Frodo's Dreme of Fimbrethil & Undómiel
- jan-u-wine
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A/N: It has been a sadness to me that
there is no mention of a meeting between Frodo and Treebeard, even
though they certainly would have met when the hobbits (and company)
passed through Isengard on their journey Home. Just as certainly, Merry
and Pippin would have told Frodo the tale of their adventure with the
Ents, and of the Ents' longing for their lost wives. Would Frodo
not have been, at the very least, curious? Would he not have
given much thought to these seeming-strange creatures, who played such
a large role in the downfall of Isengard?
In this poem, Frodo, having sailed
Over-Sea, dremes of the lands he has left behind forever, fancifully
envisioning what might have become of not only the Ent-wives, but of
another being as ageless (and bereft of husband) as they: the Evenstar,
Arwen. Might these two destinies have been intertwined?
Frodo's Dreme of Fimbrethil & Undómiel
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Upon the Tol: Frodo
Sun-tumbled,
wind-breathed,
the autumn
remembrance
of home-fires
waits
along the fine-dusted
wide
track of the road.
So far have I
walked
without thought
(or perhaps
in thought too
deep),
that the sweet,
smooth
limbs
of familiar trees,
(my trees),
give way
to saplings,
their slim,
pearl
fingers
upthrust,
shimmering
like harp strings
beneath a bronz'd Sun.
Silent,
this young grove,
as if all of time
rests
here,
waiting upon
magik,
resting upon the
cloak
of dreme.
It would not be amiss,
I think,
to rest,
myself,
in this place,
within
this magik
circle,
where the grass
bends
and whispers
greenly,
where the Sun winks
and
hides
beneath
the wide white of clouds.
And so I do:
rest,
feeling
strangely
taken,
feeling
oddly
at peace.
Between the music
of slender tree-strings
and the friendly whisper-touch of a small wind,
I dreme.
I dreme of places I have known,
of people I have loved,
of times and beings
I may never
touch.
Here,
in this place,
parted
from what I called "Home",
I dreme upon those who are lost.
Cradled in the gentle shade of her
hand-maidens,
I dreme
upon
Her:
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Cerin Amroth: Fimbrethil
How should they know me now?
How might
they
have known me
at all?
Ever my thoughts
were different from theirs,
lighter,
like the bright
dance
of the Netted Stars.
But now.....
too long to count in years
the time I have stood here,
I, and my sisters,
voices stilling
dropping
down
into silence
until
they sleep
(if sleep this could be named).
They sleep,
and I can no more
awaken them.
About me they stay,
their circling arms
bejeweled with leaves of green,
of gold,
(of sun-blooded red,
even),
lifted in gentle greeting
(or tender farewell).
They do not feel
the solitary
step
that enters our silent grove.
This one.
Oh,
this one
we have known before.
We have known her before,
when there was a "we".
We have known her
when her woven step,
as light as the cool winds
that ride above the world,
was not alone.
They were fair,
she and he,
fair
for those who must needs be
dressed
in flesh-skin.
She is alone now,
this fair one,
the moon-pearl of her all but hidden
beneath a curtain'd tangle of midnight hair.
Before,
the lilt of her voice,
like pour'd music,
touched us,
gilding the day with song.
Now
she speaks not,
only her hand touching those who sleep,
touching
and letting go
with a grief that I might feel
even through bark-skin.
She stays thus,
and the water that
those who are of flesh
call 'tears'
makes rain-tracks
upon her face.
I do not know what it might mean
when she stoops to the ground.
She lies upon the good earth,
the rich brown of it,
the cool embrace of it.
Her head,
weighted now
by mortal years,
sable
garlanded with white,
falls at last
upon my knee.
It may be long,
this length of......
time
in which she moves not.
It is less than a moment to me,
for I dreme upon the wind
and the water which touches
and tickles the roots of me,
until almost I should become as
my sisters
and wake no more.
When next I heed the song of
other-earth,
a coverlet of sweet grass
cradles
her gently,
fallen leaves
golden
against raven hair,
fragile
elanor growing about her feet.
We will stay here.
She and I,
and my sisters.
Forever divided from those we love,
from those who
came to understanding
too late,
from those who sleep
and dreme no more.
I
shall sleep now,
too,
and
dreme still.
I shall sleep
and dreme
and guard her
well.
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The Tol: Frodo
How pleased the Eldest
should have been
by the
slow
thoroughness
of my waking,
the filtered prism
of autumn light
giving way
to engraven'd darkness,
Eärendil's solitary sail
holding its customary
watch,
gem'd prow
rising upon the sky-seas
of night.
Well do I remember
who Eärendil
might be,
well
do I remember
where
I have journeyed this day,
if only in dreme.
I cannot move for the wonder of it all.
I can not
move
for my sorrow.
And I feel the young trees about me:
how
they are a part of this earth,
a part of this
story,
a part
of
me.
Their breath
becomes
mine,
the long slow
breath
of beings
whose roots
know all,
touch
all,
are all.
And so it is
that here,
in this sundered place,
with the small greyness of
fog
curving about me,
and crystal water-jewels
dripping from tree-fingers,
here,
in my waking that is yet
a dreme,
here,
I say my farewells.
Undómiel.
Evenstar.
My lady.
Sleep well
within your mortal veil.
Fimbrethil.
Gentle queen
of
gentle
earth.
Let not your arms grow weary,
let not
your
thoughts fall
away.
Companion her in this great silence,
keep station
about the very
idea
of her.
Stay
until those lands
which were taken
in the Sea's anger
arise again.
Beyond that ending,
beyond
that beginning,
perhaps
even we
may yet meet.
Farewell.
Namarie.
Fare well.
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