I do not know what I intend to write in the pages of this book. Certainly it is not for others to read, unless they come upon it in the long-distant future, if all we have built here perishes, so that only our writings survive us. Sometimes I fear that this will indeed come to pass, and perhaps I write in part that there be a record of the things that I have experienced, for they are, as far as I know, unprecedented among the Eldar, and should not be forgotten. Perhaps, in that future, one who has known similar things will read these words, and feel less solitary, as we are solitary.
But I do not write for my contemporaries. The thoughts imparted here shall be too private, and too roughly articulated, and moreover they concern another whose trust I will not breach. Instead, let this be as a journal, a history that deals not with the great and glorious, but the private and intimate. A book of tender secrets.
But I get ahead of myself. First I must explain, in plainest terms, what has befallen to occasion my writing this.
I have never been drawn to marriage, for though I have been close to women in friendship, and sometimes thought them beautiful, there has never been a maiden whom I desired to court or wed. I thought this was my temperament: for though I am not a cold person, it is not wholly unknown for one of the Eldar to live a solitary life, without spouse or heir.
Another thing: in my childhood, my sister and I passed many hours in the company of the younger sons of Fëanor. As I grew older, our friendship cooled, but always did I admire their eldest brother, Maitimo, his skill and strength and eloquence. Well was he named: he was tall and lean as a young hart, and his smile was like the sun. As I grew older, we became fast friends, as brothers, indeed. And yet at times I sensed a difference, one I could not articulate, in the way that I was drawn to him. We were not closer than other friends, but sometimes I felt a strangeness with him, almost a shyness, so that his company was a special boon, and the sight of his person likewise a grace, and one to which I felt I could not adequately respond. Now that I look back upon those days, I find that there were others who made me feel thus, but these I was able to disregard in a way that I could not Maedhros, who was so often with me. Still, I did not think too much on it, and then griefs came between us, and he did things that even now I cannot wholly forgive: following his father, even as I followed mine, and both of us giving ear to the deceits that I now see proceeded from the Enemy.
Now, in Middle-earth, our friendship has been renewed, and he has recovered in body, if not in spirit, from the torment of Thangorodrim, and it is not often, even in these dark times, that one is not a guest in the other's land. Thus have we been reunited, and it is by this reunion that, in the past week, my life has been changed forever.
For this season, Maedhros has come to stay with me at Barad Eithel, and two days ago, as we walked together in the mountains, he stopped, and took my hand, and kissed me.
I was so bewildered by this that I did not know what to say, and he too was flustered, and apologized, saying he did not know what had possessed him to act thus. We parted, but as time passed my feelings became clearer, and I discovered that I had not disliked the kiss, and so I looked back upon all my history with Maedhros and found I had loved not as a friend only, but as a lover.
Indeed, I still do not know how these things may be. It is thought, though never exactly articulated, that men by nature turn in love to women, and women thus to men. And perhaps men and women generally have somewhat different tendencies, but I can no longer believe that love is thereby dictated. It is a strange enigma, and perhaps Maedhros and I are alone in our leanings, but I cannot believe this invalidates them. So we concluded upon meeting again, and discussing long our feelings, and divulging our love. It was a great relief, that conversation. Maedhros, who is so dear to my heart--to give that dearness a name--to call him beloved--it is an unlooked-for bliss, a comfort and a promise. It is a strange, new thing, and yet truth rests upon it.
We have made no promises, holding it too soon and sudden to complicate vows of love with vows of fidelity. But when we know the time is come, we will make vows under Ilúvatar, and Maedhros shall be my spouse, and I his.
It will not be easy. War by necessity occupies us, and distance and time will separate us, so that our meetings may be brief and precious. Moreover, we have decided for the time being to keep this to ourselves--we fear few will understand, and there is too much between our houses, that this trouble be added to it. How long we can conceal it, or will desire to do so, I do not know. Will those who know us well see our love in our countenances? What will they think?
It is foolish to worry over these questions. I, who never hoped to find love, have found it. The world has not changed, but I am less alone in it.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.