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~~~~
They say that elves are immortal, and maybe we are, in a perfect world. This is
not a perfect world.
So elves die, not often, but they do. By sword strokes, like my lord Gil-Gilgalad. I have seen
many die that way. So many, all at once. On the battlefields in Mordor. There I also saw them burn, saw their flesh melt like
wax, heard their piercing screams. Despite my long life, I can not forget them. Mayhap, even eternity is not long enough to
do that.
And some elves die of grief. A slow, wasting death, as painful to look on as the burnings, yet worse, in some
way. In some way I doubt even Gandalf understands. Maybe because they choose death, as my daughter has done.
My darling
precious daughter.
It's not Aragorn I object to, not really, if she had to choose someone at least he is a good man.
As good as men get, if that's something to be cherished. My problem is with her choosing at all. It reminds me of a curse
someone once told me, undoubtedly a dwarfish curse by it's tone, "May you see you daughter fade and wither." I didn't believe
it was possible, but that is what will happen.
My darling daughter Arwen, you may break my heart in the stopping of
yours.
For I heard your first heartbeat, and I shall hear your last. For thousands of years, your heart has kept a
steady time, each pulse sending blood through your vein.
I can remember how it raced when you were younger and were
given a pony to ride. How it sped up even further when you nearly fell off. But you didn't and it went back to its normal,
even pace.
And so it carried on, beating just so until you met Aragorn. And then how it sped, sending blood to your
cheeks, making them red and rosy. Do you know your heart still does that, every time you see him?
But soon it will
slow, and then fade away, or maybe it will start skipping beats. Or perhaps one day I shall fall asleep hearing it, only to
find it gone when I wake.
If at that time you know anything at all, know that I love you, and know also that half-elvens
too can die of grief.
~~~~
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