Darkness and light. Mist and dew-clear air. Beauty and horror. Joy and sadness. She stands by me, giving me all these things. Her soft, full lips, her enchanting eyes, her perfect, dark-sea tempestuous hair, her ample breasts, her entire and awe-striking self. She gave it to me, laid herself down, and let me have her. And I cannot even breathe for joy. But as she speaks, everything goes. I don’t hear her, won’t understand her.

"I love you." Oh, Arwen, how I love you.

She cries then, big fat tears, glimmering with gossamer-silver beauty. I stroke her body, pressing my forehead against her, licking away her tears. I hold onto her, thinking she is going to fly away and break into a thousand thousand pieces. Elf-tales of old spoke of ever lasting love, of power and passion and joy. I never believed them. I was too busy to stop for love. I swam in my seas, with their crashing waves, falling against the shore until my arms ached. I made love with shy young human girls, too enchanted by me to say no. If Arwen knew, she would probably never forgive me.

But she won’t know. She doesn’t know anything any more. She is gone and lost and stolen and it doesn’t matter that I love her. I curl up against her, curving my body into hers and begging her quietly not to leave me. But she stands up and pushes me away. She falls down between the trees not far away. Her sobs are like screams. I bury myself in the leaf mulch and don’t go to her.

"I love you," I shout. But my mouth fills up with the earth, and it is useless. I know, I don’t believe.

For hours, I am unable to move. I lie still in the ground, and struggle. It is as if chains catch me. Eventually, I feel strong arms around my waist, and I see Lady Galadriel looking at me. She has a sad glint in her eyes, and her fingers trace along my cheek for a moment. I should stand for her, offer her the respect she deserves. She broke my chains. But I struggle, wallowing and gasping, like I caught fish, drowning and flapping in the air.

"She leaves for Gondor," the Lady says. "If you wish to see her again, you must go, now."

I run as soon as she says those words. My feet slip on the leaves, the ground crunching under me. Not for me the silent tread of elves. I see her, and Flaxen, gleaming through the trees. She is standing by that precious horse, her eyes red rimmed and still beautiful. Now a sea of pain, of blood and death.

"Arwen," I call. She turns to me, saying my name.

I run down to her, and press myself against her. She holds me, kissing me, our lips fluid against one another. She caresses my hair, my lips, my eyelashes. Myself. She doesn’t say anything. I can’t stand her pain.

"Be happy, Ar," I say. "Please." My voice is a sob. "I love you, always. Even if you don’t love me. Go to him. Be happy with him." My voice cracks and my tears run. This is my last chance, the last time she’ll ever see me.

"I promise." She whispers, barely audible. Then she scrambles onto Flaxen, pulling her cloak around, hiding herself. She looks at me for a second, her lips open, tears welling. Then she turns and is gone.

"I love you!" I shout. I scream. I moan. I wail. I throw myself into the ground again, and this time no one picks me up. She is gone. Left. She never told me that she loved me. Maybe she didn’t, whatever Elrond said. I will never know. Not now.

~*~*~

There is now another woman in Loth Lorien, another lady of the forest. Perhaps she is more a lady of the ground, the soil, and she is not really a lady at all. Her name is Saoirse, although she is not free, and she is I. She is tied to these forgotten enchanted woods, living alone, tied by love and pain. She tends the forests, and lives in the earth like a worm.

She is not beautiful. Her hairs are matted and her eyes sad. She is too thin, although her arms are strong. She scares away those who come to this old, once powerful place. But they can see she is not evil. She cries into the ground, and from her salty tears blue flowers spring up. She watches from the crook of one of the silver trees, although that bark peels off now, and the trees are quiet and brown. The pine martins live here in abundance, along with the red squirrels and the fawns, soft quiet creature, which mean no one harm.

They do not come to me, though. I scare them, with my earth-brow skin, and my leaf-ridden hair. I smell bad, too, and human. I am getting older, my eyes lined and my lips puckered. The Lady asked me to travel with them, but I could not live forever. There is too much pain for that. Perhaps they write songs for me out there, beyond the Grey Haven. They do not know I am not worthy of them.

I die quietly, without notice, years later. It cannot be said that I died of a broken heart. I die from age and cold. I sit in the snow, my body stiff and numb. I close my eyes, and perhaps I dream.

A small cat walks up to me, white on the snow, with delicate grey paws and face. She presses her little head against my palm, and I lift her up and hold her to me. She purrs, needing her paws into me, her body long and delicate. She beautiful, and ethereal. She is the first thing that has let me touch it. She reaches up and presses her little face against mine, and I smile at her. She has the most incredible eyes. Eyes I once described as a surreal sea.

Maybe she came to me, or maybe she didn’t. It does not matter. I am dead now, my bone seeping into the snows and the soils of Lorien, with little forest creatures making homes in skeleton. I am becoming a part of everything.

With my Arwen-cat, with love.