Worthy, we are not.
The parchment had been nearly worn clean. Bits of ink still marred the page here and there, where once were the beautifully flowing characters of her older tongue. The message had been brief, and she had only received it a few days prior, but it had come with an emotional weight attached to it, one she had denied for thousands of years. She stared down at it, still, with the sunset spilling orange and gold across the page, and ran her fingers across the place where the message had begun.
'Worthy, we are not.'
It was a phrase that had never really been in question. She reminded herself that she had known what the answer would be, even when she had written the first letter. 'How can we, who have done what we have done, be worthy of love?', she had scrolled across the page. The handwriting had been precise, in abject denial of the shaky feelings within her that caused her to write it. But while she had known the answer, the response from her Uncle, Aurion, had a tone of finality to it. It didn't matter that the rest of his letter had been filled with talk of second chances and redemption. She was not worthy. She had known it. And she couldn't understand why she'd ever questioned it. The entire track of thought that had led her to wonder at it was completely out of order.
She closed her eyes against the light of the sunset and reminded herself that she had forsaken love long ago. That love had forsaken her. She didn't need to recall to herself the reason love had forsaken her, for always etched into her memory, upon closing her eyes, was the vision of her Lord, Caranthir, eyes glazed over in death.
'We were nothing...', she told herself. 'We were nothing.'
It brought back to her closed eyes the picture of a memory, of her Uncle leaning against a tree sharpening his sword, and the standing figure of her Lord. She had stood some distance away as they watched the sea of shimmering spear points in the distance. The woman Haleth leading her people away. Caranthir had been standing at attention, in highest regard for the adan female who had been their leader. She, also, had seen the look of longing in Caranthir's eyes, for it had matched her own, and as the woman faded into the distance, Avarian had wondered if his cheeks were as slick with tears as hers had been. 'We were nothing,' she had repeated to herself while she listened to their words. For nothing is all they had been. He had never seen, in her, the qualities he saw in Haleth. And after Doriath, he never would.
In her youth, her soul had seethed with bitterness over the events, not only that he would fall for a mortal, but that he would fall for one who had qualities she also possessed. That he would never see her, that he had died before she could show him, had only been secondary sorrows. If she had sworn off of love after that, it was for many reasons that she convinced herself had nothing to do with him. Not being worthy, though. That was a very real concern.
As real a concern, she decided, as falling for a man, herself. Under her Uncle's steady gaze she could easily deny, hedge, and avoid what he saw in her eyes. But here? Here, where the man in question was sitting behind her, his voice tinged with concern over her sorrows? With his warmth, solid and reliable, and his smile that maddened her? Here, she could not deny anything. Here, she could at least be truthful to herself.
'Fate can be cruel,' her Lord's words echoed back at her through time, 'Bring two together for a short period of time, and the flame of Man burns so fiercly for precious few years. Such unions are ill fated.'
'Ill fated,' she repeated to herself, curling up in her cloak. He was speaking, behind her, a voice that made her heart skip no matter which way her mind would deny it. She instead heard her Lord's voice again in her ears, and closed her eyes against the tears threatening to prick their way out of the locked box within which she'd hidden every emotion. 'Ill fated... And worthy, I am not. Therefore.... we are nothing. We are nothing.'
'Worthy, we are not.'
It was a phrase that had never really been in question. She reminded herself that she had known what the answer would be, even when she had written the first letter. 'How can we, who have done what we have done, be worthy of love?', she had scrolled across the page. The handwriting had been precise, in abject denial of the shaky feelings within her that caused her to write it. But while she had known the answer, the response from her Uncle, Aurion, had a tone of finality to it. It didn't matter that the rest of his letter had been filled with talk of second chances and redemption. She was not worthy. She had known it. And she couldn't understand why she'd ever questioned it. The entire track of thought that had led her to wonder at it was completely out of order.
She closed her eyes against the light of the sunset and reminded herself that she had forsaken love long ago. That love had forsaken her. She didn't need to recall to herself the reason love had forsaken her, for always etched into her memory, upon closing her eyes, was the vision of her Lord, Caranthir, eyes glazed over in death.
'We were nothing...', she told herself. 'We were nothing.'
It brought back to her closed eyes the picture of a memory, of her Uncle leaning against a tree sharpening his sword, and the standing figure of her Lord. She had stood some distance away as they watched the sea of shimmering spear points in the distance. The woman Haleth leading her people away. Caranthir had been standing at attention, in highest regard for the adan female who had been their leader. She, also, had seen the look of longing in Caranthir's eyes, for it had matched her own, and as the woman faded into the distance, Avarian had wondered if his cheeks were as slick with tears as hers had been. 'We were nothing,' she had repeated to herself while she listened to their words. For nothing is all they had been. He had never seen, in her, the qualities he saw in Haleth. And after Doriath, he never would.
In her youth, her soul had seethed with bitterness over the events, not only that he would fall for a mortal, but that he would fall for one who had qualities she also possessed. That he would never see her, that he had died before she could show him, had only been secondary sorrows. If she had sworn off of love after that, it was for many reasons that she convinced herself had nothing to do with him. Not being worthy, though. That was a very real concern.
As real a concern, she decided, as falling for a man, herself. Under her Uncle's steady gaze she could easily deny, hedge, and avoid what he saw in her eyes. But here? Here, where the man in question was sitting behind her, his voice tinged with concern over her sorrows? With his warmth, solid and reliable, and his smile that maddened her? Here, she could not deny anything. Here, she could at least be truthful to herself.
'Fate can be cruel,' her Lord's words echoed back at her through time, 'Bring two together for a short period of time, and the flame of Man burns so fiercly for precious few years. Such unions are ill fated.'
'Ill fated,' she repeated to herself, curling up in her cloak. He was speaking, behind her, a voice that made her heart skip no matter which way her mind would deny it. She instead heard her Lord's voice again in her ears, and closed her eyes against the tears threatening to prick their way out of the locked box within which she'd hidden every emotion. 'Ill fated... And worthy, I am not. Therefore.... we are nothing. We are nothing.'
