Heartache (open)

[Lady Arwen]

How could she explain the feelings in her heart? Something was wrong, but she could not explain what it was, but her intuition told her it was something to do with Aragorn, that there was trouble with the Fellowship. Since her bond with him was so strong that not even distance could stop it, she could discern when things were amiss or unbalanced. When he went away to the North to work with the rangers she could tell when he was weary from battle and when he was strong and able.

At this point in time it was a very strong feeling, as if the sun had decided to stop shining. Aragron was... sad? What had happened to cause this sudden sadness? Not only was it Aragorn, but Legolas as well, and there was a great bitterness also. Exhuastion, sadness, worry... and yet something was missing. She could not place what was wrong, what was it that caused so much grief?

Arwen had been leaning against a windowsill when these feelings over took her, and now she was wandering around the city, feeling lost and cold. Where was her father when she needed him? Where was the comfort she required, the love that would help her manage these emotions that washed over her?

[Lady Arwen]

The Evenstar shone and faded in the mind's eye of Arwen, and she fell back, off of the step she had just taken. This caused her to stumble many steps backwards, until her back thudded against a very hard beam of wood. It was the corner of a house, but Arwen did not notice. The words of her cousin reaching out to her was as if the stars had suddenly flickered out, and their song was silenced forever. The wails of every elf living and dead would not have compared to the pain that accompanied Legolas' feelings in her mind. Aragorn...

Arwen lost feeling in her hands, and as her knees lost power the flower she had held in her hand fell to the ground softly. What was this that he spoke to her? Legolas, nor any elf Arwen had ever known, jested about such matters, nor could they create such a grief. It was the curse of being immortal, and even though she faded a little every day, Arwen was still bound to this fate. Such pain, such horrible sadness, as if the sun would never shine again and all green things would wither and die.

Cousin, tell me this is farce. I couldn't bear to be without him. My heart will break and I will pass into nothingness.

Tears were forming in her eyes, knowing the answer before it would even come. How could something like this even come to pass? What had happened that had caused the death of so great a man? In her heart she was already dying, imagining the rest of time without Aragorn. So it would come to pass that with his death, she also would die.

[curandir]

In, Rivendell, about the shrine all was quiet; a place of distant memory. Eruvadhren, came to the chamber for solitude; often thinking of Eregion where he had grown up, and the great evil that had visited there. The same evil fought by Isildur and the great Kings of old. He had found himself kneeling at the empty pedestal: The shards of Narsil were gone; and reforged by the Elven smiths as Anduril, soon-to-be wielded by Isildur's heir far away. Could Aragorn, son of Arathorn, face the Dark Enemy; who both deceives and then destroys?

Sauron, along with Saruman and the Noldor Kings in exile, were all students of Aule once; and tainted by evil they have fallen from grace. The Deep-Elves, in their quest for knowledge and vengeance upon Melkor; have been ever consumed by the fire of their spirit and the allure of power. The young devout monk, Eruvadhren, felt a guilt for his people and for their part. The forging of the great rings and the slaying of their kin in Alqualondë, by Feanor's house in their rage.
Can we ever be forgiven? We held Melkor in leaguer for a thousand years; and yet once again we were deceived.
My father is guilty.

Despite these dark thoughts; the exiles had been given pardon. Those who chose to accept it could go home to Valinor and leave Middle Earth so changed. Eruvadhren could not understand how his father could go back, when the fate of the rings was still undecided. The son of the Jewel-smith would not go with them and desert the people of Middle earth; and could not face the shame.
He would stay with what remained of the Elves in Rivendell for as long as they had a mind to.

The monk, now stood robed in silver-gray; his mind drifted beyond the world and was quiet for a time; and yet something pulled him back. The world was about him again and he could hear something, his keen ears awoke his eyes and he turned in its direction: The sobbing of one who has lost their self to grief. Making his way through arched stones and into the streets; his bare feet, silent on the well laid stone came to to the head of the stairway; and there he saw her down below. Lady Arwen, of the house of Elrond...
Eruvadhren stood silent and was scared to ask what was ill.
Maybe I should get one of her close kin?

[Lady Arwen]

Could her heart even handle the death of someone so loved by her? Would more come upon her, for surely, this could not be the last of the grief that would fall upon her this day. Her mind awaited the word that her brothers were dead, scored open by the orcs and feasted upon in a manner that Arwen could not imagine. There was only so much that she could handle, and surely, if more were to come things would surely turn bad. Not many knew of the incredible power that she kept within her, since there were never any occasions for such a power to escape. However, the pain in her heart made her feel quite rash, and when she was irrational things grew out of hand quickly.

Suddenly, as if on cue, she heard the soft sound of footsteps from behind her. Her tears were still flowing, but she turned her head slowly to see who it was. A grey-robed monk stood, head bowed, hands invisible. If she was not as perceptive, she wouldn't have known that he was staring at her through his hood. She was thankful for his silence and unobtrusiveness, but nevertheless gazed into his hidden eyes with hers, bright and red as they were. There were no words that she could say, as the bitterness that was taking over her was too great, so her feelings were left in her troubled stare, conveying all that could be sent.

Turning back around, unconcerned with the monk, Arwen let the grief consume her heart again. She did not care about the whimpers that escaped her lips, nor did the volume of her sighs bother her. Aragorn was dead, and soon so would she, as he was the force that bound her to the world. The tears on her face were warm, but her skin was suddenly very cold, and her chest was very heavy. Arwen was able to whisper only one word through her sorrow: "Aragorn."

[curandir]

Arwen was beautiful and much like the Noldor in her colouring, though she shared the blood of all the Elven kindreds; and that of men: A daughter of Eru, in the truest sence of the word. Her eyes were grey behind her tears, and held the wisdom of her house. Lord Elrond, herald to the last great Noldor king; Gil-Galad Erainion, killed by Sauron's hand at the very slopes of Mount Doom. They were a portrait of what the Noldor could have been in Middle Earth.

On the Lady's face, was a glimpse of the fair Vanyar, though she did not have the golden hair of her grandmother. Eruvadhren had seen Galadriel once, long ago, as she passed through Eregion. At the time she had warned the Jewel smiths of their folly; and when they ignored her concerns regarding, Annatar, she left for the Land of Golden Blossom's dreaming; and was later unfortunately proven correct in her doubts.
Having been born to Middle earth after the sinking of Beleriand, Eruvad, had never seen any others of Vanyar lineage. The first kindred were far away.



The briefest moment, had seemed a very long time; and as with all things, had to come to an end sooner or later.

As Arwen turned away and began to greeve again, Eruvad, realsised that the long moment had passed, and he would have to do something. Her brothers were beyond the borders, on the trail of Orcs and Wargs, for whom they had great reason to despise. This left only Elrond himself; but Eruvad did not know the Lord well, and to talk to one who had suffered so much from the devices of the Mirdain... but then, he had forgiven the line of men, who had come so close to destroying the 'one', and failed: Aragorn of the line of Elendil, had been as a son to Elrond.
Forget yourself, Eruvadhren!

"Dartho sí hiril 'ín... Tegithon i adar lín..." [Wait here, my lady... I will bring your father...]

His voice was tentative; and if the lady heard him, she did not reply.
The Monk, turned away at last and made to follow the shortest route to Elrond's house...

[curandir]

"My Lord..." Eruvad bowed as he addressed him. "...Arwen, needs you for she is forlorn and in griefs embrace. Something close, and yet farthest away has hold of her spirit..."

Eruvadhren, did not wait to be told; seeing the concern on Elrond's face, he held the door open for him. Elrond was Lord in the Merry Valley and Lore-master renowned; but he was also a father non the less: His daughter was in need of him and the young monk felt his duty was to them both.

"I will lead you to her, for she lies alone and without hope..."

i estel vedui Edain a Mair Annui*


The young Noldo in exile had seen Elrond lead his folk, Eruvad included, to the Dark Lands far away; where they had made war upon evils great and many. The monk had now sheaved his sword and would use his hands for healing alone and the crafts of power and war would never in him find dominion: As glorious as that armoured host had been it was good to see Lord Elrond in his robes and in his study, with Mordor far away.

*the last hope for Men and Western Lands


"...She is not far..."

[Lady Arwen]

Arwen lifted her head, allowing her father to embrace her and hold her close. She did not have the strength or will to pull away, and she allowed herself to be rocked into the calm he brought with him. It was quite like she was young again, when something had gone foul and her father was there to comfort her. His soothing grace brought to mind the bitterness she felt when her mother had parted Middle Earth, and how he had been there for her to lean on during that difficult time. She was as glad for it then as she was now, and with a final kiss on her forehead she could feel her grief lifting, though it was not parting.

"Ada," she said, looking up through her hot eyes. "I can feel Legolas' heart, and he has shown me that Aragorn fell. I cannot feel his light, or his love, as always. He has grown dim to me. Ada, what will I do?"

The monk who was standing near her was being respectful and giving more than adequate space, and though she was grateful that her father was summoned, she did not like having her people always keeping such a careful eye on her. It was almost like she was not capable of taking care of herself, though they knew that she was the one who was always taking care of them. For this moment she would let such actions slide, but in the future she was going to have to discuss these issues with her advisers.

At this moment, however, she reached for her father's hand and allowed him to help pull her up. If nothing else, he would walk around with her to ease her mind, that she would find Aragorn's light and reach out to him in his darkness. Yes, even if her father did not suggest it, she would meditate in the darkness of her room, and find a way to reach Aragorn. Her heart told her that he was not parted from this world quite yet, despite her mind arguing otherwise, and she would not rest until she knew for sure.

[Lady Arwen]

Arwen nodded at her father's suggestion, then without word turned and left the room. Her father was left standing where she had collapsed, and the monk stood as still as ever as Arwen fled the courtyard to find solace. It was the afternoon and the sun was already beginning to wane; gentle fingers of light were filtering through the trees. Overlooking the river was a spot of meditation - a stone bench and pillars with an arched balcony to view the water below. Arwen had come here often when she was younger to read when the house was too busy, and later she had come back to mourn the loss of her mother to the Undying Lands, so now she came to call to the man she loved, to draw him back from the brink of death.

"Aragorn..." Arwen breathed his name, trying to see his face in her mind. Now she sat on the bench, opening her hands to the sky, letting what gift of foresight that her father had passed to her come. She saw him, wet and torn, floating in a river. When she had first seen through Legolas' eyes she had seen him fall, and had despaired, not knowing the depth of the cliff from which he plummeted.

Closing her eyes gently so to block out anything but his face, Arwen felt herself travel the distance of Middle Earth to him, so that she was standing over him, protecting him. She kneeled over his still form and took his face in her hands - he was cold, and he drew no breath. Not far away she could see Brego, and she called to him to come near; as she did Aragorn spat out water from his lungs and took a breath of the chill air. The horse could not see her, but he could sense her, and so obeyed her commands. Now she focused her attention back on Aragorn, and his hurts.

A tear fell from Arwen's face as she sat, seeing her beloved so near death. She whispered gently, "May the grace of the Valar protect you." With her hands outstretched she entered his mind, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. She knew that he could not see her, but she knew that he would feel her strength and have the will to get up and ride on to save the world.