With the ancient is wisdom; and in length of days understanding.
- Job 12:12
Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears.
- Rudyard Kipling
Anneth lay sprawled on her bed, intently watching a small insect that flew about the rafters of her room.
Yet this insect was the least of her concerns, for her mind was elsewhere, dwelling on him.
On most occasions, he was but a figment of her imagination, a shadow, a dream. She was content to keep it so, yet this day he had a face.
She was young, foolish, and a bit silly, given to dreams and many fancies. Today one of her brother's friends had made an unforgettable (or so she thought) impression on her. He was the first friend of Voronen's to treat her as an equal and not a small child. Wonderfully handsome was he and had clearly charmed her off her feet. Anneth supposed she fancied him.
And so she dreamed of her future, as she often did, she found that her husband had a face now. Not that she planned to marry Orthorin, this musing, 'twas merely due to her infatuation.
For a short time she fancied Orthorin, finding herself rather flustered and shy around him, something she was unaccustomed to, for most ellyn she treated much like her brother. It was mostly his 'glorious' appearance that drew her to him. Anneth quite believed she liked the strange bubbly feeling in her chest that presented itself when she was around him, and though she chastised herself for acting out of her character so around Orthorin, she liked him. She liked the feeling.
However, it was terribly fleeting and soon departed, as the young elleth discovered that she liked not the personality of this handsome ellon. He was taken to swearing by the Valar and presenting remarks so crude Anneth knew her ears surely would bleed from the sheer disgust and horror she faced.
The above description omits the fact that Voronen soon uncovered the object of his sister's silent affections and promptly severed their friendship. Being older, he knew Orthorin was not a good ellon that he should be comforted if his little sister should be in Orthorin's company.
Anneth faced no heartbreak over this, though she was a slight disappointed. Orthorin was soon forgotten, as she had forgotten all her mild fancies before. Some left more soreness of heart than others, and soon they disappeared completely, for now she had passed the age of traditional marrying. All the ellyn she had known were married or meant to live alone. She supposed she was among the latter, destined to live in solitude.
Then she was young.
And now at least a century has passed her by since she last interested herself in the affairs of another ellon, for she can find no more hope. Inside Anneth deeply knows there is none for her in Imladris, and therefore no one in the whole of Middle-earth.
Heartbreak she fears, for pain she has endured, and to face heartbreak should only weigh her down further. There are walls now. Walls around her heart that she so desperately wishes to tear down and cannot bring herself to for fear of the hurt she might bring to herself. That in her desire for a companion, her longing for one who will love her with everything in him, she will deceive herself.
Anneth will not easily share her deepest feelings with those she knows not well. The growing fortress in her heart to others outside her little world does not enable her to warm to strangers.
There is yet an inkling of hope, though she never could handle becoming fond of ellyn. 'Twas as if her reason disappeared and she did things regrettably, acting horribly outside of her normal character. A tragic thing it was.
KKnowing my mind that is ridden with fancied and whims, I dreamt of Mirkwood's prince last night. 'Twas both disturbing and unsettling, for I care little for him, and to dream dreams in whence he appears is becoming as the wanton ellith who hope to find their true love in him. I do not desire to be as they are.
Nor do I truly long for his friendship either. I can admire such an elf from a distance, I need not know him or converse with him.
'Tis an early hour and a day of the week where I must make a valiant attempt to shoot a bow and arrow and come within two feet of the outside ring of the target. I am so utterly terrible, it is rather disconcerting.
Shedding my nightgown, I slip on my plainest gown and hope to Eru that He might grant me the skills I wish for. Only I do not wish to be a warrior, for I despise combat and blood and death. All things that have changed my life in ways I might wish they did not. Yet once again, He knows of why all comes to pass and I should not doubt him.
Just as I should doubt not His plan for me, a life of solitude. I can be content.
I make my way to the door, taking up the bow and quiver that once belonged to my father and then my brother, and my mother greets me from her favorite chair in her sitting room.
"Good day, iell nin," she says.
Turning to her, I smile brightly, hoping she might smile as well.
"Ai, why do you still insist on learning combat if you do not desire the skill?"
"Because Ada wished that I should have it, as did Voronen. I shall remember them in this manner, Nana."
My mother only nods, and I exit the house and enter the cool morning air. I adore the mornings and despise the dark nights when the stars show not their faces. The mornings are cool and fresh, yet what follows is not a thing I love, the blazing sun of the noontime. And after noon comes the even and night. Starry nights are the most loved and the greatest, and I do love them. There are countless hours I have spent in silence, alone, in the gardens, reveling in the beauty of Creation and seeing the stars in all the glorious splendor and magnificence.
But the morn is more than tolerable, and I find it the most acceptable time to improve what small skills I have. Such small skills that they almost are nonexistent. I wonder at how I am so incredibly inept with weapons when my own father was a renowned war general. Yet even he was not strong enough to escape death. Death found him, but I find comfort in knowing I shall see him once more.
But though I find comfort in such knowledge, I still weep if I must speak of it; the grief has not left me.
I have merely been loitering outside my home, not taking a step, adoring the beauty of my home. I pray with all my heart and soul that it shall stay beautiful, and the darkness shall mar its gleaming walls not.
Embarking on the small stroll to the archery range, I wonder of the people I might encounter there today. I enjoy people of familiar acquaintance, and especially enjoy seeing another elleth there at times. I find not the company of ellyn interesting, nor beneficial to me, for I find it to lead me back to me lonely heartache, my desire for a husband. Even after all this time I cannot lose that wish and dream, it is a part of me. And though dreams are merely dreams and empty thoughts of the mind now, I can hope. I can cling to a thread.
This morn I find myself in unusually high spirits, there is a contentment that I have not had for a long while. The walk to the archery range passes by quickly, but I do not continue when it comes into sight.
Prince Legolas is there, speaking to a fiery haired elleth who is shaking her head.
He speaks to her fervently as if giving some noble confession of love and longing.
The elleth, I deduce, must be Tauriel, whom Mirkwood's prince had courted for a ridiculously long amount of years.
But she appears not to accept his words graciously, even less does it seem she reciprocates his feelings if they are of love. His hand reaches to touch her cheek, and I begin to feel as if I am intruding on a moment. Yet it is far to fascinating for me to turn and leave, for then the elleth who I presume to be Tauriel turns and flees, running straight to the trees.
Prince Legolas seems bewildered and does not move. I stand on the path, watching to see how he shall pursue her.
But he does not.
I move from my stiff place and make my way to the targets, paying no mind to this elf who is so far above me 'tis frightening.
He is clearly distraught and possibly–heartbroken. There is none here to comfort him, save me, and I will not be the one to assist him. He is a prince, and I will not risk the slightest attachment to him for fear of allowing myself false hope. But as he stands, I see the hurt in his eyes, the years, the pain. A pain that goes deeper than merely this rejection, and I recognise it.
In myself I have seen it, and though I know nothing of him, I have sympathy for the stranger, for I have known pain.
And instead of merely ignoring him and attempting my archery that is nowhere near excellent, I walk toward him, and hesitantly lay a hand on his shoulder, ready to draw it back quickly if I must.
Again I discover my heart to beat unnaturally fast and my mind to be clouded with nervousness.
He turns, and I drop my hand, letting it limply hang at my side.
His brows furrow, and my mind fumbles to procure some words.
"Goheno nin–Prince Legolas." I swallow, searching for a thing to say. "I was–on my way to–the training grounds, and I saw the elleth run away. She is dear to you? Sister, possibly?"
Oh, what a wonderfully tactful thing to say.
Sister.
Really, he clearly loves her, and I insinuate they are naught but siblings.
My tongue is far too quick for my well being.
I refuse to meet his eyes, fearing a hostile reaction, instead placing my focus on my feet.
"There is naught to forgive," says he, and in my pure surprise that he should answer me, I look into his face, meeting grey eyes both bright and weighted by years and hurts. "Her name is Tauriel," he continues, and I am tempted to say that I knew that already. Yet that would be idiotic. "She is dear to me, though not as a sister. And, how did you come to know my name, having not seen me before?" His voice is questioning and nearing harshness.
First fault, addressing him by his name.
I almost laugh at my idiocy but cease from doing so, instead speaking without thought. "I have concluded that your conversation was a proposal-and she fled for reasons you know not. Are you sure..." How charming of me! I am rambling on without a cause. "Never you mind. As–as for the knowledge of your name, you perfectly matched–the description the–twins gave, hir vuin."
And I lied. This merely becomes greater and greater yet.
The prince appears to believe me not, furrowing his brow and looking down at me. It would be intimidating if there had been a stone wall in his eyes.
He does not answer, and again I speak, and rashly so, continuing on my line of speech concerning Tauriel. "The only times I have heard of proposals among elves being rejected was when they had deceived themselves and their feelings were confused, then it was shown that they were not destined–for one another." Nodding, I continue, "This very well could be the situation you have, hir vuin."
Immediately I regret my words, even more so when he presses his lips together in distaste, confusedly scanning my face.
"I–goheno nin, hir vuin. I did not think of my words before I spoke them. Do not rule out the possibility, 'tis a mortal mistake."
I do not breathe, wishing to flee this conversation, much as I did last night. I am perfectly incapable of holding a decent, cordial conversation with a prince, I have discovered.
For what vacuous reason am I even assaying a conversation with him? He is far above me, and unfairly striking, enough to disorientate me.
Finished with my futile attempts at colloquy, I turn, but he speaks.
"You spoke of the twins, my lady," he states. "Are you in any way close to them?"
"Yes, they are dear as brothers to me, but of late they have traveled with the Dunedain, or gone on missions of their own. They are here now, and have been gracious enough to attempt to teach me the ways of fighting."
"But they have left, my lady. So what shall you do, fight the air?"
It appears he has lost the harshness.
A smile of amusement is on his face, and I too grin slightly.
"Why, yes, I suppose I will."
Ai, at last, an end to this dialogue, and now in peace I can go on.
"You remind me some of Tauriel. She was not ordinary, with her love of combat. Rarely do I see ellith who are so interested in this as you."
I thought too soon, for clearly he speaks again.
I open my mouth to tell him that I despise it, every bit of it, but if I tell him so I must tell him of my father. I will not do that, I cannot do it.
'Tis foolish to speak of your personal affairs with a high-standing elf one has barely met.
"I suppose it is strange, but my adar wishes that I should know how to defend myself. I de–"
He breaks of my sentence, saying, "Man i eleth lin, goheno nin, I did not ask for your name, and you do know of mine, my lady."
I deeply breathe and smile, responding in a quick manner, "Anneth Voronwiel–I mean, Auth–oh, heed me not, my lord."
"Anneth," he says, "daughter of Voronwe." His eyes turn to the sky, as if to attempt to recall something. "You are not–"
"Not what, hir vuin?"
"Pay me no mind," he says.
"I now must–depart, I am in need of practising my sword fighting. With the air. Good morn, Prince Legolas." I offer a smile and turn away, walking to the empty, desolate rings on the training grounds.
I came to shoot arrows, and instead I am to practise the sword with only the air for a worthy opponent. I suppose even an insect would be a worthy opponent for me, in regards to my nonexistent skill.
I am glad to not have completely mortified myself before a prince, though I was something of a fool.
'Tis over and I can remember it no more. It shall be a story of humour I might tell my nieces, and even my children if any should be given me.
Yet upon my arrival on the empty grounds, and my unsheathing of a blunted sword, there stands the only Prince of Mirkwood.
Staggering back, I feel my heart race behind controls, gripping tightly the sword between my hands.
"I meant not to startle you, hiril. I came only to assist you, I suppose. The air is no worthy opponent, even if one bears no skill in the art of combat."
No, no, no, no!
I shall not do that, it shall result only in my embarrassment and shame, and my becoming the laughing stock of my family. Though, after last night's occurrences, I already shall be regarded as foolish and idiotic.
Yet instead of graciously declining his offer, i ungraciously nod, holding tight the handle of the sword.
His attack comes first with a long knife procured from his boot, and it takes the entirety of my strength to block it.
Within three of his strokes, his blade is dangerously near my throat, and recalling a strategy I used on my dear brother, I shout, "Look, Lady Tauriel!"
Without a hint of hesitation, his head is turned, and his focus removed.
And in a regrettable move, I deal the strongest blow I can to his midsection, resulting in his fall, and my toppling over also. I become ungracefully slung on his legs, pushing myself to stand immediately, looking into the eyes of Elladan.
"Authiel! Whatever are you doing, dear sister!"
"'Twas nothing, gwador, be not so–angered?"
"Authiel, that was a most compromising manoeuvre, I know not what your brother would think!"
Why do I have a such a wonderful skill at acting as young foolish ellith do in these situations?!
"Elladan! Dearest friend, your sworn sister here has defeated me, and I know not how."
Elladan gapes at me, for he knows well that I am terrible at this art.
"I cheated," declare I.
"Oh, knowing Authiel, 'tis very likely she did cheat. Her skill with a sword or any weapon is akin to that of an elfling."
"Authiel?" he asks. "She said her name was Anneth."
"Well, it is. That was my birth name. I seldom use it now, I do not know why I gave you that instead of the name I use."
The prince tips his head back and laughs. "But the latter name does not fit you, hiril vuin, with all respect. The first seems more truthful to who you really are."
The words he speaks seem to pierce my heart. I had imagined that I might be a warrior, in spirit, using love. But I am not. I am no warrior, though I do fight each day.
It seems as though my fight could be in vain, but I refuse to let it be so. My ada, when he died, told me that I still could be a maiden of battle, even if it should not be in combat, but rather in the struggle for love.
"Legolas, mellon nin, where is Tauriel?"
A smile fades away instantly from Prince Legolas' face, a sobering air falls upon him.
And I take it upon myself to explain.
"Oh, Elladan, Legolas was confessing his undying love for Tauriel, and then she fled!" Again, I regret my words, placing a hand harshly over my mouth. "I am truly sorry. I swear I only am this rude and loose tongued when around those I am comfortable with. Not that I am comfortable around the prince, I mean, I shall cease and desist."
If possible I would now call upon the earth to swallow me up and allow me to vanish.
"Yes, Authiel, you shall. And you have failed to address Legolas by his title. It would be improper if you, the daughter of a deceased general, referred to him with such familiarity." My head drops at his reference to my father; I fight the tears that know no bounds when Ada or Voronen is mention directly.
But with a smile I remember that he had asked me to call him by but his name. Only he is unaware that it was I, not a maid whom he encountered the evening last.
"Legolas, come, my father desires to speak with you. Good day, Authiel."
The prince takes my hand in a most courtly fashion and presses a brief kiss to it, inclining his head to me, grey eyes boring into mine, before leaving with Elladan, not saying even a word.
If I were crazed and deranged, I may never wash this hand again. But I am neither crazed, nor am I deranged.
••••••
"Authiel, sister, come in!"
"Mae govannen, Laineth, I tired of books so I have come to visit you."
Laineth laughs. "Sister, you look positively happy and radiant, what ever has happened!"
Colour rises to my cheeks. Has that all really affected me so?
"Nothing of great importance, really, Laineth," I respond; 'tis true.
"I believe you not, sister. For you, always no melancholy and sober, to appear with bright eyes and a optimistic countenance truly demands an explanation."
I sigh heavily, thinking back on the morning's happenings.
I take a seat at her table, and she seats herself across from me.
"I am merely acting as my childish self from hundreds of years ago would have acted upon meeting any ellon of high standing, sister. 'Tis quite silly and ridiculous."
"Never have I seen you this way, Authiel! You must speak to me of what happened!"
"No, Laineth, it is all painful and mortifying. I wish not to revisit it."
Laineth crosses her arms, giving what can be described only as a glare.
"Ai, sister, I will tell you."
My sister smiles, and I relate to her the details of my completely strange morning and night. Laineth laughs at the predicament, pointing out the clear fact that my behaviour is that of an admirer, a remark to which I brush off out of the pure ridiculousness of it.
"Authiel, should you tell me that you think him homely, I vow here before the Valar themselves that I will strangle you!" she exclaims passionately.
"Then I suppose I will continue living my life without sororicide being attempted by you, dear sister."
"So you do think him handsome!"
I am aware that my face is now the precise colour of the red tapestry hanging above the fireplace in my sister's home.
"Yes, I do." Laineth's mouth falls open. "Laineth, which elleth in her perfectly sane mind would call him homely!"
"I should be inclined to call him so. I am married, sister, of course I pay no mind to the looks of princes!"
"He is really the most striking ellon I have met, but never should you believe in your mind that I fancy him, sister, or ever plan on doing so. Princes pay no mind to a long unmarried daughter of a deceased general."
"You should never know, sister, maybe he thinks you as pretty as you think him handsome."
In spite of myself, I blush. Really, how utterly ridiculous can I be! For not even a day I have known him, and yet already I blush at the thought of him finding me pretty. He is in love with Tauriel, so I need not concern myself with him. I will not.
"I have not seen you blush in so long, Authiel, it is nearly comical! But I will warn you, sister, despite being younger than you, letting your dreaming heart and thoughtful mind stray to him could lead to heartbreak, and you know so. It would break me to see you broken further, Authiel, to give yourself hope with him."
"Sister, do you truly believe there is no more hope for me anywhere?"
Laineth sighs. "I have hope for you, Authiel, I do believe there is someone for you, even after all these long years you have been alone."
"And if I should put my hope in the prince?"
The question is apace put forth from my mouth, there is no truth behind it, that I might find hope in any friendship with him.
"Then I weep for you, sister. Already he has spoken to another, he loves her, it would be foolish if you should deceive yourself to love him."
She speaks true, in that which I have told myself upon my first meeting with him.
Our conversation forsakes the topic of Prince Legolas, turning instead to Laineth's children and her current endeavours.
And despite all my efforts, my mind does not leave the nearly traumatic occurrences of the day.
translations
iell- daughter
hir vuin- my lord (lit. beloved lord)
hiril vuin- my lady (lit. beloved lady)
goheno nin- forgive me
man i eleth lin- what is your name?
YO ANNOUNCEMENT
Y'ALL GO FOLLOW NINIAK COS I LOVE HER AND SHE'S THE ONLY REASON THIS STORY EXISTS
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May your pantries be full of lembas bread as I go to find the Sun