Ashes Upon the Water

Many days have passed since the news of your passing has reached me. I do not know if I shall ever understand why so many innocent lives have been suddenly snuffed out, cast into the fires like worthless kindling. But you, my dear Anúviel, were worth far more than that.

I stand here near the prow of one of my ship.  I can see her twin sister out of the corner of my eye, but on this day my proud vessels do not bring me much comfort. The only thing that would quell the rage that boils within me is to hear your voice once more, smell the scent of your hair, or the feel of your skin underneath my palm. But all hope of that chance is now gone. I do not even have your body since the temple fires have claimed it. I would have covered your cask with flowers, and given you the last rites of a Queen. You deserved no less, my beloved wife.

You had many long years ahead of you, many that I hoped to fill with joy and laughter. My beloved, you blessed me with three lovely daughters, whom I treasure beyond riches or coin. I would have been content to watch them grow and fill our home with songs and beautiful things. But alas! You gifted me with a son! It grieves me beyond words that our Meneldil shall never know you. Be at peace, my love, for we shall not allow him to forget the one who gave him life.

Anariel lies at death’s door. It is a miracle that she did not share your fate, yet it pains me to wonder if such might have been a kinder fate. Her body has endured great torment, but I fear more for her state of mind. It shall be many years before the wounds of her ordeal heal, if they ever do.  I have not had the heart to hear her tale, or learn of your agony. My insides twist into knots to even consider the manner in which you died, my priceless gem. Being burned alive is fate far worse than many. I know you have endured great pain. Was your suffering brief? I have heard rumors that they drive a knife into the heart of some of their sacrifices. Did they release your spirit from its mortal shell before they tossed it into the flames? No! I do not want to think of these things any longer! I have failed you completely, Anúviel, forgive me!

I never would have let you go had I known. Why did you not send a servant in your stead? What was it you ventured out into the city for? I had warned you to never venture out into the streets of Romenna without an escort. Did you not know that Anariel would come for you? Why, Anúviel, why? Did you not realize how much our children need you? How am I supposed to go on without you by my side? Yes, even this warrior heart of mine is afraid, afraid to face the days that lie ahead without the one who completed me.

Another clap of thunder comes from over my head and I watch as lightening streaks from cloud to cloud. The storms seem to be endless in these past days. I know I cannot hold anger towards you for what cannot be undone.  Forgive me, meleth nín, for I do not know how to let go. I have loved you since we were children, and I cannot imagine loving any other even if I were to live as an old man. But something in my heart tells me I shall not see the elderly years of life. This fire for vengeance burns too hot within my spirit.

My eyes focus upon the helm you commissioned for me, your last gift. It is strange that it should be such a thing. Normally I would have reveled at its majesty. It is a fine thing with wings made of pearl and silver.  The seven clear stones at its base reflect the light from overhead. But my eyes cannot turn away from the red stone set on top. It now symbolizes my need to spill the blood of my greatest enemy, to avenge all those who went without a voice, to avenge Anariel, and you. Your death will never be in vain so long as I have life within me and my bloodline remains in this world.

My eyes turn to a sheet of damp parchment and narrow. It is the order sent by that false King to all able bodied men of Númenor to attend to his armada. The bright red ink is already spoiled and runs down the page like spilt blood. A sense of satisfaction courses through my veins as I tear the parchment to shreds that can never be put together again. I open my hands and allow the tiny remnants to scatter upon the wind. It is only a small victory, my love. But one day our enemy will fall, and his evil shall be no more.

I look upon the helm once more, and I cannot hold back the tears. It is a helmet made for a King. Surely you must have sold you finest jewels to have it made for me. But I am not a King. Maybe if I had been one, I would have been able to save you. The rain begins to fall, helping to disguise the grief upon my face. I cannot help but cradle your gift close to my heart and place a kiss upon its metal surface.

I do not know what will become of us. The earth quakes and the skies thunder in rage. A terrible dread haunts me, and I do not know if we shall long survive the wrath that is soon to be visited upon us. If I am to die, then I shall rejoice in knowing that we are soon to be reunited, my beloved Anúviel. But if I am to live, then I shall proudly wear you final gift into battle against my enemy. You deserve no less than justice, my love. And I shall not rest until that hour, that moment, when I am with you once more.

Author’s Note: There is a more detailed account of the death of Anárion’s wife, Anúviel, in my stories “A New World” and “Esquire of the King”.  Anúviel is killed soon after Meneldil is born. Some might consider it a bit AU that Anúviel’s last gift to Anárion is the helmet that later becomes Anárion’s crown as a King of Gondor. But I felt it was fitting.  It is the same helmet/crown that Anárion wears at the time of his death when his helmet is crushed by the stone. Seeing as how Anúviel is one of the Faithful sacrificed to Melkor in the temple in Armenelos by Sauron, it seems fitting that her husband would wear her final gift at the time of his death also.