Enduring Wind and Fire (LOTR)

VIII

"There is but one way to solve this. If you wish to cease to fancy the prince, admit to yourself you fancy him, and only then can you remove feelings for him."

"Nana, but I do not. I cannot. It simply is impossible, 'tis folly if even I considered it!"

"I am your mother. I am much older than you, and I know your mannerisms better than even you can tell, despite the length of time you have lived. I yet have lived longer. You believe that I could not tell, and yet I can. 'Tis no common practice for you to return home after a night of solitude in the gardens with a wide smile on your face and a countenance that is so joyful and unlike the way you often have been."

"He is a friend now, Nana, can I not be so happy to be with a friend?"

Truly I find this all ridiculous and unnecessary. To think I would fancy Legolas is quite silly. He is very handsome, yes, and many elleth might faint at his charming smile and strong jaw, but I am not among them, nor will I ever be, if I can help it.

And I can.

"You might be happy, Authiel, yet not so happy as that. I suppose it is no use. Go along and do what things you must," she says dismissively, waving at me to rise from my seat and go out the door.

"There is nothing I must do, only that which I decide to do."

"Well, then do that. Do something. I cannot bear to see you sitting aimlessly in the sitting room with no companion and naught to do. Often you do not even have a book."

"Ai, yes, Nana," I answer, laughing. "I shall find myself a book and return to sit in the sitting room, yet it will not be aimless. There will be some goal."

"Oh, go on, Authiel!" she exclaims, a smile lighting up her face, such a smile that rarely makes itself known.

She is so pained and burdened, my mother is. Burdened is she by my folly, and by lingering here, she is only more pained. It is I that brings that to her, for pain would leave her if only I sailed. I wish to sail, I want to do so, and yet I cannot. Each time that I have resolved to leave, my resolve dissolves quickly, and I cannot bring myself to go across the Sea.

I would go if my heart would let me. And I cannot tell if it is 'purpose' that ties me here or simply the horrid fact that never have I been near enough to the Sea to hear its undeniable call. What purpose have I here?

There is no hope for my life here, only more long passing years alone. If Sauron should take back his Ring and plunge us all into an unending darkness, then what will I say then, having stayed here in these lands when the chance was given me to depart.

This is despair that threatens to seize my heart, and there is little resolve that I have against it, yet even weaker is my resolve to sail.

Yet all this is selfish thoughts, of only my problems. And what of my sisters? They stay, and for what?

I do not believe they can tarry here any longer; they have no reason to stay. They can sail with their families and bring themselves to more happiness.

I would tell my sisters of all my concerns, of all my longings, and yet they would not understand, leading me to conceal them in the vaults of my mind. No comfort would they provide me, for they do not know, and for that I am glad. I would not burden my sisters, for they do bear enough burdens of their own.

Both their husbands patrol the borders of the Hidden Valley, and often times they are gone for fortnights at a time. At any time they could be struck by an orc arrow, or be slain by the sword, and their spirits would depart from this world.

I would not make heavier the weight they carry by a worry for me as well as others they love.

It has been so for many years, and it simply no longer brings me much sorrow, for I have become numb to it. The emptiness deep in my heart gnaws always away, yet because for so long it has been that way, I can live with it. With content I shall live with it.