The Lure of the Lhûn

August 25, 2019


The Elves of Celondim look at me with awe, as if standing beside Glorfindel and Gil-galad in battle makes me as great as they. I have not the heart to tell them how wrong they are, that I am barely more than a child waving a wooden sword.

Elrond, I am certain, could have imagined a task for me anywhere in Middle-earth. But he has sent me here to Celondim, where the River Lhûn slips silver down toward the sea. This is no accident.

He is testing me, to see if the shores of my homeland still sieze my heart. I could have simply told him that they do.

But I will not go to Lindon, not yet. I cannot face the towers, nor the ships, nor the glittering sea. I cannot go there and see, undeniably, that my parents are no longer there. Even the thought of going raises a panic in me so strong, I feel as if I might faint.

I will stay, and play the hero Elladan and Elrohir so passionately believe me to be. Perhaps in time, I can even convince myself.

What World Is This?

August 25, 2019


I still cannot fathom how long I slept. Three thousand years is an eternity, even among my kin. Though I am ashamed to admit it even privately, Elrond’s recounting of what has happened since makes me glad I was not there to witness it. I do not think I could have borne the ruination of Arnor, or the sullying of Greenwood. I can hardly bear to hear of it now.

The Last Homely House is a haven, as it always was. I could sit here and listen to its fountains murmur for another Age, but I suspect Elrond already has other plans for me. I can see it in his tactician’s gaze.

It is a comfort to know that my friend has not changed.

I wonder if Prince Thranduil survived the battle. I wonder if he ever took a wife.



That Which Does Not Fade

August 24, 2019


At night I awaken, my forehead slick, from dreams of battle. Three thousand years have passed since my sword first darkened with blood, yet my throat still burns from the ashes of the Morannon. I close my eyes and there is Barad-dûr, wreathed in unquenchable flame. I feel the press of it against my cheek. That terrible, frozen heat.

Mother, Father…did you know what awaited you in Dagorlad? Did you bring your only child, a flower unfurling, into a battle you knew would be your last? There is a cold and empty place within my heart where once your love for me did dwell. But mine was not the only innocence lost that day.

Why, now, have the dreams returned? The Nameless Enemy is long vanquished. The lands of Middle-earth are green and peaceful.

Aren’t they?

Û, Elbereth. Please, not again.