Tale and Truth by Naltariel

| | |

Chapter 1

 

Tale and Truth

 

“Love is the sweetest of dreams, and the worst of nightmares."

A Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare

 

This place is creepy. It’s not just because this part of the beach is so deserted and remote, as if it exists outside the rest of the world. Neither it is because of the eerie shadows dancing around surreally as the moon casts her pale, mysterious light. This most inhospitable environment is not even caused by the wind blowing through some natural holes in the rocks and caves along the beach, producing some banshee-like wails that will chill the bone of the most courageous person.

 

No. This place is creepy because of a folktale that is passed on from generation to generation, from mouth to mouth, from bedtime story to bedtime story. A legend about an unrequited love of an angel for a man who broke her heart and eventually caused her to fade into foam. However, the legend said, her spirit refused to leave, and remained where her lover had been to steal the body of any unlucky person that stumbled across her path.

 

Somehow it’s flattering to have your love story become a legend, but most of the time it’s just irritating. Believe me. People always possess that annoying habit to twist the most tedious story to suit their hunger for dramatization. I never know any Ainu who is mad enough to steal a Second Born’s body to clad herself in (as if being imprisoned in the Firstborn form isn’t bad enough). I, for certain, is not this person. And the most exasperating part of all, they think it’s romantic for a divine being to fall in love with a fleshly being and humble herself in fleshly form, just to find her love unrequited, so that she ends up crying her eyes out and then drowning herself in the raging sea.

 

Let me tell you it is stupid. Trust me, because I have been there. Loving a being lower than yourself, and then humbling yourself just to be able to connect to him is not, I repeat, is not the wisest thing to do in Eä.

 

Of course, I did not consider my behavior foolish during the moments when the desire to love and to be loved by him banished all rational thought from my mind. Moments when he sang about his lost Jewel and the banishment of his soul to Eternal Darkness, making my heart to bleed and sympathize with him despite of his horrible deeds. Moments when I was entranced by the beauty in his perfect features and in his eyes, eyes that beheld much beauty as well as horror, destruction as well as creation.  Or when he captured my heart without him noticing, as the unexplainable beauty of his fea and hroa sent me into all-consuming love. I did not even understood what was going on in my mind when I wished fervently that he knew I was there with him, as I sat beside him in my shapeless form, comforting him with soundless voice, wiping his tears away with my formless fingers, and mourning with him without shedding tears. I wanted to be able to feel his pain, to be able to share his burden, and to be able to feel his touch. And thus, I clad myself in a fana, following the path of my sister whom I had deemed a fool a long time ago.

 

It was very unpleasant, even more than I previously suspected. Body means limitations. You cannot sense as you usually do with your spiritual senses. You can only hear, see, and sense what your body allows you to. It’s like being blind, dumb, and numb in the same time.  Not to mention the pain. You walk too much, work too much, your muscles will get sore and scream for rest. You step on a broken shell and your skin will be ripped, the blood spurt out, and the throbbing sensation will invade your nerves. You touch the fire with the tip of your finger, and your nerves will scream and your reflex will betray your desire to join the delightful dance of the flame.

 

And most of all, being clad in fana limits your freedom. You cannot fly, you cannot soar, and you can only walk clumsily on your two limbs, bearing the bone-crushing weight of your body everywhere, like a tortoise that drags its heavy house everywhere as it painfully creeps its way to the sea. No wonder that it seeks to dwell in water where it can swim freely, where the weight of its burden is lessened, if not completely gone. Just like me, throwing myself into the sea in my desperate attempt to lessen my pain a bit.

 

Tortoise, I chuckle. What a hilarious creature to associate yourself with.

 

So like a newly hatched baby tortoise, I learned to move my limbs, to feel with my senses, to communicate with my tongue and voice, and to fulfill my bodily needs.

 

We met several days after I decided to wear my fana. I was hiding beneath a huge rock in his favorite place, a remote beach that was usually unreachable by anyone but him. He was singing softly, and his voice broke my heart, as always. But this time, the sorrow I felt was made tangible by the presence of my flesh. My heart suddenly hurt as if a knife had been embedded in my heart. The pain was overwhelming. I could think of nothing but the pain. It burned, it sore, it hurt in every way imaginable. Holding my chest, I screamed and the world turned black.

 

Some time later, in the midst of darkness and my nausea, I could distinctly hear a beautiful voice was singing a song, which sounded like a lullaby.

 

Sleep well, my little babe…

For the stars always watch over you

And the Trees shall light your way eternally

Sleep well, my little babe.

For tomorrow is bright and full of promise...

Of candies and kisses and everything sweet…

 

It was his voice, I knew. For his voice was the most beautiful sound that I ever heard in my entire existence in eternity, capturing my heart with its gentle, yet undeniable power.

 

And now the voice sang for me, soothing me with its tenderness.

 

A teardrop slid down through my cheek, followed by another. And another. Soon, my face was wet from the streams flowing from my eyes. A sob escaped my throat, and suddenly, he held me and I cried freely with my face buried in his warm chest.

 

“Shhh…. Everything will be fine. Don’t cry. Shhh…..”

 

It took a long time before I could regain the control of my body and stop my irrational tears. All the while, he was holding me and whispering soft words of comfort.

 

It was the most beautiful moment in my entire existence.

 

 

Where am I?

 

Oh yes, the most beautiful moment of my life.

 

As romantic as it sounds, I think it is better if I had never experienced such intimacy at all. It hurts, because it turned out that he didn’t love me the way I did. I don’t even think he was capable of loving someone…or something, at all. He was too - hmm… how can I tell you in your language- preoccupied? Oh well, he was too preoccupied with his guilt. And his dear damn Jewel!

 

I had deluded myself from the beginning, blinded by my fiery passion. I did not notice the darkness that consumed his soul each passing time, causing him to fade from existence, leaving only the shadow of his former self wrapped in his immortal body. I did not know that his mourning that captivated my heart was but the echo of his old lamentations, for a shadow could not lament. I did not understand that his longing for the Jewel was stronger than anything he had ever felt: his loyalty to the Valar, his conscience, even his love for his godchildren. He was incapable of loving, of dreaming, of anything but lamenting and wishing for the impossible. His Self was reduced to empty hope of regaining the Jewel. His Vow had come true; he was living in eternal darkness.

 

I, who should have been wiser, could not see the obvious, while he, who supposed to be a wretched, foolish murderer, could see me beyond my fleshly disguise.

 

From the moment he saw me, he knew I was an Ainu clad in flesh, though he did not know my name. As all Firstborn who were born in the Blessed Realm, and with his family background, he knew who we really were just by looking us in the eye. He thought I was a messenger from the West, telling him that he was pardoned.

 

You should have seen his despair when I said that I wasn’t a messenger, and no, he had not been pardoned.

 

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I assured him that I would never leave him, that I would accompany him in his exile no matter what. I told him I expected nothing (though I didn’t know by then that I was lying to him and to myself); I was merely a spirit wishing to ease the wounds of Arda, and that included his pain. I never told him that I loved him as a lover, not as a Child of Iluvatar in need. I suspected that he never knew (I never pry into his mind; I don’t think it’s appropriate). He did not ask many questions, not even my name, for he humbly accepted that the Ainur’s ways were inscrutable to him. Pretty much different from his father, I must say.

 

True to my word, I never left him. We never left each other's side, save when we needed to fulfill our bare necessities as fleshly beings. When we were together, mostly he sang and I danced, or sang along with him. His song was the echo of his soul, so that I always knew what was in his thought and heart at the moment.

 

The songs were mostly about the Kinslayings or about his guilt, his obsessions, his longing for his sons, his Oath, and his punishments. Sometimes he would sing about the Blessed Realms, and his childhood. Sometimes he would sing about the Silmaril. And when he did that, he would stare longingly to the Sea where he had cast his Jewel after it burned his hands. He would stop his song and lose himself in thought for a very long time, sometimes days. I could never awaken him when he was in his trance. He usually fainted out from hunger and thirst because of it. He would wake up, and I would feed him a bowl of broth. And the routine would go on.

 

 

I should have known that he would worsen. There is no stagnation in this world, you either progress or regress. In his case, to my utter dismay, it was the second. As Arda waned, so did he. His skin became more and more translucent everyday, his natural glow dimmed, his body became weaker. The fading was slow at first, so subtle that we didn’t notice it. Then, as the Ages grew shorter and shorter, the changes became more visible to my eyes. At that time, he didn’t notice anything anymore. He was mad by then, absorbed into his own world, oblivious to his surroundings, and to me. He would walk along the edges of the cliff, ignoring me who tugged his sleeve in fear that he would fall. His reactions to outer stimulations slowed. At first, I must call him several times before he would blink and realize that someone had called him. Gradually, he would stop responding to my calling completely, and it was only by inflicting pain that I could get a response from him. Finally, his reflexes stopped working altogether, and he didn’t seem to feel any fleshly pain. Everyday he just stared into the Sea with hollow eyes and sorrowful expression. He sat on the highest, most dangerous cliff and sang his lamentations until he fainted in fatigue. I would carry his limp body away from that spot and force-feed him once he was awake. And then, he would repeat the same ritual, walking to the cliff where he sat, mourned, cried, and collapsed.

 

My attempts to cure him were completely futile. He didn’t even know I existed by then! Even when I used my Ainu power, he didn’t respond. And thus, with a bleeding heart, I treated him as best as I could, praying to whoever heard to help him. To help me.

 

And the tragedy happened.

 

He was practically a ghost by then, invisible to the eyes of the Secondborn. I knew that because when I followed him to the cliff, a well-meaning lad stopped me. He told me that there was a ghost singing lamentations there and it wasn’t safe for me to go there. I smiled to him sweetly, despite my shock to know that his fading had reached such state, and said that I didn’t believe in ghosts. The voice was probably caused by winds or something. He shrugged and walked away, and I continued my journey.

 

Suddenly, I felt an irrational dread in my stomach and ran to the cliff, but it was too late.

 

From afar I saw him screaming like a madman and pointing his finger to the sea.

 

“The Silmaril! The Silmaril! I finally found it! Look, it’s there!” 

 

I was extremely terrified by his mad expression. And his dangerous position on the cliff.

 

“Maglor, be careful! You’ll fall!” I panicked and ran as fast as I could to him.

 

“There! Oh, I found it! It’s mine now. I won’t be cursed anymore.”

 

And with the words, he jumped from the cliff.

 

I tried to catch him, but I was too late.

 

I was numb with shock for Eru knew how long. It probably took hours before I moved and looked down the cliff from where he had thrown himself. I could see his unmoving corpse on a rock before it was carried away by the waves. Then I lifted my head, looking into the direction he pointed before, which was in the middle of the sea, wanting to see the accursed Jewel that had stolen his life. But I saw nothing that resembled a jewel, save some glistening foam, caused by reflections of moonlight on the waves.

 

I cursed the full moon forever. I cursed the damned man that talked to me earlier. I cursed myself for failing him. I cursed Feanor for creating the Silmarils. I cursed the Valar for punishing him. I practically cursed everything and everyone, save him and Ilúvatar. I mourned and cried and screamed like a banshee, unleashing all my power, causing the rocks to tremble like an earthquake, while the Sea raged.  But it didn’t help to ease my misery: the fire consumed my heart, the thousands of knives stabbed my soul, and mountains of desolation crushed my hope. Pain raged in every core of my being.

 

Not knowing what else to do, I jumped into the raging sea, following his lead.

 

 

I do not know what happened after I jumped. Perhaps I hit the rock and died right away, perhaps I drowned, I just don’t know. And I didn’t care. What I know is that I found my spirit roaming this beach again. I don’t know how. Or why.

 

It was strange that I was abandoned on this shore and not summoned to the Hall of Mandos. Perhaps they were disappointed at my actions. Maybe because I fell in love with a damned Firstborn. Maybe because I failed to help him. Maybe because I killed my fana on purpose. I do not know. Or perhaps they want to teach me a lesson. What lesson I don’t know.

 

I just know that I am now like Maglor: wandering this mortal shore, mourning for a lost love without hope of ever possessing it, haunting this shore with my invisible body and lamentations, sitting on this cliff, staring longingly at the sea, rotting slowly into madness.

 

Hopeless. Simply hopeless.

 

But unlike him, I can return to the Blessed Realm if I so choose. I can go to Lórien or Mandos to rest. I can go to Nienna, who will teach me wisdom. I can ask for the gift of oblivion from Manwe, pretending as if this tragedy has never happened. Or I can find others who will give me true love and mend my broken heart. But I do not want it.

 

I want him and only him.

 

He can never let go, and neither can I.

 

Never.

 

* * *

 

Chapter End Notes

Originally published on FF.net on 2003

This is adapted from the original Little Mermaid from Anderson, not the Disney version.

This is for Cirdan. A great author and friend. Happy Birthday!! A lot of thanks to Finch for her excellent support as friend and beta reader.

Table of Contents | Leave a Comment