Between Dawn and Dusk

II: Between Dawn and Dusk

by Lily Frost

The sons of Elrond are riding with the Rohirrim to Edoras, bearing the body of Theoden to it’s final resting place. Elessar, the new king, had requested that they do so for safely and because he believed it was high time elves and humans started interacting more.

The sons of Elrond and Theoden’s niece and nephew, Eowyn and Eomer, had formed an unexpected friendship. Much f their conversation had been about Elessar, alternately known by them as Thorongil, Aragorn and Estel. Inevitably, the conversation turned towards Arwen.

“The dwarf, ah—Gimli, said something to me about Arwen.” Eomer said, off-handedly.

“Oh?”

“He asked me whether I thought Galadriel or Arwen was more beautiful. Arwen, I answered, of course. Aragorn is a very lucky man.”

“He is.” They agreed.

“And if he does anything our little sister does not like...”

“He will very much regret it.” Elladan and Elrohir said.

Eowyn had a feeling Eomer felt the same towards Faramir.

“And then,” Eomer continued, “and this was strange, for dwarves are not known to be poets, he said that I had chosen the evening to the morning. I thought it was peculiar.”

“Arwen,” Elladan said slowly. “Gave up her immortality to be with Es—Elessar.”

“Oh.” Said Eomer, not sure what to make of it.

“She is called the Evenstar of our people,” Elrohir added, “A last light that will be left here to fade away while the rest of us sail to Valinor, in the West.”

Eowyn, during their trip, had found herself starting to develop some respect for the woman who had beat her to Aragorn. She suddenly remembered something, “You are related to Galadriel somehow, are you not? You mentioned spending much time in Lothlorien when you were young, and exploring Ithilien.” She looked between Elladan and Elrohir for specifics.

“Galadriel is our grandmother.”

Both twins grinned broadly at the expression Eomer pulled then. Many humans have difficultly comprehending elven aging. “She must be centuries old!”

“Older.”

“We are over three thousand, actually.” The twins explained.

Eomer just managed not to fall out of his saddle and Eowyn’s eyes widened.

“Father treats us as if we were fifty, though.” Elladan added.

“Maybe if you quit acting like it.” Elrohir stuck out his tongue childishly.

“Galadriel is not Elrond’s mother,” Eowyn mused. “Then, she is your mother’s.”

“Yes.”

“She must be lovely.” Eomer said.

“I have not met her – where is she?” Eowyn asked.

Elrohir suddenly went quiet and Elladan sullen as he answered. “She sailed West, a, well, a long time ago in human terms.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Eomer felt as if he was venturing where he should not, as if this was too personal.

But he had pressed something, and it would come pouring now.

“Yrch.” Elrohir spat. “Orcs. She was taken captive on a mountain pass and tortured, mentally and physically until her spirit broke. It could not have been easy to do... most weaker would not have... I would not have survived what she went through.”

“I am sorr—“

“They tortured her, mocked her, raped her...” He continued, despite the look Elladan was giving him. “And when we got her back she was broken. Alive, but she could not be healed here. Maybe never, even in Valinor.”

“’Ro, stop.” Elladan said, unable to take more. “We will see her again, and she will be better.”

They lapsed into a moody silence, until at last Eowyn, feeling that the mood was too heavy, asked, “What was she like... what was her name?”

“Celebrian.” Elrohir sighed.

“She was like...” Elladan started.

“She was our mother, but did not behave like most mothers, I think.”

“She was young compared to our father.”

“An elf. Golden hair like Galadriel.”

“Bluest of eyes.”

“Arwen has those, I think.”

“And her pale skin.”

“But she never looked... frail before the orcs.”

“She always wore bright clothes, never anything dark or washed out.”

“Bright red and orange.”

“Sky blue and spring green.”

“And ribbons in her hair just like elven children wear.”

“Bells too, during festivals.”

“She loved dancing.”

“Laughed a lot, played games...”

“She would roll in the grass with us.”

“Taught me how to climb trees.”

“And throwing daggers.”

“Archery.”

“Really?” Eomer asked, “She does not sound like your typical elven lady.”

“She is not.” Elrohir sighed. “I do not think... she never really managed Galadriel’s grace.

“Arwen takes more after father in mood.” Elladan reflected.

“She was amazing with some weapons.”

“Excellent aim.”

“Not as strong as you would have you believe. But amazing still.”

“She was a warrior?” Eowyn asked, wishing she could meet this woman.

“When our father—Elrond-- let her.” Elladan said.

“Ah.”

“She was like...”

“Daylight.”

“The afternoon sun.”

“Fire and sunshine.”

Eomer thought about this. He was no poet, despite the number of drinking and ridding songs he had composed, but he saw Gimli’s words now. “The afternoon sun...” He said quietly, “between dawn and dusk.”

“You could say that.” Elladan nodded.

“Indeed,” Elrohir smiled. “You certainly could.”

fin