To Mourn

Arwen stood at Meduseld and watched her father ride away.

Though the sun shone, a strong wind blew, whipping her skirts into a frenzy.  It was many minutes before the echo of the horses’ hooves faded from her hooves, and still longer before she could convince herself to move.  If she left the steps, if she strayed at all from her position, her doom would be sealed.  She would never see him again.

And yet, she could not stay.  Already her stiff posture, arms slack and her mouth still open, as though to call her father back, had unnerved the guards.  The Steward’s hand on her arm reminded her that she could not sink into a reverie.  His eyes were kind as he said gently “Will you come inside my lady?” 

She nodded and allowed him to escort her in doors – somehow she felt stunned, her mind hardly comprehending what her senses felt.  Inside the hall was dim and warm.  She stepped away from Faramir’s hold and looked at the tapestries on the walls.  They were crude; blunt representations of events that almost from memory.  And these would be her people.

The day passed in a flash, though she felt so numb – she hardly cared where she was or what she did, all her thought focused on the riders that had left.  She followed Éowyn as she walked, for Arwen could not summon up the resolution even to return to her room..  The White Lady was grave, for her friends among the hobbits were gone, and in the absence of her betrothed and her brother – who were riding together – she was ill-disposed for conversation. 

Arwen sat on the grass, as Éowyn planted cuttings of the simbelmyne on the barrows of uncle and cousin.  She explained that they had always grown on the graves of Eorl’s descendents.  Almost absently, Arwen realised that it was about continuity – even hundreds of years later there would be someone to tend the flowers.  She had never understood the significance men attached to such things before.

At first Eowyn had seemed sombre, but the task it seemed soothed her, for by its end she wore the look of serenity that was her habitual state.  And Arwen wondered how she could endure this void, this sudden gulf that signalled the absence of those the heart loved best.

And as Éowyn stood, dusting soil off her knees and staring in horror at her filthy hands, Arwen felt a wave of longing for her Estel.  She wished he were near her now, to hold her in his arms and soothe her tears and comfort her through the long nights.  Her parting with all her kin would endure till the ending of this world, and though she might make connections new and strong, she feared none could ever be as dear to her as her own kin.

Éowyn came towards her, and Arwen knew that, had her mood been less grey she might have laughed to see the Shieldmaiden’s dismay at her dishevelled appearance, so reminiscent of her own husband.  And Éowyn bade her come inside for the evening meal, and indeed seemed surprised that she had remained outside so long.  Dusk was falling around them.

As they sat in the peace of the ancient hall, and Éowyn and Éomer and Faramir laughed gently at each other’s foibles, Arwen had never felt more alone.  She was not like them…she was not of their kind…she could never be at peace amongst them. They would never understand or love her – how could she be their Queen?

And then she heard an unfamiliar sound and they stared at her in horror, and she realised that she was crying.  Weeping for the loss that seemed so immense, so massive she could not find any words large enough to describe it.  And she wished for Estel all the more, for he would have known what to do, where she did not.  She had been stoic through all the years of the war; it was her way, and one her father had always approved.  Elves were to keep their suffering at bay, not give in until the pain had sunk its teeth into their heart.  The last thing he would have wanted was for Arwen to display it for all the world.

She felt an arm around her, and she was coaxed to stand up, and walked out of the hall to her room.  And as she went she saw the faces of Faramir and Éomer King, and saw no contempt on them, as she had expected, but sympathy and pity, which seemed in that moment all the more strange.  And in her room those hands coaxed her to lie down, and covered her in a blanket as she continued to weep her bitter tears.  The person stayed with her through it all, but Arwen had not the strength to look up to see whom it was.  She found herself calling to her mother and father, asking for their forgiveness, asking that the One might be merciful, but knowing that her words were without wings.

And slowly her tears eased and she fell into a stupor, huddled under the thick blanket.  It was not until a slender hand lit a candle, its golden glow spilling through the room, that she awoke.  The woman moved, and sat beside Arwen on the bed, and asked in a sweet, accented voice, “Are you recovered Arwen Queen?”.  And Arwen looked up and saw that it was Éowyn Lady of Rohan, and for a moment she thought the White Lady might use this moment to take some revenge. 

But Éowyn’s face remained plain and vaguely sympathetic, and she said, “I know what it is to lose a father, if you would speak of it.” 

Arwen looked at her entreatingly, longing for some comfort, and Éowyn spoke again, “I was only six years old, full young as mortals measure time, my Queen.  And my father was pursued a party of orcs and he was killed.  It was some hours before his men could retrieve his body, and …the orcs took full opportunity for their sport.  And when they brought his body home, mutilated, before they could clean it, I saw him”, Arwen gasped at Éowyn’s words, which were a little sorrowful, but not bitter, “It was such a shock to see my father, for he was a handsome, brave man my Queen, beyond all others I ever saw, to see what they had done to him, that I… could not speak again for nigh on a year.”

Arwen wondered despite her sorrow, and asked, “What made you speak again?” 

Éowyn’s eyes seemed to be looking into some great distance as she said, “I saw a man with a black hair.  I had never seen black hair before.  And I looked into his eyes, and strange though it sounds, I knew, I knew that he loved me.  He wanted to hear my voice.  And there was nothing to be afraid of any longer.” 

Arwen sat up, and looked into the Shieldmaiden’s face, and it dawned on her that indeed Éowyn was old for her age, and asked, “Do you know who he was?”

Éowyn smiled and said, “I have thought long on it of late, and I think I remember his name was Thorongil, and yet...” She noticed Arwen’s breath catching in shock, “Yet I have often thought that he bore a strong resemblance to… to your husband, though that man must be much older now.  It is strange.” 

Arwen swallowed a gasp, for she realised that Éowyn was right – Aragorn had seen her while she was still a young girl, in fact he had told Arwen of it – the child’s image had seemed to haunt him – but she had never made the connection.  She left it for now, for it was her husband’s tale to tell not hers.

Words unwillingly burst from her lips, as she looked into Éowyn’s eyes, sorrowful, and yet still open, still with some hope of joy in them. “How do you bear it?  To lose so much?” 

Éowyn sighed said softly, “I do not know Arwen Queen… save that we must.  We are made to lose all that we love, and we hope to find it again, but… It is not that it does not hurt, much, to lose those we love my queen, but we cannot… it is not fit to pine for what we have lost and forget what may still be.”

Arwen could not keep a sob from her voice as she said, “But some losses may never be repaired.”. 

Éowyn’s face softened, “But we never can really lose those we love.  I shall always love my father, and my mother, and Théodred and Théoden King.  I cannot lose my love for them though they are not here.  I hold them in my heart still, and though I would give much to see them again, I cannot… I will not, and I must comfort myself as I can.  They will never leave my heart.” 

Arwen would have interrupted, explained that she did not mean to insult, but Éowyn continued, “We cannot fear to live because of death.  Had I done so I could never marry my lord, for he is… Númenorean and shall live many years alone after I have passed.  I could spare him that… but to be alone, so that we would both live miserable, and all for fear of some future pain, would be a greater evil.  We have only the time we are given.  I know your loss cannot be compared but surely the love you bear your kin shall never diminish?”

Arwen had no words left to say, and Éowyn seemed to understand.  She covered her once more with the blanket, and said, “Sleep now my Queen”.  Smoothing a hand over Arwen’s brow as Celebrian had once done, she blew out the candle and left the room.

And the next morning, though they remained uneasy together, and though they spoke little, a small sense of companionship had grown between Arwen and the White Lady.  No more would they cut each other with words, and for this and Éowyn’s understanding, Arwen remained truly grateful.