Miles To Go Before I Sleep
Prologue
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Men, no
matter how long-lived they may be, are still, ultimately mortal. Our
lives, when compared to those of the elves, are short--some might say
blessedly so. When we err, we do not have to live with the consequences of
what we have done for the span of millennia. Of course, we also do not
have millennia in which to forgive wrongs done to us. These are the thoughts that assail me as I wander the plains of Rohan at the whim of my horse, Brego. I have not the strength to guide him. The wound at my shoulder has begun to fester; I can feel the burning tendrils of infection worming their ways into my flesh. I cannot stop to remedy it now, though, for I have nothing with which to soothe the sore, nothing with which to bind the wound. And I have seen an army massing--Sauruman's army. I must try to give warning to the Rohirrim, if I can. And so, to forget the physical pain, I let my fevered mind drift to other pains that I cannot forget. Men--even Númenorean men such as I--are mortal. We grow old and die in what must seem, to an elf, to be but a short span of years. The reality of this, the irony of it, fell upon me as I coughed river water from my lungs, my eyes focused on a vision of Arwen's sweet face. To her father--and now, to herself--the span of my life must seem as brief and ephemeral as a single summer. To me, after leaving her at Rivendell, it has seemed impossibly long. But I draw some comfort in the fact that she will forget her pain, as the millennia draw on for her in the Undying Lands; her memory will fade and dull until she can recall in detail only the pleasantries we shared--never the pain. I clutch for her jewel at my chest before I recall that it, too, is lost to me--lost in the fight in which I nearly lost my life. Nearly...a part of me thinks I speak too soon, yet. It is all I can do to keep astride Brego, as we roam together across the plain. At times I feel him shift beneath me, as if he knows I am slipping, and he is struggling to keep me abreast. The loyalty of beasts at times surpasses those loyalties shown by people, be they Men, or Dwarves, or even Elves. Beasts are rarely treacherous; they do not seek to deceive others, either willingly or unwillingly. Beasts act on instinct alone, and though they are guided by their handlers, when pressed, they will follow the path that nature has taught them is the best. Many people ultimately behave this way as well, I suppose. The difference is that the beasts do not regret the results of their instinctive actions. I pull my thoughts away from Arwen, for that is a pain I can do nothing about now; she is lost to me, and that is a decision I do not regret, for it means she will live a long and happy life in the end. The wound at my shoulder throbs insistently, and I feel Brego shift. I pat his mane, mutter an acknowledgement that I am still with him, that I haven't succumbed yet to death. I try a different path of focus; I concentrate on those still living whom I may yet see again, if Brego can find our way before I fall to the fever. King Théoden, restored and willing once more to lead his people. And Éowyn, his niece, a strong and beautiful woman--a mortal woman--with the bearing of a queen. And the last vestiges of our Fellowship still with me: Gandalf, seeking help for the kingdom, and stalwart Gimli...and Legolas. Legolas. My mind settles at last on this new pain--not as insistent as the ache at my shoulder, nor, I suppose, the ache for Arwen in my heart. The lives of Men are brief, and thus we are used to seeing life end. For the Elves, it is not so. Poor Legolas has seen more death since he has joined our company than he had seen in the millennia he had lived before, and he has felt it more deeply than any of the rest of us can imagine. And then, to add to his confusion, to his hurt, I deceived him with a little comfort, only to snatch it away again when I realized my own truths. It is to this pain that my mind drifts, to the first night out of Moria, as we huddled, miserable and broken, on the forest's edge, not yet to Lothorien. GO TO Chapter One BACK to Chapter Index BACK to Gypsie Index BACK to Fanfic Index BACK to Main Page |