Work Text:
Minas Tirith, Third Age
Tuilë, Year 3019
He unfurled the parchment. Knowing whence it came, his fingers quivered with nervousness –perhaps even dread. And he had yet to start reading the letter’s contents.
* * *
I have forgotten much that I thought I knew and learned again much that I had forgotten. ‘Tis only in the face of death that I finally understood the true meaning of life.
That day, amidst the chaos of the Pelennor Fields, I remembered. As we crested the hill and caught our first glimpse of the battle raging below, it dawned on me that we would likely meet our Maker before the very gates of the White City. I felt ashamed. And I was harried with regrets. It seemed to me that though I was alive, life itself had passed me by with little to commemorate. As if all this while, I had merely existed. How had it come to this? Somewhere, along the path of this beingness, the mundane facets of life had ceased to matter. A sad realisation. I suddenly thought about the sweet fragrance of spring flowers within the valley and the cleansing effects of autumn rains upon dried lands. Would I never relish their scents again? What of the pureness found in the birth of a foal? Or the blessed sounds of children’s laughter? Should I no longer be witness to such marvels? I was haunted by these sober thoughts.
But we each had our part to play in this war in hopes of ensuring the continuation of all that is good and beautiful. Thus, with the sunrise warming our backs and lighting our way into the fray, along with the rallying cries of our warriors united in purpose, accompanied by the blaring Rohirric horns –symbol of the Eorlingas’ bravery and spirit- I forgot all about the petty grievances of humans and their unquenchable thirst for power and riches. In that fleeting moment, I forgave humanity’s ignorance and ofttimes stupidity. The rapid beating of my heart echoed the traditional clatter of our King’s sword upon the Rohirrim’s spears as he had blessed them with courage, and especially love, before the initial charge. Riding towards a certain death, I chewed over the significance of our ruler’s ritual and its underlying sentiment … for ultimately, isn’t that the essence of life? One trivial word -love. That one all-encompassing term.
As such, I ask for your forgiveness for I can no longer hold you to me. I know your heart to be true and am touched by your care. Only, you love another. Do not question how this bit of knowledge came to be. Destiny sometimes makes fools of us. I beseech you to find your intended; together may you learn all that is too easily forgotten and perhaps forget much of what you thought you knew.
You shall be remembered.
* * *
The missive had been written in an elegant hand. Though each word seemed punctuated with resolve, a silent grief could be perceived throughout the text.
“It cannot be”. The parchment slipped from Elrohir’s fingers as he leaned forward in his chair and bowed his head in uncertainty, feeling some measure of scepticism.
“Believe it,” his brother replied. “The fates have revealed their true intentions. He found it in his bedchamber earlier this eve. There will be no exchange of vows between the two; Rohan’s beloved shield-maiden is to return home within a fortnight.”
“Elladan, I …” Words eluded him in light of such news. His trembling hands were gently enfolded within a reassuring clasp as the elder twin hunkered before him, a grave expression marring his usually pleasant countenance.
“Tôren, you must go to him.”
Elrohir searched his sibling’s eyes, noting the sadness and apparent resignation within their depths. “But what of … ?” A finger upon his lips rendered him quiet.
“Our choices will be as it should tôr dithen. That of our heart’s decree. Now I beg you to follow yours.”
The Elf-knight reluctantly nodded, his spirit abounding with both sorrow and renewed hope. Embracing his twin, he stood and left their shared quarters, intent on finding Gondor’s newly appointed Steward.