Fallen Star
J.R.R Tolkien, Lord of The Rings
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn."
Oscar Wilde, Ballade of Reading Gaol
As Anar was beginning his slow journey toward the line of the dark horizon, the wind was waking anew from his daily slumber, blowing and gathering dense, threatening clouds that covered the golden magnificence, hiding its brilliant rays. So had it been for years now. In the fading of the day would unfold the extravagance of the shapeless entity and this display would go on for the whole night till the first rays of light came to chase the darkness away. The air was heavy and thick and the natural act of breathing had turned into an uneasy task. Soon, more clouds would come and cover the sky, darkening the blue space before showering the earth with their burdens. Soon, the landscape would surrender beneath the heavy downpour of water that fell from the angry sky, drowning the dust, plants and every living being beneath its violence.
So had it been for days. Months. Years. But, in spite of that knowledge, the ethereal being who sat on the bank of the little stream did not move, as if completely oblivious of his surroundings. The Firstborn’s emerald orbs were blindly staring at an invisible point in the distance, his slightly dilated pupils betraying his absentminded state.
Such a disdainful attitude did not seem to please the arrogant wind, which only wished for all beings to acknowledge its boundless presence. Suddenly, a stronger gust enveloped the elf’s slender frame, causing his flaxen hair to fly in his face, bringing the silky strands in front of his eyes and making a brief, flickering halo of golden light around him. But the Firstborn only blinked and did not avert his gaze from the trees bordering the opposite bank of the stream. He satisfied himself with brushing back the tangled mops hampering his sight, revealing a lofty brow, delicately arched eyebrows and a narrow nose. His well-drawn features, whose high cheekbones gave him a haunted look, appeared as pale as if made of the purest marble. The only colours in that almost emaciated face were the two shining green irises of his eyes and the dark pink of his luscious lips, looking like two ripe fruits through the grey end of the day. No emotion came to lighten the bewitching eyes or the frail features as the elf resumed his thoughtful and still contemplation of the place.
The wind had ceased to impress him long ago. He had learned to ignore the warnings of the angered sky, not willing to acknowledge them, and simply not caring. The wind was blowing today. It had blown yesterday, as it had blown the day before and many, many other days before that. It had felt odd at first to feel the furious breath of the ethereal element whenever he walked outside, or to hear the unceasing dripping of water on the roof of his talan at night and the shaking of the branches beneath the violent gusts, like a perpetual reminder of the fury of the sky. They had soon grown accustomed to the foreign sensation as the wind never really ceased, even if it calmed in the daylight, displaying sometimes the true extent of its power. To them, it seemed it was as if the sky was willing to exert its revenge on the fair Lorien, as if it was trying to make up for the years that Galadriel’s strong will had held him at bay, caging it and subjecting it to her wishes.
Then, the day Galadriel left, turning her back on the blessed songs of Arda for the more enchanting ones of Valinor, the sky had turned its now free attention on the former realm of Light.
And things had changed.
Times had changed before, but this was surely the most evident demonstration of the vicissitudes of time. Was it better? Was it worse? He refused to answer that question that was not really one and whose answer he did not know. He refused to ponder the question, for its answer he did not know. Things had changed, and it was difficult enough to accept without trying to find answers to questions unknown.
Perhaps it was he that was not the same, whose gaze on life had turned a different shade, toward another direction. Maybe now he had different expectations. Not maybe...he was sure of it. Why should he pretend otherwise and avoid the truth? He had changed. His way of life had changed. His way to be, to feel and to look at himself. His way to behold the events that had framed the stream of his long life and those that were awaiting him further. His way to breathe and to laugh. He did not laugh much anymore. When he did, it was not the same laughter as before. It was a most bitter and hopeless sound. Unnatural. Alien. It was as if it did not belong to him. So, he had stopped laughing, just as he had stopped singing and dancing. Why sing and dance when his heart spoke to him of infinite and eternal sorrow? Why care at all? Lorien was empty, a mere shadow of its former self, its ethereal light fading. Lorien...so like his heart.
Galadriel had left first, departing on a beautiful morning. It had seemed that Anar had been shining brighter than ever, as if willing to greet her, that the birds had sung in harmony with the very core of nature, a natural and enchanting choir. He had been standing in one of the proud, tall mallorns, watching her from above, his brother behind him. They both waited silently, knowing well what fate awaited their beloved realm once its Lady was gone. He could still see her face, her veiled and guarded eyes showing naught of the emotions she might have felt. He knew that if he closed his eyes he would have been able to see her perfect and cold beauty, to hear her melodious voice dominating the soft tumult surrounding her, as she ordered her escort to follow her. She had not looked back, her blond head held high and proud, the slight tension in her jaw betraying her determination. She had passed before her husband, before her people, without sparing them a last glance. And then, she was gone, her slender frame a mere shadow at the top of the hill.
And after that, it had not taken long before the elves had completely forsaken the Golden Wood of Lothlorien. Celeborn had gone to Imladris, taking with him those who had not left for the Grey Havens.
But he, he had refused to go with them, as he had refused to sail the eternal ocean to the fair Valinor, where it was said that all pains faded. And his beloved had remained with him. They had refused to leave that place, where they were born, where they had grown and been happy. Where they had loved and despaired. They had chosen to remain together, unable to leave behind all those memories that kept haunting them. They remained with the shadows and sorrow, for the pain and tears were all that remained. These were the things that bound them to this place. What were they without them?
Things had changed and so had they. But in the end, it did not matter, and they did not care. Gone was the joy. Gone was the happiness. Gone was everything they held dear. Gone, never to be back. The frail balance of their lives shattered by the tide of fate and gloom.
Time had passed lazily, slow cycles of monotone duties and mournful hours. Days and nights spent hunting and building traps for those who might have dared to enter the former sanctuary of elves. Days and nights spent contemplating images and shadows of the past. A slow and agonizing cycle of silence. They had almost stopped speaking to each other. Their sentences were rare and short, as they did not trust their voices any longer. One or two words were enough for them who knew each other so well. In this deserted Lorien, where the birds had stopped singing long ago, silence had acquired a new dimension. Supernatural and ghostly, it was a world hanging forever from the stream of time. They had grown accustomed to the heavy silence hovering over the once so lively realm. They had learned to live together, as the two exiled souls they were. Even if it was odd to wander through the deserted realm without seeing anyone, they never complained. It had been their choice. They chose to be the last guardians of the Wood. Its last Wardens, silent testifiers of its slow fading.
For years, the golden mallorns that had once been like a vivid light in the sky had stopped shining, their inner light extinguished by the untamed vegetation that had grown stronger with each passing day, each passing year, denser and more lush, making like a green, wild encasement of the tall trees. Brambles had crept upon the ground, taking hold of the paths they used to walk, clinging to the rough bark of the trees, like unmoving and biting snakes. The two elves had soon forsaken those paths for easier pathways through the trees. If the ancient beings welcomed them from their branches and dense foliage, their voices had dimmed, fading to mere whispers, and they were like extra wounds in the already scarred hearts of the two beings.
Talans were still standing proud within the trees, nestled among the dense foliage dominating the wild landscape. The structures were rotting slowly with the permanent humidity of the forsaken place. Within their walls remained the belongings left behind by the departing elves, items that had been judged unnecessary or impossible to take. The heavy beds would never know the embrace of elves in love again. The ivory combs lying on the night table next to finely curved mirrors would never be used again. The harps and flutes cautiously sheathed in the dark corner of the room would never know the touch of their musicians again. The silky clothes carefully folded in huge closets would never be worn again. A thick layer of dust had begun to cover every surface, filtering beneath the furniture and settling into the velvet fabrics of the beds and curtains.
It was as if the whole forest was sleeping, but they both knew it was a slumber one never awakened from.
Elves were gone.
He was gone.
And they remained.
But for how long? They both knew that, one day, they would have to go. Eventually they would have to leave this deserted Wood. They accepted it, as they had accepted many things in life, but it would take time before they ready to leave this place where they were left alone with their memories...memories of happier times when fate seemed to smile at them. But now, nothing remained of those happier times.
Save perhaps that place. That intimate clearing, where a little stream was running through, was the only place of Lorien that remained as it had been before the departure of the elves. Untouched by time, it remained unsoiled and as pure as it had been the day they discovered it. They had seen to it, making sure that all remained in place, uprooting the wild ivy clinging to the trees, slicing the brambles that tried to bar their paths. This place was their last sanctuary. They came here everyday, revelling in memories of the past... memories not troubled by the present state of their existence. They spent hours watching the silent, slow tide of the river, immersing themselves in a world where they could pretend nothing has changed.
An unexpected flash lightened the dark sky. Long, fickle rays of light streaked silently across the stellar vault, drawing the Firstborn's attention from the deep water. A drop of water fell on his cheek, tracing a wet path on his fevered skin before he casually brushed it away with the back of his hand. His emerald eyes were fixed upon the threatening dark clouds gathered above him. For some seconds, the silence overwhelmed the place, more deafening than the most high-pitched scream. All of nature froze and waited. Time seemed to stand still for the longest seconds the world might have known. Then, the thunder obliterated the silence with a strength that left all beings breathless. But, to the keen ears of elves, the deep growling from the angry sky did not mask the light crackling of a twig snapping under the weight of an approaching entity. He did not move, and kept his gaze on the dark mass of clouds as if he could perceive Ithil's bright beauty behind them.
He did not move, nor did he avert his eyes from the clouds because he knew who was coming. Who else could it be? Orcs and other dark creatures of Sauron ceased to haunt Arda long ago, and no human ever ventured into the hostile woods. There was only one other in this place. One...
A shudder ran the length of his spine as he felt a warm body press against his own. A strong arm seized his waist as the other elf sat behind him, pressing his cheek against the hollow of his neck in an affectionate and mute gesture of comfort, their blond strands mingling in the blowing wind. He leaned into the embrace and closed his eyes as a tender kiss caressed the fine skin of his neck.
"Melethron..."
The voice was warm and deep, yet no more than a slight whisper carried away by the strong breeze. But if he did not hear the loving word, he did not miss the soft kiss that was pressed at the tip of his right ear. Opening his eyes and turning his fair face toward the newcomer, their eyes met and they stared at each other for long seconds, ignoring the rain that began to fall upon them in heavy drops. Emerald orbs filled with shadows found an echo in the other. The ghosts of one answering the darkness of the other. The well-drawn lips parted to let out the other’s name in a melodious yet melancholy voice.
"Rumil" Then, after a smile filled with love and sorrow that seemed to light his ethereal features, he turned his attention back toward the stream that appeared in the surrounding darkness as an elusive and invisible entity. But he did not need to see it. He knew by heart the mere details of that place. It was enough to listen to the soothing sound of the running water through the pounding of the rain and the occasional thunder. He grasped Rumil's hand that was holding his waist and twined their long fingers together. They remained thus for a while, unmoving lithe forms so close that one might have had trouble telling where one elf began and the other ended. A sigh escaped Rumil’s lips as memories seized him, reminding him of this world he was not able to escape....had no wish to escape.
As if feeling his brother’s sudden inward tension, Orophin grasped his hand and squeezed gently. The two brothers hugged tightly, sharing their sorrow as they had shared everything through the passing years. Together. Both knowing well what kept them there in the sleeping Lorien. Each forever grateful not to have been left alone with those memories and those doubts which plagued their lives. Each forever grateful that the bond forged in early childhood had withstood the strain when one came to a challenge or crossroad.
Together, they shared secrets they would have told no other...shameful secrets and old hurts, having lived with and for each other their entire lives. They had always lived in the shadow of one for long, long centuries. Unspoken love and shattered hopes had been their lives. No matter what had happened, or who they chanced to meet, they had always been there for each other.
They were close in age. Closer than most siblings. Rumil had barely begun to speak when Orophin had first seen the light. They had grown up quietly, playing together as only elflings did, sharing their tears and discoveries of the world, watching over each other. Life had been easy and joyful then, living the day as it came, taking without asking in the innocence of their age. They loved their father and mother, who were both beautiful and wise. Their mother would sing for them in the fading of the day while their father would accompany her on his long, magical flute. And then there was Haldir...many, many years their elder, who lived in a talan of his own at the forest border. He had not come often, but each visit meant a feast and celebration When he was there, they would sit in a corner of the room and listen to him, holding each other close, their little fingers twined, admiring with huge eyes the way the fire was playing soft reflections in the steel of his weapons.
It had been a carefree and happy existence that fate had shattered, breaking the light harmony of their childish lives. The night everything had changed was engraved forever in their mind, like the deepest scar a knife could cause in one's flesh. The night had been beautiful, Ithil’s beauty falling upon them as a shower of silvery light. They had been waiting on the doorstep of their house, waiting for their parents to come home before going to bed. But they never did. Instead, Haldir had entered the house, his face and his eyes unreadable as he explained that the mother and father they loved so much had gone to Mandos’ realm, the place where departed souls rested for eternity.
Tears had been shed that night, but none of them from their elder brother's eyes. Their lives had changed then. With their brother away so often on patrol, they had been left alone under the care of neighbours. Because of this, they had grown up together, children of silence and solitude. One was never seen without the other, ensuring that their unspoken oath of protection would never be broken. They were children of peaceful loneliness, alleviated occasionally by Haldir's presence. He was always caring and gentle, carefree and casual, behaving with them as he had with their parents. He would come to them some nights, speaking of his life at the border, singing to them and telling them wonderful tales. They would listen with no less fascination than before. Never were they happier than when they saw his silhouette appear in the doorframe, feeling strongly their attraction toward this being of light. They were always so happy to see him that they never questioned him, never asked him why he did not come more often, or why they were always left alone. Haldir, not really aware of their feelings, or unwilling to acknowledge them, was so bright and brilliant...none could be angry with him.
Perhaps, if their brother had been present more often, they would have outgrown the fascination that had bound them more surely than the strongest rope. Perhaps if they had been less lonely, they would have turned to others to fill the void left by their parent's deaths. They did not know when they came to realize that what they felt was beyond the mere affection of two siblings.What they felt was far beyond brotherly love, and they had no wish to repel or push aside these feelings. They were lonely...left behind...as always.
They never complained, nor judged this unfair. They never railed against this fate. Why should they have complained? This had become their lives, their habit, their solitude. They were not alone, for they had each other...each other in a way that many disapproved.
But Haldir had never said a word. When he had first surprised them one morning, entwined in Rumil’s bed, legs tangled and fingers crossed, skin glowing in the aftermaths of their spent passion, he had stood silent in the doorframe before simply closing the door. The next morning, he had acted as if he had seen nothing, as if he had not discovered his little brothers were lovers. They had been disappointed in his silence, for they wished to affect him in some way....to have him happy for them or disgusted, as many were. Haldir was...indifferent. In their eyes it was a silent blessing... it was enough.
Strangely, it had not changed the way Haldir behaved toward them. He remained a wonderful, loving brother, and a lively companion. He was a fallen star on Arda, sent to brighten the lives of others... yet this unchanging attitude wounded them. They wished for him to react like a concerned brother, not as a discreet friend. Perhaps they had expected too much, to dare think that he would react in some way to their relationship.
Perhaps they did expect too much. Perhaps not.
They had clung to their childish hope, willing to become as he was...becoming strong warriors. They mastered the science of weapons when their natural tendencies propelled them to the peaceful art of music and painting. Working hard to earn their position among the best warriors, they were placed under the direct command of their brother. Because of this they had the chance to see him every day, to live in his bright light. It was there, far from the heart of their realm that they discovered another Haldir...a Haldir they never knew existed. He was a leader of men, strong and determined. A proud warrior, he never left the side of his warriors. Severe and sometimes stern, he was nonetheless admired and well loved by his men. And just as they craved the presence of the brilliant companion and brother, they began to seek the approbation of the mighty Captain....to no avail.
Their brother was like a star. A star, fallen on Arda, but still as unreachable as those that sparkled in the distant, velvety realm of Ithil.
But when did that incessant need of his attention became something else? Who had been the first to speak of their elder brother in other words than those of childish admiration and resigned despair? When had he invaded their dreams and their nights? They did not know. It had come naturally, an insidious image that had seeped into their minds and remained. Whispers in the night, at the peak of their passion, when their eyes were full of dreams...murmurs invading their fantasies. They needed him..needed to see him...to be the ones who would hold his undivided attention. They wanted to be the ones to seduce him and cage his silvery luminescence, never setting it free.
At night, when they were not on patrol, they would come here to that little stream lost in the forest, nestled in a little vale protected by the tall trees. They would watch, hidden and mesmerized, as he bathed in the moonlight, wishing the moment would never end. His alabaster skin would glow in the twilight, his silky hair caressing his strong back. Watching him, they felt strongly that such a being did not belong on Arda among them. He belonged in the dark, velvety sky where even Ithil's silvery beauty would pale in comparison. They would watch him leave and make love in the ethereal memory of their brother's image.
They had not asked for more, satisfying themselves with watching him. They had come to realize after centuries of waiting that Haldir would never change, never give them what they had so thoroughly sought. That, in spite of his beauty, of his grace, of the living gift of the Valar he was, their elder brother would never give himself to anyone, collecting here and there the attention he needed, but refusing to let anyone approach his guarded heart and mind.
But now, he was gone. Gone forever. Gone to a place where they could not even see him. Their brother, their love, the one they had so thoroughly desired through the passing of time was gone, taking with him the mysteries of his heart and the secret of his life, leaving behind their two shattered souls.
Shattered because, just when they had ceased to hope, a new light had shone upon them. For them, the memory of this particular evening would remain forever in their hearts. It had been an ordinary night, one where the light of the stars had been veiled by clouds. Haldir had come, silently appearing in their home. This was nothing unusual, but this time he had brought a bottle of wine, and instead of the casual, light-hearted conversations they were accustomed to, the three brothers spoke of their past. They spoke of the parents they had barely known, and of their childhoods. Had they been paying attention, they would have realized that in the flickering light of the hearth, they had been the ones talking, and that Haldir had listened. They didn't notice, for they were too happy to have him there. Then, their beautiful brother had taken his leave, embracing each in turn in a friendly hug. He was leaving the Golden Wood by order of the Lady to head a great elven army. He had asked them not to come, and as usual they bowed to his wishes, secretly disappointed that he judged them unworthy of fighting at his side. They did not question his decision. As he left the talan, he paused at the doorway and turned slightly to look upon them one last time, his eyes holding a strange light that had warmed their hearts.
But the light in their hearts had soon been extinguished as the terrible news had come. Their brother was dead, killed in a great battle for the freedom of Arda....freedom for the race of men. They were told he died a hero, but this offered no comfort. It was then they realized Haldir had known. He had known he would never return. That was why he had come that last night, to fulfill one last wish before leaving, and in doing so, provided them a brief moment of joy.
The brother they had never known, the brother they had never truly understood would forever remain a mystery. It was that mystery, that insatiable desire to know and understand fully that kept them here in this deserted Lorien, where shadows of their past dwelled upon the gusts of the wind. They desired to understand why he had given his life for a land and folk that needed him not, had loved him not, and would never acknowledge his death. They needed to understand why he felt the need to sacrifice himself for their freedom.
A need to understand why they had never been able to keep him with them.
Under the terrifying wrath of the sky, as the rain fell in rare violence and a brief explosion of light seemed to tear the dark velvet of the heavens above, two frail frames remained silent and still, lost in themselves and in a past that would never cease to haunt them.
The end
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