Entry 32

May 9, 2009 at 6:49 am (Uncategorized)
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There is no time to write, so I will be brief.

I returned home from market to find a note in Oendir’s hurried hand. He said that Eaothgar has called for aid in the north and he must go to help.

I do not know how long he has been gone, nor how far north he goes. I will have to track him.

I will leave Lhach with Desmira, or ask her to ask Tocko to look after him if she will not. If she will do neither, I will have to take him with me, but I do not wish to do that.

I am donning my arms and armor for the first time since I came across the mountains. Oendir is not even well enough to be leaving the village, and he rides to battle? A pox on Men, and their pride, and their impulsive natures! He could at least have waited for me to return! I will not be left behind like a wayward pet!

We were to go to the hedge-maze together. I can only hope that we still shall. I leave my books here.

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Entry 31

May 9, 2009 at 6:46 am (Uncategorized)
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Curonhith brought me an odd sort of gift.

She is a hunter, after all, and has previously brought me little creatures she has caught – sometimes a hare, a goose, a badger. I have always been flattered that she wishes to bring me food and praised her for it. This time, she brought me a fox-cub, still alive, unhurt and squirming. I can only imagine that, having been brought to me by my hunting lynx, that it no longer has siblings or a mother to be returned to. I felt a strong empathy with the little creature, the little orphan alone in the world, and have decided to adopt it for my own, as Olchen did with me. I hope Oendir will not mind too much. I have decided to call the little creature Lhach.

I made my way to the Cask, thinking that Desmira might like to see him, for a fox-cub is not too commonly glimpsed at this age, and he is very round and cute. Unfortunately, I do not think Desmira is much of an animal lover, or perhaps it was just the busyness of her day. She was speaking to two Men when I arrived – one who seems to be a new employee, and one who proclaimed himself a professional filcher. Not a thief, he claimed when I asked, but nonetheless, someone who takes others’ possessions. It seems he does this for hire, and steals on others’ behalf. I was both appalled and fascinated, that someone could have such a job and proclaim it openly, but Desmira was in no mood to suffer my questions. She sent the Man packing. The other Man, with the bristly mustache, the new employee, said something dismissive to Desmira and winked at me as well. I found him overfamiliar, and Desmira did not seem to like his attitude either, for she pulled him away for a private talk, after which he seemed much more respectful.

The Cask began filling up with people as it always does. Eaothgar and Tocko, both of whom said they fought Trolls beside my parents in the Trollshaws. Trolls! It was hard to imagine little Tocko in battle – singing and dancing, according to him, like a hero would – shoulder-to-shoulder with my father and Eaothgar. It is harder yet to imagine my mother, she of the gentle hands and soft voice, in battle. I can easily come to terms with the transformation Nenuvyiel makes in going from the Elf-woman who sang me songs and taught me to weave flower-garlands, to the armored warrior she often is these days, but Mother? I cannot.

Oendir came in, and set his hands on the back of my chair. I do not know what prompted the remark, some look of joy on my face, I suppose, but Tocko made a comment to me that was as vulgar and unsettling as it was (luckily) incomprehensible to all who heard it. Only Desmira and I heard the original remark he was referring to, and she was too addled with wine to have remembered it. For the first time that I can remember, I felt a surge of real anger to another person, to the point where I would gladly have slapped the little Hobbit should he have dared another such remark. My cheeks were surely as red as Lhach’s coat, so I took my leave of the little group, not wanting to call overmuch attention to what Tocko said, nor remain in his company when I was so upset. Desmira was speaking to a young messenger Woman who had come in, but she took a moment to offer me comfort and commisseration. There was a young Man named Hal who played the lute during the course of the night, and when he was done playing he made his way over to me, where I had ensconced myself in a corner with a tankard of wine and the fox-cub. He seemed cheerful enough, though the tale he gave Desmira was grim: he is the last of his family, as his parents, siblings and uncle were all killed by a streak of bad luck that could rival Oendir or Desmira. I could not help thinking, unhappily, on the fickle and grim luck of so many of the Men I have spoken to since I arrived.

Oendir did not seem to notice when I left. He amused himself catching flies and taking them outside. Turbarad and Eaothgar stood nearby and spoke to him, but he seemed oddly unaffected by their speech, instead concentrating on ridding the table of vermin. Yet the unpleasantness of the evening was not at an end: a ragged, haggard Man came into the Cask and staggered to the back parlor. At several crashing noises, Tocko went to investigate, to see if Desmira was all right serving the man his drinks, and Turbarad and Eaothgar followed. What came after was a cacophony of angry shouts and arguements. The Man was someone who had known Turbarad, and berated him loud and long for the breaking of an oath. Oendir stiffened and became angry, and both Desmira and Tocko urged the two of us to go. I was loathe to leave Desmira in such a situation, but she had Eaothgar, and Tocko, and the Man she has newly hired, and Oendir needed to go. He and I walked back to the house, he stiff and upset and I silently, not knowing what to say that would not make it worse.

When we arrived home, Oendir began to tell me of the other oath he had sworn, the one that damned him before he swore upon the black stone of the Heirs. He said he knew the angry Man, and the oath he and Turbarad bickered over was the one Oendir had broken. Then we heard the shouting, as if it had followed us: Turbarad and the angry man were at Ravenhold. I wondered if they were seeking Oendir, and we went inside to avoid them. I told Oendir he need not tell me about his other oath, that I did not need to know. I could not bear the thought of him dragging himself through more pain, more terrible memories. He started to answer nontheless when there was a knock on the door and Desmira peered in. She came to apologize – or at least, to say she was sorry for – the ill nature of the words I had heard at the Cask this evening. She had not said them, but I was a guest, and it upset her that we had been upset there.

Not long afterwards, Eaothgar also entered. He wanted to talk about the angry Man, and Turbarad, but the look on Oendir’s face quickly forbid him to continue. Abashed, he sat quietly in a chair and watched while Oendir rummaged for something he had gotten for Desmira at the spring faire. She grinned and thanked him profusely, and he smiled to see her happiness. She ate some of what was in the box, then beckoned me over. It was sweets! Little sugared sweets, shaped and dyed like strawberries and made of almond candy. She gave me one, and it was perfectly delicious, and the two of us were smiling like children at the sweetness soon enough. Desmira spoke of a hedge-maze in Bree-land, and Oendir said that we should go, he and I. Eaothgar also had a candy, and with our night thus sweetened, Desmira and Eaothgar took their leave. Oendir’s gaze lingered on the door after she had gone, the way that mine do when he leaves my sight.

I told Oendir that perhaps he should ask Desmira to come to Lorien. I like Desmira very much… there could hardly be a better Woman. Perhaps the two of them would find healing together. I told him that if he wished, I would ask Desmira to accompany him to Lorien, and my brother could guide them. I would stay in Rivendell. He seemed confused and exasperated with me by turns, saying that Desmira was clearly urging the two of us to go, alone, and she would not wish to go. He turned the subject to the crown of flowers I had worn, saying how beautiful they were. I agreed, saying that flowers do not last long, but you must simply enjoy them while they bloom, for their loveliness. As usual, when the two of us speak of flowers, I do not speak entirely of the plants themselves. It is strange, how flowers have come to symbolize the two of us… then again, I was only here to plant his garden.

“I think their short life is what makes them so precious.” Oendir said.

“Yes. Some things can only be loved that way, I suppose,” I answered. “If they were beautiful forever, who would want them?”

He was silent, and pain sparkled between us. I being to think that the Elf Turbarad love had the right of it, that she fled, not because it was Turbarad, but only because it is too hard to love a Man. I looked down into my empty cup of tea and, seeing the lump of leaves at the bottom, remembered the little Hobbit-woman I had seen in the market the day before. She claimed that she could read the future in one’s tea leaves, but she refused to read mine. Elves, she said, have no future. I could not disagree with her, and said so then, in a fit of sadness. Oendir asked what I meant.

I have no excuse, that wine or anything else muddled my wits and made me tell him what I did, but I spoke of things I should not have. I told him of how Lorien and Imladris are guarded by great powers, and how we fear those powers will end and fail, whether the War be won or lost. That is why my people flee to the Sea now, instead of digging in their heels and fighting for our forests. Win or lose, there will be no victory for us on Middle-Earth. We will go into the West and remain as we are, or we will fade into shadow. The Age that approaches shall be either of Darkness, or of Men. If there be any victory for us, it will only be in the Men who still carry on some of our blood. Surely, if the King rules again, his Elven wife will brighten his eyes, and those of her sons, when they look upon the forests we can no longer guard.

Oendir was shaken beyond what I believed he would be. After all, I had told him we were leaving, and that I would stay and die here. Yet, he seemed alarmed at the prospect of a world without Elves, and asked if my House would leave as well. I told him I had no reason to suspect they would not. Surely, Mother and Father, Nenuvyiel and Sylarn, Tinhethu and his companion, would all go. The only one I could imagine might stay was Asthand, and his Laiquendi wife, for he loves Imladris and Eregion as I love Lorien, but even for him I could not say for sure. I tried to cheer him with thoughts that perhaps the Great could still find some way to guard their powers, and that at least, Lady Arwen’s children would carry on after us.

He spoke of seeing Lorien the way we look at the flowers, the way I asked him if he would have loved Onua. He will look upon what will be lost, and love it all the more. I do not know if I have done him a great wrong to tell him these things. I can no longer be certain in my mind of much, when it comes to him.

He rose, tired, and asked if there was anything that he could do for me, before he retired.

I told him there was nothing I would ask.

He said that was not what he asked me, but bid me good night all the same.

Does he not understand that I will not, I can not, ask for what I wish of him? If it cannot be given freely, I cannot receive it.

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Entry 30

May 9, 2009 at 6:44 am (Uncategorized)
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It is springtime in Bree-Land, and all about they are having a festival. I had not thought to myself of spring festivals or celebrations. I suppose it is natural in a place of so much farming, that they would celebrate spring as happily as they do to the harvest. I watched the Men and their parties and felt homesick. Not for anything they were doing, but for Lorien, for the celebrations they were surely having there, for the elanor, alfirin and simbelmyne wound around the flets and telain, for roses laden in flowing tresses, and for the music and dancing. It was my first time feeling truly so, until I began speak so frequently with Desmira and Oendir about my forest, I was not homesick. Now, with the flowers in bloom, I was, for they were only garden flowers and yard-weeds, and not the flowers I wanted.

The moonlight kept me awake last night. Or, I shall blame it on the moonlight, and it serves well enough for an excuse. It made my room as bright as noon, and I have never needed much sleep anyway. It woke me up and drew me outside, to where the dancing black shadows of the treelimbs danced with the purple and white flowers and bloom in effusive riots on Oendir’s grass. The graden I planted seemed to bob and wave in greeting, as though a crowd of friends pleased to see me, and I was more homesick yet. I curtsies to them, unable to help a smile, barefoot and loose-haired in my nightgown, bowing to the garden.

In Lorien now they will be doing their dances, rows and circles and spiralling loners making up a moving tapestry of joy, as if the flowers were indeed uprooting themselves to dance. There would be music, and singing, and love paid to springtime itself and the life that wells up from it. Even the serious scholars of the Enclave come down and dance like children in the spring. This was the first time I had missed those dances since I was tall enough to balance between Randirlen and Olchen’s hands, and before that, Tinhethu carried me in his arms through the steps. I wove myself a flower garland of violet and white from among the grasses and set it on my head, then lifted my arms and closed my eyes. It was all wrong. There was no part of the world that surrounded me that could fool me into thinking this was Lorien. Oak and birch do not creak and rustle the same as mallorn, lilies do not smell like niphredel, and the grass beneath my toes as not like the soft mosses of home. Yet still, I felt as though I could participate, that I could send what spirit I had out to dance with the others.

I danced, and I sang, though softly because I wanted no inhabitants of Durrow to come peeking out their windows to see what mischief was being done to their lawns. I moved in the forms I would have moved with the others, one lone figure trying to celebrate the spring where there should have been hundreds. Still, I felt transported with joy to move so, to be so, to be wholley an Elf in this place and minding the ways of my people. In time, I lost my awareness of myself, and only felt the song and the dancing take me and spin me and bring me back, in some small way, to my home. I could almost stretch out my hands and take Tinhethu’s hand to one side, and Mother’s to the other, and dance the circle with them. I had to laugh at the fancy, and yet, it was a great comfort to me.

However long I danced there, the ragged breath behind me startled me. The lost and distant joy of Lorien fell from me, and I turned to see Oendir sitting on the stone porch, watching. For a moment, I faltered, my song was silent, for opening my eyes to the Man and his house shook me from my dream. Then I took it up again, determined not to let myself be shy, and held out my hand to him, singing again. I was not sure if he would join me, or only shake his head and remain where he was, but I felt my heart was light within me. I was not Luthien, to sing and dance alone and strike a Man who sees me thus dumb. I am a simple Elf and wanted only to welcome the spring.

He came to me shyly, but he came nontheless, his extraordinary eyes bleached as grey as my own in the moonlight, his black hair silvered and shining. His hard and calloused palm slid across mine, and I threaded my thin fingers through his, and we danced. At first, he mirrored me, slowly and carefully, but then he found his own way and his own dance, and matched its rhythm to my own. He began to grin and I wanted to laugh, and tossed back my head to sing my song to the stars. I lost my sense of time once more. We could have danced for days or months on the moonlit sward, and let the world fall all around us. There were only two of us and yet I felt part of something greater, larger, wider. Finally, his hand slipped from mine and he lay back in the grass, and I, still dazzled with the joy of the night, joined him there. We lay in the grass and looked at the moon, and it was joy beyond measure to be with Oendir in such peace and calm and happiness.


Soon, I will see Lorien again, and I will show it all to Oendir. Yet being in Lorien will not be more magical than tonight, when we welcomed the spring together and slept uncaring in the flowers.

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Entry 29

May 9, 2009 at 6:42 am (Uncategorized)
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Mother sent a cask of dark red wine from Mirkwood to me. It must have been got at Silhann and Silana’s wedding. I do not even question how she knew I would want it. It is Mother, that is all.

I took it to Desmira to share. We got quite merry on it… so merry that my memories of it are strange and misty. I do remember that she and I spoke much of Oendir, until the sadness of it made me exasperated. What, are we to sit and mope on his behalf when he is not there? I know that I proposed a story-telling game which we played in the Wood, where one tells a merry tale – it must be true, and you must have seen it yourself – and then the next person tries to tell a merrier. She and I both told a tale and then Men began to come to the Cask. She and I were quite besotted with the wine, lying in the grass and laughing, and so I cannot rightly recall all their tales. Eaothgar’s tale was wandering and I could not grasp the spine of it, but in the end it made us laugh… though all I remember to laugh on was a Dwarf in a yellow hat! Later tales did not make me merry, they struck me as cruel and heartless, and Desmira took me from the circle to reassure me that the Women telling them were not representative. I do not remember the tales themselves, and for that I am glad.

There was also a Hobbit in a big hat, who Eaothgar seemed quite fond of, for he kept hugging him and putting his arm about him. The Hobbit was one who wrote plays about goblins, and he said several things that were so crude that, even though I was no longer as drunk as I had been, I will not write it down! I said goodnight to Desmira and fled his company before he could shock me further. I wonder if he did it to amuse himself with my innocence?

Oendir was very amused to see me in this state. He made me walk along the beam of the flower garden, and laughed and laughed at me when I tried to explain the events at the Cask. He does seem to like me better this way. I am glad I was not drunk enough to ask him for a kiss, though I do remember it crossing my mind.

The journal I sat down to write last night is rubbish. All I did was draw across it, and sing. I hope I did not keep Oendir awake for too long before I finally slept.

Now my head hurts. This is far less fun than being drunk. I wonder if it is because of the wine, or because I hit my head crawling under the bed to try and drag Curonhith out?

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Entry 28

May 9, 2009 at 6:39 am (Uncategorized)
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I have had time to mull over some of what happened between Oendir and I… yet something still tugged at me. Beyond the hurt, the things said I should wish unsaid, and things undone that I wish I had done, there is still an important question. I am tired of being on the outside.

I found Oendir in the wooden gazebo in his yard, overlooking the river and the road. I asked him if it was the black stone that allowed those of the company to speak with one another on the wind, for I had never thought to ask my kin about it. He told me no, that it was a Maia, a Wind-lord named Fionwe, who is bound in friendship to the company and allows them to speak to one another. He had been bound by the ring that Nenuvyiel destroyed, but had been known to many of the company before that day. For that service and for friendship, he helps them.

I asked if I might watch the next time he meets someone new. There is no reason, I said, for me to swear an oath. Mother pledged our House, and she has long been the head of it. If Nenuvyiel raises her horn and musters House Rovalithil to war, I will ride with them without question. It troubles me to think on that, for I have yet to kill, though I know well how to use both staff and sword, I have not done so in more than play and training. Oendir too seemed troubled, but only asked me if I would like to swear and oath and meet Fionwe myself, and receiving his blessing.

It seemed odd to me. I told Oendir I had no oath I needed to swear, for my obligations are already placed without need for it. Strangely, it seems this is the case when the Heirs swear; they swear to protect that which they most long to protect already, and so truly have no need to swear. The only purpose of the oath is to declare to the company where one’s loyalties lie, not to declare oneself bound to the company itself. I was curious and uneasy. Oendir gives his oaths such weight that it seems a terror to me to speak one aloud and be held so grimly. Can one not simply fulfil one’s duties because one is supposed to? Why put such fear to it?

Still, I thought on what Desmira had said to me, about things unsaid that I would regret later, and I asked him if he would receive my oath. He places such value on oaths, let him hear mine openly, if he would. He said that if I wished it, he would hear it.

“I will swear this to you then, Oendir, that I will stay by you until you send me away, and I will do my best to guard and protect you with what strength and wits I have. And if you become a haunt because of what oaths you’ve spoken, I will find a way to release you.”

That is what I spoke to him, and it seemed a darkness passed over me. He looked to me most solemnly, and put his hands on my shoulders. “And I, in turn, swear to guide and protect you as friend and comrade, whatsoever may come, wherever life may take us.” That is what he answered, and sealed our oaths with a kiss on either of my cheeks before stepping back.

Then he told me I should record the oath in the book in Ravenhold! Ai, that put another fear into me, for if Nenuvyiel should read it, she will not be best pleased. My oath gives Oendir the authority to say whether or not I go to war with her if she calls; he may forbid it, and I will abide by him. Nenuvyiel has always been a soft and gentle soul, for as long as I have known her, but since coming to Eriador and girding herself for war again, she has taken her armor not only to cover her body but also her heart. I find myself shy of her grimness, and wholly unhappy with the idea of angering her.

There are many parallels, between Oendir’s House and mine, not just the binding of our oaths. For a time, my House too was down to a single pair of siblings, the grim and dutiful elder brother and his fey younger sibling who loved the woods. Yet my House has swelled and grown, branching and budding with life and love, while Oendir’s stays bare and barren as branches blacken and die. I thought these times were the fading of the Elves, not of Men. Perhaps in time, Men too will leave these lands, and only the trees and flowers will remain. It is not such a terrible thought.

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Entry 27

May 9, 2009 at 6:38 am (Uncategorized)
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Desmira came out first thing in the morning to draw water from the well. She was shocked to see me sitting beneath the tree, dew-drenched and disheveled, and asked me if I was hurt. She began to fuss over me, and reminded me very much of the kindness of Nenuvyiel when one is sad or hurt, ushering me inside, draping me with a blanket and building a fire near where I sat, plying me with hot tea. She was so kind and so wise, and I was at such a loss, that I could only think that perhaps she would understand the strange contradictions of Oendir’s actions and speech. That perhaps it was only the way Men were, that Oendir was, after all, as incomprehensible to me as Turbarad, and she would be able to interprete for me. Besides, aside from Oendir and my kin, she is the closest thing to a friend that I have on this side of the mountains.

So when she asked what had happened, I told her, as best I was able. I asked her what should I do: is this the part of the tale where I fade away from his life, as Turbarad’s Elf-maid had done? Or is this the part where I stand and fight? She told me that her heart broke for us both, and asked me what I wanted from him. What I wanted? I wanted to stay beside him. I never would have asked for more, and certainly not now, so soon after his wife’s death. He is a Man, his life will be short; what right do I have to ask anything from him, and steal those short years?

I never meant for this to happen, and I wish it had not. But why, I asked, would he tell me in this way, holding me to him and petting my hair, cupping my cheeks and telling me he cannot love me? What am I to think of that? Desmira agreed, if cautiously, that it does sound as though he is not as certain as his words might sound, that perhaps the feelings he bears are as quick and sharp as lightning and he does not know what to do with them. That no one makes such a declaration without some hope of return.  Ai, yes. It is all too quick, too tumbled together, like the Anduin in flood. I would do as he wishes, and gladly, but if he himself does not know what he wishes… where does that leave me? He will not ask me to go, and does not want me to leave. Am I to simply hold a place until he finds his wife, and then return to my kin?

Desmira told me I should ask him that, but I dare not, I dare not any more than I dare to abandon this book. What if he heard my questions as complaints, and sent me away for my own good? Then I should lose what little time I hope to have with him!

She told me that, were I a Woman, she should be brimming over with advice for me, but for an Elf, nothing. How her words pierced me! I did not understand how alien they think me! How unlike them I am and how they see me. Am I a monster to them? An Ent-wife come to plant herself in their yard and pretend she belongs in a garden? Is that what I am? They smile and speak me kind and fair, but how much of that is fear and pity? Yes, pity! And do I not pity myself betimes, that I am not part of this fellowship of blood and will always be looking through a window outside of it?

I asked if she would give me the advice anyway, as though I were a Woman, and though she reminded me that I was not, she did speak. She said that if I were a Woman, she would shake her head at how I have made promises to live in ways that make me unhappy, and give him every speck of decision, a reed in the wind and nothing more. That either way, I should look back when he is gone, and see words left unspoken, regretted.. or I could speak my heart openly to him now. She pities, not only myself, but whatever Women he looks to after this, for she is his second choice for whatever reason.

Second choice! He has set me aside for her, whomever she is, real or imagined, a Woman who will keep his hearth and grow old beside him (but not bear his children?) He is fey and uncanny among Men, he belongs to the forest, as I do. But instead he chooses to be a Man of Durrow, and cling tight to that. I can never give him the mate to compliment that choice.

Travel with him, Galuvae, she said to me, so earnest and so wise. Show him your forests, and let them speak what is hard for you to say.

I could only gape, and then laugh. It was as though a star shone down upon me and lit my path! Of course, of course! I come here with him, to the house he kept with his wife, and all I do is grate along the rough edges of a place I cannot fill, and things I cannot be. His world here is not a world for Elves, and I am awkward in it. But to bring him to the forests, to Imladris and Eregion, and to Lorien… to show him those places there and remind him of the Elvish heart of his own, the places where we fit together… how did I not see it before? Bless this wise Woman!

He does have wanderlust, she pointed out, and he should see what’s out there before settling for something small.

Then a second star seemed to brighten for me, and I could see another path. One as clear as my own. One that perhaps explains why he chooses to help another, one who cannot wander, do so. With a horse and a healing salve. He wishes a Woman of Durrow, of Bree-Lands, of house and hearth and home and warmth and safety and softness and comfort. If I am an Elf to him, and stand as if proxy for the wildness in his heart, does Desmira not stand for Woman, as a symbol of all he should want and have? The happiness, the life, he should have had with Onua, is it not waiting here for him in Desmira’s heart? And mine offers him a path so far from it, could it be like losing her again to follow it? Yet is it not like replacing her not to?

The quick natures of Men astounds and confounds me. I should have thought no such speech would come from him, no such decision, for years. I thought the grief would settle and one day he would be ready to move on. Yet this hurry smacks of desperation. That the trio of losses he has suffered are so great, he simply must escape them, must build a new life, and now. Desmira and I are in agreement that, whatever his feelings for either of us, they are too soon. Yet the rush of Man drives me along with him, for I fear to lose him to my own inactions. There are things Desmira told me, which I promised not to write in my book, and I shall not even write them here, but they are profound and sad.

If Oendir were to tell me he loved Desmira, I should stand aside. She is a fine Woman, and all he could ever hope for. But I do not know that she would accept him, or even that she would truly want him. Her heart breaks for me, and for him, and for whomever he turns to afterwards. I am not sure she wishes to be that person, even if I were not here. There is a deep pain in her, and she will not be rushed through it. She drank deeply of the brandy she also plied me with, telling me of the healing power of drinking for Men, how it numbs and lightens the load. For me, the brandy only made my tongue numb, and nothing more, and I do not care for its taste, or that of ale.

We finished our drinks and I came back to the house, where Oendir had got little sleep. I tried to be merry for him, and not wallow him pain or sorrow, for what does that avail? Why should I make what time I have left with him miserable? He is beset with guilt for what happened between us. I was afraid he would be angry with me for kissing him, but he does not seem to even remember it. I do not know if that is better or worse.

I asked him to come with me. To Elvish places, to walk with me in the hills of the Valley, the protected places where nothing is built and yet where Lord Elrond’s grace still guards. To walk through Eregion, with me this time. And to come, if we can, to Lorien, where I shall show him all the places I love most, and see the light in his eyes reflecting from the leaves of the mallorn. He said he would go, that he would like to see it, but travel must be put off until his wound heals. He seemed wary of my suggestion, and I understand why, but I could not speak to explain the things I learned from Desmira, how I hoped the forest would speak to his heart in ways I could not. Desire makes me soft, and fear makes me mute. Perhaps Lorien will open my heart as well.

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Entry 26

May 9, 2009 at 6:35 am (Uncategorized)
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Once we were inside, Oendir drew away and removed his cloak and boots as always, then removed his shirt as well and set it aside to be washed. I do not know if I started or made some face he misliked, for he apologized to me for doing it. I told him that I had a brother, and even an Elven brother goes shirtless at times. He reminded me that he was not my brother, a reminder I scarely needed, as he knelt to start a fire in the hearth. I watched him and found him… exceptional to look on. He is not as delicate and sweetly carved as the Eldar are, who might be beautiful statues of marble in their beauty, but seemed more a man of wood, brown with sun and lined here and there with scars like the grain of a polished carving. He is not an Elf and still he was beautiful, and I sat before the hearth to watch him. Once the fire was lit, he moved restlessly to the window and opened it to let the fresh breezxe of spring in. He seemed restless and unhappy. In my heart, I cursed what had made him so pensive, for he has been merry and at his ease since he returned from Eregion.

When I asked him what it was that troubled him, he only turned and asked me if I had ever sworn an oath. I thought it a very broad question, and said so, and he ammended it to ask if an oath means the same for an Elf as it does for Men. I knew what it was he fears – that he is destroyed for the oath he swore, that when he swore to protect the wife, brother and cousin who have all fallen – and told him that, while it is important to us personally, to our honor, that we speak true and breath no oaths, that we do not become haunts should we fail. I think that Mandos does not bar his doors to those who have failed their words, or at least, I have never heard that he does. It takes a great sin indeed to damn an Elf. I asked him if he is to be blamed for breaking an oath he had no control to keep, and he told me that he was damned already, that the oath to the Black Stone was the second failure, not the first. When I asked him what it was, he would not say. He only came to sit with me, crouching near enough to my back that I could feel the heat from him, his hands upon my shoulders and his chin against my hair. I could hardly move for the surprise, for while Oendir is one who touches often and unselfconsciously, this seemed to me a more intimate position, especially given his state of undress.

He said nothing then, until I asked him if I have given reason for mistrust? After all, he began by asking me about my oaths, and I have only sworn one. To him. I told him I would remain at his side, that he should not be alone in his grief, and in my carelessness, I broke it. He told me it was no matter, and that he should haunt me forever as a shade, in order to balance the scales.

Ai, how my heart thumped with dread to hear him say such a thing! To look forever upon his pain and torment, to have his grief so nakedly before me, until I myself fade from the earth? Surely, his shade would not suffer more than I to be in such an arrangement. It would be a fit punishment indeed, if that is how he should choose to mete it out. Nay, I told him, for if he did such a thing, I should not bear it, seeing one who is so much a part of life in such a state. I should have to leave the forests I intended to stay with forever, and build myself a ship and row his shade to Valinor and beat myself against the gates until they opened for us both. He told me he shall have no children or grand-children to haunt. I, who had never thought to bear children myself, was suddenly peirced at the thought that Oendir should be the last of his blood to roam the land, and fell silent from the pain of it.

It is a terrible thing he says, but he thinks of it only as truth. I told him that he has chosen acceptance over hope, and will remain a cripple forever, leaving his healing balm to sit upon a shelf rather than risk its use. What hope, he asked, had he? The words I wanted to speak and have sworn I will not stuck in my throat, and so I could only say that he still lives, and his life still stretched before him. There will be joy along that road still, and when it comes, I hope only to be there and witness it, and dance for joy to see it.

He looked upon me for a long moment before signing and closing his eyes, telling me that I spoke true, and that there were things before him every day, reminding him that hope was not lost. So saying, he knelt and pulled me against his breast, holding me with his arms about my waist and his cheek pressed to mine. The emotions that flooded me were so painful and wonderful and confusing that I could do or say nothing, and simply fell against him, letting the moment be. It stretched long, and even now I cannot help but savor the memory of his warm skin against mine, the sweetness of his heartbeat and the sound of his breath in my hair. He spoke, finally, and his voice was soft and warm.

He knew, he said, of my feelings for him, and when I would have spoken, he gently hushed me. He told me that I knew he could not give me the same, though he thought long on it. But… he said, but. I turned to look upon him, and he cupped my face in his hands, as a man might do before he plants a kiss upon a woman’s mouth. But instead he only planted words upon my heart: “I love you, Galuvae. With all my heart.”

I could not make a proper reply, for it seemed impossible to say aught to that. I could only beg him to be more clear, for his words tugged me this way and that. He told me that he loved me still, but it was not the love I seek, and when I protested that I would never have sought anything from him, he gathered me tightly against him once more. Tears burned in my eyes and I drew back to tell him the truth Tinhethu showed me, that I had been too blind to see, that I never thought I would be free to tell Oendir: that I have given him my heart, and that it is to me a thing of wonder and joy, though I never expected him to return his love to me. Once, he told me that I should fall in love, and I could not tell him that I already had. I would have left it unsaid forever, but now I told him plainly that I loved him, and would never ask more of him.

My heart broke within me at his next words, for they were so confusing, and took what firm earth I had found to stand on from me. He said he considered it… considered, and decided against it, that he convinced himself it could not be, that he loved me and chose not to love me. As though I were a bad bargain presented in the market, a fruit which seems ripe but is soft and empty within. He said he could not give me the devotion I deserved, and that part of his heart would always belong to Onua. Did he think me a fool, I asked him? Did I not know that? Had I ever loved his heart without her in it?

If you were a Man… he said, and I felt as though a dagger had been slipped between my ribs.

So, he does not think of me as a woman, I am only an Elf to him. I am a play of shadows and light upon a screen, a dancing, ephemeral beauty like a sunset, that one never seeks to grasp and hold. My love might have been good enough, if only I were simpler, if only I were a Man, but I am shaped as I am by the maker of the universe, and it is not something in me to change. Could I like Luthien take on another skin, I would not do it, not even for him. I am only what I am.

I must understand, he told me, why this must be. It is not a matter of my worth. He is only a Man he said – only a Man! – and will be here for only a breath of my life. But for himself, he wishes someone to grow old with, and die beside. And he does not desire to leave the one he loves to wander lost, without the other half of her heart. To love, he told me, is one thing, but it is not the same to have someone love you back, and then to lose them.

I broke then into a storm of weeping, though I wished it otherwise, I could not contain it. I covered my eyes with my hands so that I should not see his face any longer, and I spoke words I should not have done. Of course he could not marry me, I cannot grow old, I cannot give him a gift which I do not possess myself! But when he died, it will tear the heart from my breast, and I will return to my forest and I will die there. I questioned if he had spoken the truth to me earlier, and when he said he did, I told him that he loved me, and denied it, and chose not to love me, so that I already know what it is like to love someone, for them to love me back, and to lose them after.

Would he not have chosen to remain with Onua, if he had known she would die? Would he not have cherished the short time he had with her all the more, knowing it would be brief? Then, I said, he knows what it is to be an Elf who loves a Man.

I stopped the spectacle I was making of myself, and the two of us stood uneasy and hurt and afraid to hurt one another further, in a room that smelled of spring rains and flowers and tears.  I asked him why, why he needed to tell me this tonight? He said he thought of his oath, and wondered if he had spoken words of love often enough to those he has lost. He wanted me to know, he said, if something happens to one of us. I said I would rather he had told me he did not love me at all, than that he loved me and denied it. He protested, saying he did love me, and would always. He said he was a fool, and I bit my own lip to force myself to silence.

“Morning,” he said, “will bring us clearer thoughts.”

I could not imagine ever having another clear thought. My mind was full of storms and confusion. I did not know what best to do. I could not tell what he wanted of me, but when I asked, he did not wish me to leave him yet. He would have me stay by him, he would cradle me against him and tell me he loves me, and then tell me he cannot love me and that I can not be the wife he wishes. All these things rose up in me to a cacophony of thoughts that near drowned me, so that I hardly knew what I was doing when I darted to his side and kissed him. When I realized when I had done, I fled the house. Not far, for he asked me not to leave him, but I had no courage to meet his eyes after what I had done. I was sure that he would finally see that he should drive me away. I leaned against the house in the darkness and wept again, unmindful of the light rain that pattered through the leaves of the tree.

When I could gather my wits about me, I left Curonhith at the door, to fetch me if Oendir called, and made my way down the road to the Broken Cask. All I could think of was that perhaps Desmira, that practical, solid-minded creature, would be able to see a clear way through this maze. That she would tell me I was being foolish, and that Oendir would never love me and did not want me, or that she would tell me that it was all a test such as are in old tales, and how I should win at it. The rain stopped, and I was glad of it, for my dress was uncomfortable and my slippers muddy. The door of the Cask was locked for the night, and I was loathe to bring more disturbance than I already had. I settled myself beneath a tree in the yard to wait for morning to bring me clearer thoughts.

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Entry 25

May 9, 2009 at 6:33 am (Uncategorized)
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This evening, I found Desmira and Oendir blessedly alone in the Cask, and they did not mind my joining their talk. Desmira turned to me and asked which is the better: hope, or acceptance.

What a question to be asked! Desmira knows my feelings, though Oendir still seems blessedly unaware. I had to ask in what context the question is asked, for in different minds it would mean differing things, and my mind was already turning this way and that.

It seems that when Oendir went to Eregion, on his way back he stopped to Imladris, and spoke to one of the healers there to make him a strong salve. He brought this salve to Desmira, in hopes of curing her injury and allowing her to walk again. Yet, she does not use it, for she fears its failure; if she dares to believe in it, it would hurt too much for it to fail. So she wonders, is it better to remain crippled with a pain she can bear, or hope to lose that pain and take a chance on worse.

I said it seemed her mind was already made up, and she opened her mouth to tell us her mind, and a tale she would not ordinarily share. Oendir was stepping away when he ran smack into Turbarad, coming into the door. Of course, Desmira’s tale was ended before its birth, and it was hard to keep me a pleasant face to Turbarad’s mournful one. It is so difficult to get Desmira to speak of herself! And now that Turbarad is here, conversation will turn inevitably to him.

He took a seat before the fire, looking wearing and rumpled. He began to speak of an Elf named Melthanwen, who was dear to him, and a dream he had. His speech was interrupted by the arrival of two other young Men, a Woman named Vi and a Man of Gondor named Resgar. While they chatted with Oendir, Turbarad spoke of his dream of this Elf, and how his thoughts have ever turned to her of late.

By the Stars! The hearts of Men are as changable as a wind-vane! I asked if Hart was not still with him, and he told me he had not seen her for some time! And still he sits and speaks of dreams of this Elf whom he loved and now is remembering to love again! Ai, I find him more frightening each time I speak to him, for he shows me the quicksilver fickleness of a Man’s heart, though it pretends to go armored and steadfast!

As if to layer irony upon irony, Vi and Oendir and Resgar began to speak of the Oaths the Heirs take to swear within the company, and Vi asked Oendir what he had sworn. I could only listen with half my mind to Turbarad asking me if I have seen the damage a Troll might do (I lived within Imladris, and there are no shortage of Trolls in the Trollshaws, how may I not have seen this?) when Oendir answered that his oath was to wife, brother and cousin. All dead, all gone from him, and the desolation in him yawned like an open chasm breaking suddenly within a sheet of ice. He politely excused himself, but I could not go, for Turbarad addressed me directly and told me of how he and this Elf, Melthanwen, were pledged in love to one another.

Then, he said, she left him without a word. And he has not seen her since.

Maybe, I told him, she was afraid.

What Elf would not fear to love a Man such as Turbarad? Not for greatness or grimness, but only for the fickle winds that blow his heart this way and that, from one lady to the next, on the bidding of a moment? I understood her terror, for though my own heart is irrevocably lost to a Man more steadyfast, still, I see this in their natures. An Elf will give her heart but once, and it is lost to her. Luthien herself found herself bound in knowledge and spirit to Beren long before they wed; she could sense when he was in danger, and feel his hurt. An Elf-maid cannot be blown from one to the next, and to love a Man is to risk one’s most precious and inmost treasure on the hope – hope, again! – that he will not be blown from one like the drifting seeds of dandelions.

My heart was fearful within me, and I too excused myself from the company, to seek Oendir and find a place of more solitude in which to let my mind settle again.

I found him asleep in the dew beneath an oak tree, near the gate of the Cask. Was he waiting for me, or did he only sit to think and lose his battle with awareness? And to think he should fall asleep so close to the road, after only a week before a brigand put a knife into him, here in Durrow! I roused him to bring him home. He was pensive and thoughful, upset I thought, but he offered me his arm and said he would speak to me, once we were inside. I had hoped there I might offer him some comfort for the pain of thoughtless words, and thereby balm my own heart.

It was not to be, but I cannot write of it now. I will return to this page when my hands have stopped their tremble.

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Entry 24

May 9, 2009 at 6:31 am (Uncategorized)
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I was in the garden singing to the flowers when Oendir and Desmira both rode up. I was surprised, never having seen Desmira on a horse – or indeed, out of the Cask! – before now! She said that she had not been astride since the accident that damaged her leg, though she was thinking of buying another, and Willowsong was helping her relearn her seat. Willowsong is a dear old thing, and there could hardly have been a safer mare to learn on.

Oendir bent to smell the Heart’s Desire, while I pointed the Waiting Maiden and the other flowers to Desmira. They are rooting and blooming well, and seem perfectly content to be here. I could not quite resist, when Oendir looked around to see how well the holly spirg is rooting, to ask him if he had taken Desmira on an adventure.

Perhaps one where a dog was shaved and painted?

Desmira laughed, saying of all the things she had never expected to hear uttered by an Elf, that was surely one!

Oendir only stared with wide eyes. “Who… told you that?” he asked.

It was all I could do not to laugh in delight, for he was so surprised. I feigned to be thoughful, saying I could not entirely be sure who had told me, because I had questioned so many while seeking these tales.

Oendir only kept staring.

I looked back to Desmira, who was amused with both of us, asking her if their ride had been nothing so mischvious, which she said it had not. Only to exercise herself and Willowsong. We heaped praises on that gentle beast, and then Desmira headed back to her Inn, across the grass and ignoring the path. Oendir murmured that surely she would wear a path in the grass, but I pointed out that would mean she was visiting so often, it would be a small price to pay.

I could still hardly keep from laughing, and he gave me another look. I had to respond, telling him he should not leave me alone for so long, because it gave me time to ferret out too many things. He only sighed and asked if I had spoken to Rose. I suppose he tallied up his childhood friends and found not many of them available for my questioning. I told him I had, and that she was a lovely woman. I told him I wish we could have known one another as children, for I think we would have gotten on well.

“Did you play such jokes?” he asked. And I told him of the time I found my brother asleep in Mother’s garden and braided his long, silver hair into the Glory-Vine, so that he could not rise without uprooting it all. Luckily, he is a most patient Elf, and remained where he was until Mother came to free him. Oendir looked delighted at the tale, but suddenly yawned, complaining that he was suddenly unable to keep his eyes open. I shooed him toward the door, telling him to make for his bed before he fell asleep in my garden and I had to wrap him in trumpet-flowers.

“Lucky for me I’ve no hair anymore!” he said.

“I would bind your wrists and ankles then and train the flowers there,” I told him, grinning, and then wished him sweet dreams.

It is an interesting picture for the mind, is it not?

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Entry 23

May 9, 2009 at 6:30 am (Uncategorized)
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The flowers bloomed. The sun shone down. And I was in the garden when Oendir came home.

He came walking up the hill, dressed in bright green, his head uncovered and his arms bare. He smiled at me and I could not contain myself, but leapt up and rush to fling my arms around his neck. I was so relieved to see him again, walking with his usual limp, yes, but hale and whole aside from that, and looking so much happier than I had last seen him! It was then, of course, that he winced and let me know that he had been injured, but not greatly, in his travels. Frighteningly enough, he was attacked here in Durrow, not far from the Cask! It was to there that he made his way, and Desmira saw that he was treated and slept for the night. Blessed Woman!

I released Oendir from my embrace, lest I cause him more pain. I showed him the garden, where the flowers are opening and stretching to the sun, and he ducked into the house for a moment, coming back out without his bag, holding a small holly-sprout cupped in his hands, the roots packed with earth and wrapped in burlap. I was overjoyed to see it, for it meant that I had not entirely slipped his mind when he was clearing the cobwebs.

He seemed so changed, so much freer and lighter than he was before. He asked me if I thought the holly would grow here.

I told him that I thought she would root well. Place her in the sun and in time, she would forget the soil of Eregion and think of this as her home. Give a plant sunlight to stretch toward, and she will grow.

He smiled at me.

I did not think either of us were speaking of the tree.

Spring has come to Durrow.

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