The Burden of Truth by Rhapsody

The Burden of Truth

The first draft is superbly nitpicked by Darth Fingon at the Lizard Council, the final draft is proofread by Trekqueen. All mistakes that remain are mine.

Let go. Why do you cling to pain? There is nothing you can do about the wrongs of yesterday. It is not yours to judge. Why hold on to the very thing which keeps you from hope and love?
-- Leo Buscaglia

Yesterday, oh what could it bring her? Memories of the early years with the warm breath of a babe snuggling close in her neck, his tiny fists clenching, using her hair as the needed anchor. Those first words, that later merged into the untamed adoration for their father. As the years went by, voices resounded through the hallway with quick footfalls, urgency betraying their mischief. Their voices upon being caught, a father’s voice booming, trailing behind them with that surety of thunder following the lightning... All of them were born to lead this rebellion.

Then there was that burning remembrance, which came unbidden: the fiery touches of love, the intoxicating smell of him, his warm hands exploring her, taking what she gave freely. Her thoughts of doubts gnawed at her as she yielded to him alone. Love for them came so easily; the rides on the waves of desire made her heart flutter, even now.

That mere thought of being wanted, needed, and the echoes of a house filled with confident children would forever stay with her. Such a sacrifice made in the name of love and loyalty for some. For others, in the name of honour and pride.

But what to think of tomorrow: another day in this empty house and even the thought to venture outside nearly suffocated her. The looks of those who would hold her to blame for what her spouse and seven sons had done, especially after what happened at the swan haven. Had she raised such sons, had there been any way to stop them? Nay, tomorrow or even today brings her a grief that could not be spoken. No matter where she would go or to whom she would talk. The living room or the kitchen, the city square, the palaces of her kin, the cold sheets of her bed, her husband’s forge: words of rebellion still seemed to linger. That day, they still speak of that day when they lit the flame, igniting anger in the hearts of her people. Every word, every gesture felt as a stab piercing her heart, adding to this pain of separation that goes on and on. How could she endure, how could she last if she wondered what that sacrifice was for, why so many had to die for the sake of one?

What was she to do, here standing at the cliffs in the distant west, so close to Qalmë-Tári’s halls? Could she repent for her son’s actions, no she would not dare to ask for forgiveness of her husbands deeds? Could the Mistress of Death teach her how to endure, be patient so that she could handle her future amongst those she shortly before had called her own kindred? She knew that her life was not over yet, there was still strength in her left and there was that faint memory of what once was, times that there was nothing she would not dare. Would she dare to embrace tomorrow? Could she create a life for herself on her own, where her memories of the past would serve as nothing more as stories from yesterday? There was so much work to be done and that she had to forge ahead to start anew.

Suddenly the wind picked up, tugging at her clothes as she stood there. The cold caress of air awoke her from her thoughts and with her eyes wide open she perceived the grey sea. As the waves pounded upon the cliffs relentlessly, Nerdanel felt as if she awoke from a bad dream where the aftermath of the tides of the sea left no choice. Had those same waves carried away her family to the other shore and away from her? Without giving it further thought, she stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and knelt down. Once her hands hit the rich soil, a sense of clarity washed over her.

It was their choice, not mine, she suddenly realised. I might have reared them with all I could give and with the knowledge I possessed, but the past will only bring me false hope. My answer and end to my pain lies in the future. I am the master of my fate, for too long have I let others determine it. With a deep sigh, she pressed her head to the ground and finally let go of her anguish rooted in the past. Oh my children please forgive me for others need me now even more…

Chapter End Notes

Author notes:
Qalmë-Tári: Quenya for Mistress of Death another name bestowed on the Valier Nienna (Book of the Lost Tales, p. 66)