The last word by Raiyana

The Last Word

Read The Last Word

I love you. On this day, I love you more than you may ever realise, my son.

It seems silly to state it so bluntly, for I have loved you ever since I first felt your fëa touch mine, the night you burst into life as though you had always been a part of me – of her. A part of us.

I remember the day you were born, this tiny thing, red and squalling and – quite frankly – ugly, and so very beautiful I wept at the thought that you were mine, ours.

I remember when they asked me your name, asked me if you, too, should bear what I had born, and I heard myself tell them ‘no’.

It was the first time I had said it, for I had thought I would give it to you, right until the moment you were given to me, your tiny fist wrapped around my finger.

I held you, and I watched the way she smiled when you reached out to pull her hair, keeping hold of both of us.

We named you then.

Named you for love, not as a weight to carry, but as a memory, even though I have wept many tears for how you have needed to hold to it, we named you in love.

And the love remains, always.

But the fear did, also, and the fear has perhaps grown stronger as the years passed.

You asked me: why?

I had no answer, then, no answer you would believe, at any rate, and that, perhaps, I shall count among the greatest of my crimes.

I love you.

And I am afraid.

You know the latter – I hope you know the depths of the former, too, but I was never quite so good at saying it as she was – you have seen me, seen more of me than I knew was there, than I should have wanted you to see. You have seen me, years upon years of me, seen us.

And there is the answer, there lies why.

I meant you to be safe – I meant for a lot of things, almost none of which have come to pass – I meant for my beloveds to remain safe behind while I ventured far away for the sake of love and duty, to seek vengeance for what had been taken from us.

Instead, we found ruin and grief, and you, you have grown up in the midst of it all.

I do not think I shall ever forgive myself.

 

You have been my student, my son, and yet I do not know if you will understand how much I have learned from you in turn, how much you have taught me.

You will not truly know what I mean until you feel that first brush of souls, yourself, until you meet your own child for the first time.

I pray that you will, though I also know I shall not be with you, shall not see the light of realisation in your eyes, shall not watch you take that step with the lady who holds your heart.

I am sorrowed.

Sorrowed, but proud, as I know your Ammë is also.

Today, I am proud of you, my son, so proud, even as I know you are filled with anger, filled with righteous fury and the burn of the fire that lives in your soul as it lives in mine – as it lived in his.

Mind the fire, son, for though it is powerful when used as a tool – you have seen it used, by all of us at one point or another – it is also dangerous. Be wary of your fiery soul, my son, wary that it does not burn away all that you cherish, all that you hold dear.

I have taught you as well as I might – we all have – and I… I do not think I can teach you anything else, my son, except to offer a final piece of advice, whether you wish to hear it or not.

Beware of your gift, even as you revel in the making of things hitherto only existing in dreams and drawings.

Be wary of the heart’s voice – for it is both the source of soaring joy and plummeting grief.

 

When the Valar come – and surely, they must, even if we shall be gone when they bestir themselves – do not fight them. Be who you are – and if she

 – is it not odd that I cannot bear to write her name, even now? How many years has she been lost to us, how many moments gone… –

If she is with them, tell her that I tried to keep the oaths I swore to her longest of all… though she will know it already.

 

I leave you all that I have learned, every scrap of knowledge we have so carefully hoarded, and I urge you to work towards building a better world, in ways that none of us could, tainted as we are.

Remember that I love you.

You are the greatest thing I shall ever do.

I pray – you may think it odd that I pray, still, but I am your father and I will never not pray for you – that you will be safe, that you will find love, and that you will remember me with even just a sliver of kindness.

I shall think of you, always.

 

Your loving father

Curufinwë Atarinkë

 

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Chapter End Notes

“Calling them ‘my students’ isn't quite right. Because I learned from them, as they learned from me. And we grew together as people.” ~ Alison Piepmeier

my quote ^^