The appeal of an ending by Tyelca

The appeal of an ending

Read The appeal of an ending

My beloved.

 

You will never read this letter. I knew, even before I dipped feather into ink, that I will never send these words, even if there was a way to get this letter across the Sea. They are only meant for your eye, but I cannot face you, even in written form, even when I know I’ll never return to Valinor to see your face again. Does that make me a coward? Would you have stayed by my side, as we promised we would, had I spoken the words that were always in my heart to your wanting ears? Would you have understood any of my reasons, had I explained them to you? Would you perhaps have joined me?

I know it is pointless to ask when you will never respond and I know your answer anyway. When we married, I thought I knew the meaning of forever. I thought I would be content once you were in my life, thought that the pain and despair that fuel my every action would finally cease. For a while, I believed I was cured from the nightmares that still haunt me to this day. For a short while, you healed my aching heart.

I do not presume to tell you anything about an aching heart: in your eyes I slowly saw you become familiar with it. At first it was an unwelcome guest, coming but leaving swiftly. But over time, I saw you accept that guest into our house, as I had carried mine inside with me already. Over time, that guest became yet another permanent resident; a third wheel to our marriage. In public, you danced with me, but in the privacy of our home he became your partner.

I do not blame you. It was the damage to my own soul that drove us apart before we could become one, I know that. I just wish you would have talked to me, just as I wish I had talked to you. We never really spoke, and if we did, I cannot recall. We shared many conversations, but not the one we needed to have, did not talk about the things that needed to be talked about even before I proposed and you accepted my proposal. We lived in a dream then, and waking up was not something we ever imagined happening. It was our own fault the dream turned into a nightmare and the only peace I could find was away from you. We kept up appearances remarkably well, you and I. We danced around each other, where we used to dance together. Do you remember that night under the stars, or our disastrous attempts at cooking that ended with the oven on fire? We had fun then, we laughed and smiled until our cheeks hurt. I think that we were happy, then.

I should have told you long ago I had never known happiness before and I couldn’t identify it until it was gone. Until you were gone. Back then I was young and lacking in experience in practically every field, and thought I knew how the world worked. Now I am sitting in a dark tent, cold due to the frost on the ground and with barely enough food to survive on, and an ocean away from you. I do not wish you were here, for I know you do not want to be anywhere than where you are. But I do wish I could speak to you, listen to your wisdom once more. Beloved, I do not know what to do. I took us here, myself, our children, and a large number of my people, but now I falter. Where should I lead them? The west is closed to me, the one way I truly want to go. To the east then, where the ground is rumored to be more fertile? To the south, further away from the threat of Morgoth? Or to the north, and hope for death and glory?

I have long abhorred death. To others it was a hypothetical, something that the valar would never allow in Aman, but for me it was a childhood nightmare come true. Father drowned his grief with wine and a woman, but I had nothing to shield myself with. I have never known a mother’s touch because she preferred death over me, or at least, that is what I thought she did. Death was something I had to compete against, or it would take everyone I love from me. Now I can see the appeal of an ending, even if I would never choose it for myself. Death is no longer the enemy I thought it was.

I have changed, Nerdanel, since I left Valinor, and I don’t think I changed for the better. You would barely recognize me here; my voice is cold and hard, and we work to exhaustion to improve our camp and our defenses, to hunt game and plant crops. My skin is pale and my hair dirty, and I have grown even thinner than I was before, and you scolded me for it even before. There is no wine after a long day, nor is there a warm fire to convene by. We have little to no time to spare and sleep evades me even then. I no longer dream and I fear one day simply not waking again. Where once my greatest fear was turning out like my father, taking someone else to drown the grief of your leaving, now I see myself becoming more and more like my mother, or at least what others told me about her.

I am sorry for burdening you with my troubles, Nerdanel, even if you shall never know of them. Never before have I entrusted these thoughts to the world, either in speech or in writing, but I fear dying with it all still locked up inside. I will burn this paper once I am done with it, so that none shall know the heart of Fëanáro Curufinwë. Yet already I feel lighter, even as dark clouds obscure the stars one by one. Soon it will be too dark to write, so I shall finish this letter quickly.

My dearest wife, long ago you took your leave from me, or so it seems to my heart. I no longer count time by the movement of the stars and the number of meals, but by the frequency my thoughts turn to you. Ever you are the object of my desire for your company, for your words, your wit, your voice, your scent, your strong arms embracing me. I feel weak without you as my support, as if I were a building about to collapse.

I can and will survive without the joy your mere presence brings me, but it saddens me that I have to. Yet I have to live with it, don’t I? For as long as I still walk in this strange land. That is the heart of the matter, I think: I do still love you. Despite everything, I still love you. Have I said it as often as I thought it? I don’t suspect I did. So I shall take this chance to make up for it: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I cannot say I understand why you made the decision you made, but I know you well enough to be confident you did not make it without reason or thought. I hope that fortune and success will always be with you on your new path and that you will become as happy as you deserve to be.

Goodbye, Nerdanel.

 

Your loving husband,

Fëanáro.