Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

She never thought it would be this hard... or this easy.

Hard, because her brothers wept beside her, Elladan stroking her hair while Elrohir held her hand. She did not want to say good-bye, but knew now that it was time.

Easy, because it took so little effort, like slipping off a gown and then she was free of the burdens of the flesh.

She never looked back, but she cried nonetheless — tears of regret, tears of shame. Yes, she admitted to herself, shame. Shame that she was so cowardly as not to have followed her beloved immediately. Shame that she had clung so fiercely to a life that was no life, to memory that was but a shadow of a thought, hardly worth the effort it took to keep it ever before her.

Well, now she was free of it. Free of it all, and her beloved awaited her....

Which is why Arwen’s immediate reaction upon reaching Mandos was fury when she found herself alone in a small chamber, its walls covered with beautiful tapestries. In the center of the chamber was an oak table upon which stood a single white jade vase full of red roses.

Why was Estel not there to greet her? Where was he? Had he dared to go on without her? Was his love for her so faint-hearted that he could not bear to wait? How could he...

"Arwen."

She turned suddenly at the sound of her name and saw the last person she expected to see standing there.

"Éowyn?"

The White Lady of Rohan and Princess of Ithilien opened her arms in welcome and Arwen went to her and the two women embraced. "Yes, Arwen, it is I," she said and gave the Queen of Gondor and Arnor a wry smile, "and I see I’ve come none too soon."

Arwen gave Éowyn a confused look and then noticed where the former Shieldmaid of Rohan was looking. Turning around she gasped. In her fury she had systematically shredded every rose that had been in the vase. Red petals were strewn about and some still floated gently in the air, making their slow descent to the floor.

Arwen was appalled. "I did that?"

Éowyn held her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "It’s a good thing it was only roses, although I think Lord Námo might be a bit upset, seeing as how he was the one who placed them there, to welcome you."

Arwen felt faint. "Lord Námo?"

"Yes, my dear," Éowyn said gently, and though Arwen could not see, her eyes were bright with mirth.

Arwen turned back to face her friend. "Éowyn, what do you here? Where is Estel?"

Éowyn brushed an errant lock from Arwen’s forehead. "He has gone on, love. Lord Námo would not allow him to remain."

"But why?" Arwen asked in confusion. "And why are you here instead?"

"Well, as to that," the Princess of Ithilien said, "when I came here I found Faramir was here as well."

"He was waiting for you," Arwen stated simply, smiling at her.

Éowyn gave a deprecating laugh. "Hardly. He, Boromir, Denethor, and my brother, not to mention Holdwine and Peregrin were all waiting for your husband. Faramir urged me to go on. Indeed, I think he would’ve liked to have come with me, but chose to remain behind for his father and brother’s sakes. Lord Námo was escorting me to where I must go when I suddenly conceived the idea to remain behind as well, but not to await a king."

Arwen stared at the younger woman for a moment. "You awaited me."

"Yes, and I begged Lord Námo not to tell my husband," Éowyn said with a mischievous grin that Arwen remembered so well. "The Lord of Mandos actually smiled when I asked him. I think he rather enjoyed the joke."

Arwen raised an eyebrow in disbelief but did not dispute the other woman’s words. "And now?"

"That’s up to you, of course," Éowyn said with a shrug.

Arwen looked about and sighed. "It is not how I imagined it would be."

"It never is, I fear," Éowyn agreed.

"I just thought... I mean... being a queen... and... having given up my immortality that..."

"That there would be greater fanfare on your behalf?" the White Lady of Rohan enquired skeptically. "Why?"

"Because I died and..."

Éowyn started laughing. "Arwen, of course you died, but there’s nothing special about that. People die every day."

"But... but I gave up everything! Everything, Éowyn! Do you not understand?" Arwen was beginning to feel fury again and could not comprehend why her friend thought her sacrifice so meaningless. Had she not forsaken the fate of her people for another destiny? Surely there had to be some meaning to it beyond the fact that she had loved and loved deeply.

Éowyn apparently was unmoved by her histrionics. "Is that all you can think about, Arwen? What you lost? Can you not think of what you gained?"

"What have I gained if my loss is not even acknowledged?" the once Queen of Gondor and Arnor asked mournfully.

Éowyn took her into her embrace and hugged her. "Why this need for acknowledgment of your choice? Do you think it was so earth-shattering an event that all of Arda must stop and admire you for it? Arwen, such choices are made every day by the most ordinary of people. Even I made a similar choice when I turned from warfare to practice healing, when I turned from death to living again, when I turned from infatuation for a man who could never be mine to a love that was true and real. Are my choices less worthy of admiration simply because I am a mere mortal while you are an immortal who made her choice to love one of the Secondborn?"

"You don’t know how terrible that choice was for me."

"Then why did you make it?" Éowyn asked gently. "If it was so terrible, why did you make it?"

"Be-because I... loved him too much not to." She began crying and Éowyn held her tightly.

"Then it wasn’t so terrible after all, was it my daughter, if you did it for love?"

Arwen looked up in surprise at the deep masculine voice and found herself face-to-face with the Lord of Mandos. He was dressed simply in a knee-length dark grey watered silk tunic with silver embroidery. Underneath he wore a midnight blue figured silk shirt and light woolen breeches of the same color. The tunic was belted with silver discs etched with the image of a tree and on his head he wore a diadem made of wrought mithril with an emerald cabochon. His blue-black hair was elf-braided and his slate grey eyes were full of light and solemn joy.

Arwen found herself going to her knees in awe.

Námo walked over and gently raised her, smiling. "So like Lúthien," he said softly. He then stole a glance at the rose-petal-strewn floor before looking back at Arwen with a wry grin. "She never liked my roses either."

Arwen paled at that and tried to utter an apology but Námo merely laughed and took her into his embrace, giving her a gentle kiss on her brow. "Hush now, daughter. All is well. I thought it quite amusing. You Children are so delightful, and you never cease to amaze me."

Arwen glanced up at the Lord of Mandos doubtfully. "Forgive me, my lord. You don’t seem quite as...forbidding as I was led to believe."

Námo gave a long-suffering sigh. "I’m afraid your Noldorin ancestors have a rather dim view of me, given the circumstances. I assure you, my dear, I’m not the heartless bastard everyone makes me out to be."

Éowyn giggled at that and Arwen had to smile as well. Námo nodded. "That’s better. Now, you haven’t answered my question."

Arwen gave him a confused look.

"Was your choice so terrible if you did it for love?" he repeated gently.

Arwen looked down and thought about it for a moment, remembering her life with Estel, the joys and the sorrows, and knew the truth of it. She looked up at Lord Námo and shook her head. "Nay, my lord. It was not so terrible. It was... it was... often painful and sometimes even joyful, but it was not terrible. No, not terrible."

Námo gave her a slow smile. "That is well, daughter. Your choice was just that, your choice, but as Éowyn pointed out, not any more heroic than the choices of others. Who is to say that the choice of a common-born maid to cleave to one man over another is not more heroic than your choice to cleave to Aragorn rather than to one of your own people? Only Eru can say. Therefore, trust in His love for you whatever your choices might be."

Arwen nodded. "Forgive me, my lord. I fear I allowed... family history to dictate my feelings about this."

"Lúthien’s choice was indeed a monumental turning point in the history of Arda. All other choices flow from it in ways that even I who am the Singer of What Is to Come cannot envision, for it is in Eru’s purview. The fates of the Eruhíni are beyond our abilities to perceive and we are as much in the dark as you are."

Éowyn stepped forward then and laid a hand on Arwen’s shoulder. "Come, sister. Our beloved husbands are waiting for us. We should not tarry."

Námo nodded. "Éowyn speaks truly, my daughter. Allow me to escort you."

"You honor me, my lord," Arwen said simply and gave the Vala her most deferential curtsey.

"The honor, dear lady, is entirely mine." With that he gestured and a door that hadn’t been there before opened silently and all three stepped through into a larger chamber flooded with Light that was beyond sunlight, nearly blinding the two women.

Arwen blinked rapidly as two figures stepped out of the Light and she and Éowyn found themselves standing before the Elder King and his beloved Spouse. Both women gave them their obeisance. Lord Manwë smiled upon them and took each woman into his embrace and kissed her on the brow. Varda did the same.

"Thank you my dear," Manwë said to Arwen. "Thank you for your choice. We know it was not easily made or easily lived, but we honor your sincere attempt to follow through with it to the very end."

Arwen looked at them with some confusion and stole a glance at Námo, but it was Varda who spoke. "We do not know why Eru thought it important for you to cleave to Aragorn, only that your union is part of a greater plan. Few could have or even would have been brave enough to choose as you did, and so we honor you Arwen Undómiel Evenstar for what you have given up for love."

With that the Elder King and the Queen of Stars bowed to the Queen of Gondor and Arnor. Námo also bowed to her and dimly she realized that all the other Valar were present in this chamber and all were bowing to her. She felt suddenly faint and was grateful for Éowyn’s steady support as the younger woman put a comforting hand on her elbow.

And then, the Valar were gone, save for Námo, whose eyes were bright with such joy that it nearly made them weep.

"Come, my children," the Lord of Mandos said. "It is time for you to leave." He showed them to another door that led into a rough-hewn cavern where a dark river flowed. Before them, moored to a short dock, was a swan-shaped boat. Before helping them into the boat he bent down and gave them each a kiss on their brows.

"May you know joy in Eru’s presence, my daughters," he said, "and in the arms of your beloved husbands." He raised his hand in benediction as the boat floated silently away. "Namárië tenn’ Ambar-mett’ ar i-Envinyatië Ardo."

Then, Lord Námo began to sing. The song was one of such terrible beauty that it caught them up in emotions they hardly recognized as their own. They found themselves laughing and crying at the same time and each heard in the song the story of her own life, the pathos and the comedy, interwoven with a Song that they dimly understood was an echo of the Ainulindalë underlying all of Eä.

They could still hear the song, though faintly now, as they found themselves in a place of exquisite beauty. They saw another dock and waiting for them there were two whom they knew intimately and each was singing his beloved home....

****

"Well, that’s the last of them," Lord Námo said.

"Not quite."

The Lord of Mandos gave Frodo a look that normally spelled trouble for the recipient, but the hobbit merely grinned. Sam snorted in amusement watching the two of them. It was close to evening and the three were seated under a shade tree overlooking a small cove nestled on the northwestern shore of Tol Eressëa. Námo was seated on a rock while the two hobbits crouched on the sand before him. Further down the beach was a group of elves trying to pretend that the Lord of Mandos was not there. Sam stole a look at them and sighed.

"They know, don’t they?" he asked Námo, scowling. "They know as she’s gone."

Námo nodded, "Yes, Samwise, they do. That’s why you and Frodo insisted on this picnic, was it not? To take their minds off the fact that Arwen has finally died."

"And it was working until you showed up," Frodo said with a sniff. Námo grinned.

"You promised me that you would leave once Arwen left the Circles of Arda."

"And we will, but Legolas and Gimli are on their way here and Sam and I would like to greet them," Frodo said, running his fingers idly through the gem-encrusted sand sparkling blue and green and red in the light of the setting Sun.

"Gimli must be fairly old by now, Mister Námo," Sam interjected. "We just want to see him off afore we go ourselves. Maybe even go with him."

Námo shook his head. "But Gimli will not be able to take the same road as you and Frodo, Samwise. When he dies he will go to my brother Aulë’s hall where his forefathers await the Renewing."

Sam shrugged, not really understanding or caring. "Just like to be there when he does go, is all."

Frodo smiled warmly at his staunch friend and Námo could not help but do the same. There was something about the unaffected manner of this gentle gardener that always moved him. He reached down and placed a hand in benediction on the hobbit’s head. "You are a good soul Samwise Gamgee and Eru is well pleased with you." He gave Frodo a brief smile which the Ringbearer returned. "With both of you."

He stood, then, and the two hobbits followed him. "Very well, Ringbearers," he said formally. "You have until the dying of the Dwarf Gimli son of Glóin to remain here, but you cannot linger past that time. Eru does not wish it... and I, frankly, forbid it." The last was said with an exasperated sigh.

"What’s the matter, my lord?" Frodo asked cheekily. "Getting tired of hobbits already?"

Sam gave a snort. "After puttin’ up with your two cousins for the last fifty years, I shouldn’t wonder if Lord Námo don’t ban all hobbits from the Hall of Mandos."

Frodo laughed and the elves further down the beach looked up at the pure sound of it, startled out of their grief for a brief moment to know unalloyed joy. Námo merely grinned. "Was it only fifty years? Seemed like fifty thousand to me."

Now Sam joined in the laughter. When the two hobbits calmed down Námo nodded. "I meant what I said, Frodo. You cannot linger. It is time for you and Samwise to leave Arda. Bilbo’s waiting you know."

Frodo nodded. "I know, my lord. And I am sorry we’ve been such a trial to you."

Námo knelt in the sand, smiling gently as he gathered the two hobbits into his arms. "Never a trial, my best beloved. It has been a joy and an honor to know you both." Námo hugged them and gave them both a kiss on the brow before releasing them. "I must go now," he said, rising.

"Sure you don’t want to stay, Mister Námo, sir?" Sam said, sounding like an excited tweenager, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Gandalf’s promised fireworks."

Námo smiled wryly. "I don’t think your friends would appreciate my presence, Samwise."

Now it was Frodo’s turn to snort. "Perhaps not, my lord," he said, "but I would think even you could use a bit of a holiday every now and then." Námo raised an eyebrow at that but did not comment. Frodo nodded his head towards the elves. "Best they get used to the idea of Arwen finally gone so they can move on. Your presence will help them to come to terms with what they so desperately want to forget."

"And what do they want to forget, child?" Námo asked.

"That soon it’ll be our turn," Frodo replied simply and Sam nodded in agreement.

For a moment the Lord of Mandos looked at the two hobbits and then he offered his hands and they each took one. Without another word the three began walking back towards the elves who eyed their approach warily. Námo saw Elrond and Celebrían, their fair faces pale and etched with grief. Galadriel was there, as well as other elves of Imladris and Lothlórien, all grieving for one they feared they would never see again. Olórin stood to one side, smiling gently, giving his lord a brief nod in greeting.

"I’ve invited Lord Námo to stay and see the fireworks," Frodo said as they reached the elves, speaking in a tone of voice they had all come to recognize.

Several eyebrows were raised at that. Elrond stepped forward and gave Námo a bow. "It... it will be... an honor, my lord," he said quietly, not quite looking at Námo.

The Lord of Mandos gave the half-elf a sympathetic smile and took a couple of steps closer so as to place his hands on Elrond’s shoulders. "She knows only joy, child," he said with as much gentleness as he could. "Have faith that Eru will not diminish that joy by denying you your own. Someday you will meet again."

Elrond gave a stifled sob and Námo gathered him into his arms as the once Lord of Imladris finally released his grief. Námo then opened an arm towards Celebrían and she came to him as well. Frodo and Sam stood there in sympathetic silence, reaching up to rub the elves’ backs and offer them comfort. Even in their grief the other elves around them noticed that Frodo wore a faint smile on his face and wondered.

Then, Námo began singing an ancient lullaby and all grief was stilled as they listened to the First Song that had welcomed the Children to Arda, echoed now in the waves that Ulmo sent upon the beach and in the cry of the seabirds winging their way through Manwë’s domain, even as the first of Varda’s stars began to appear in the evening sky, their own song clear and remote, a descant to Námo’s singing. Eärendil appeared and the light of the Silmaril fell upon them, bathing them all with its brilliance.

As the Lord of Mandos finished singing, an awed silence fell upon the elves as they felt their grief wash away. Then, in typical hobbity fashion, Sam was heard to say, "Now, how about those fireworks?"

The laughter that rang from the cove was heard in Kortirion and beyond and the bells of Avallonë rang long and merrily into the night.

****

All words are Quenya.

Arda: The world, but more correctly, our solar system.

Eruhíni: Children of Eru.

Namárië tenn’ Ambar-mett’ ar i-Envinyatië Ardo: "Farewell until World’s-end and the Renewing of Arda".

Eä: The Universe.

Note: The title is taken from a poem by ee cummings. While I’m not an ee cummings fan, this is one of my favorite poems:

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands