moon, which grew brighter as the evening grew sharper.  “I cannot leave you to face this choice alone.  If you forsake the West then I must also.  As once I swore to Gil-galad that I would see the end of the Shadow, so I will swear an oath now, if you wish it, that I will remain with my daughter…”

“You will not, father,” said Arwen firmly.  “Though I knew you would say it.  Just as you cannot bring me West, nor should I keep you here.  I see it in your eyes, wise as they are, that the sea has called to you.  Each day you remain here, you grow wearier.  You know that I have made the choice that is granted to our line, and that choice cannot be revoked.  Your staying here would change nothing, save I would go to my end knowing you had lingered by me, tired and lonely, for your heart would ever drag you to the sea.”

“But Arwen…”

“I do not wish to think that we will never meet again, not until the end of days, yet so it must be.  One day by his side would outweigh a lifetime alone, father.  For not even the healing in Aman could assuage my grief were we parted.”

“Yet you will still be parted, and you will have nowhere to find respite.  How will you be healed, when he is gone?  How will you ease your heart, if there is no ship to bear you into the West?  How can I leave you here, knowing there is naught but grief in your future days?”

“Because I have chosen this path, and I shall bear its consequences, just as you taught me I must do.  I shall bear my grief as Men have done since the Elder Days; with hope.  Hope that our brief time upon Arda is part of the Music, and designed by Eru, and so shall lead not to darkness and misery but to some greater purpose.  None shall know the fate that awaits me until the time comes, yet when it does, I shall face it, knowing that I made this choice and that I lived with love and hope.  I will never love another, and you know all too well that love never fades from our hearts.  Were I to go West now, I should remember always what I had lost, and never should I enjoy that peaceful life.  Always would I be resentful and I would bring grief to a land that should know none.  And in the end, we too will meet an end, when Arda is finished.  How long that may be, none know, but it is inescapable, as is the doom of Men.  As Finrod spoke, the difference between our kin is that Men shall go swifter into the unknown.  You taught me those words, father.  And one day, when Arda is remade, and Eru comes into the world, perhaps we shall meet again.”

“Such is little comfort,” muttered Elrond.

Arwen stroked his hand gently and kissed his cheek.  “It is a knife blow to my heart to leave you, father,” she whispered.  “Ever have you been there, and always kind and loving.  Though the Valar have willed it that our paths should divide.  Yours is to sail across the seas and be once again by mother’s side.  Mine is to see these ancient lines joined once again, and to bear the kings of this new world.  And though I may not see you till the ending of the world, I shall look into those children’s eyes and see a shadow of you, and of mother, and of all who have gone before us.  You shall be there for me always, when I look upon them, and long after I am gone to my doom, I shall live on in their children and their children’s children.  In that, mortal men are as enduring as the elves.”

Elrond made as if to speak but held back.  Arwen frowned and brushed his hair back from his shoulder, remembering suddenly how she had so often sat by him and twisted his locks into braids when she had been upset as a child.  A smile then tried to fight past her frown, but still her heart weighed heavy, as if every beat resounded around a vast, empty chamber within her. 

“Please do not grieve, father.  I know you are weary of this world, and are set to depart soon.  And as I said, memory shall linger long with you. I do not wish you to look upon these last days with sadness.  Remember me as I was in Minas Tirith, when you saw me look on Aragorn with love.  Picture me by his side, with my eyes still ablaze, for so I will be until the end of my days.  And when the years have passed, and you know in your heart that I have gone, think only that I am on a journey, one that none can even guess about, satisfied that my children are whole and hearty, and that I have known love beyond all loves.”

Elrond turned at last to look up at her, composed yet with a single glistening tear upon his cheek.  Arwen drew him forward into an embrace.  At last she wept and him tightly.

“This is my choice, father, and mine alone.  You have taught me from my first faltering steps until this day, and now I must go forth alone. Yet I know the wisdom you have given me will never fail me, and the love you have shown will always remain with me.  You must go.”

“Arwen…”

“I do not wish to leave you,” she whispered.  “Though I must.  I will know that you have gone home, and that you will find peace in time, in mother’s arms.  I will never forget you, nor shall my children, for we are all forever of the House of Elrond, no matter where we dwell.”

Elrond held her firmly and she felt warm tears against her neck, though she said nothing.  For days she knew her father had wept in secret, and each time she saw him emerge from his room or tent, his gaze downcast so that she might not see his dampened cheeks, she felt a wound dealt to her.  Part of her realised that no words could ever mend this great gap that had been set between them, and part of her wished that this would not be the last memory she would hold of her father.  A selfish portion of her heart wished him to smile again, if only so that she could hold that image in her mind, and so face the unknown years ahead. 

Arwen glanced upwards, seeing the skies grow darker, the stars now set against a velvet backdrop of deepest blue.  She took her father’s arm and stood, letting him rise with her.

“We must return to the King’s Hall before it grows too dark to see the path ahead,” she said. 

Elrond surreptitiously wiped his cheek with his sleeve and nodded.

“Let us have a feast together,” he mused. 

“And I shall stay by your side, until you choose to depart,” Arwen told him.  “For each moment now is precious to us.  One thing this life of Men teaches, is that every second must be savoured.”

Again Elrond nodded, and he headed down the hillside with her.  Yet though their arms were linked, he was not wholly with her.  The sense of him slipping from her grasp, as he was drawn to the Sea and she to Minas Tirith, made her hug him all the more.

“No more sad thoughts,” she whispered.  “For we shall both have time enough to grieve when we are parted.  For now until the end, we shall have naught but smiles.”

They did not speak again as they made their way back to Edoras, and they walked for the most part in darkness, clinging tightly to each other. Arwen let her head rest for a time against her father’s shoulder, knowing deep within her heart that they would never walk together again in that world.  And looking towards her father, she knew that her words had not soothed him.  That too would take time, perhaps more time than there was left in Arda.  She only hoped that once he was safe and home, that he would realise what he already knew, that she had made her decision and that she was right to follow this path.

And he was right, that she would never be healed, as she would in Aman.  She would never know that life, free from pain and anguish, until at last death gave her respite.

But she had hope, she thought.

She had Estel.

And Arwen Evenstar remained also, and she said farewell to her brethren.  None saw her last meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world.  The Return of the King, Book VI chapter VI, Many Partings.