Harthad

- jan-u-wine
Harthad Uluithiad: Hope Unquenchable

I've been dreaming,
haven't I ?

Sweet-scented air
gentles
about me,
sun-light
caught warm
by the vault of
golden-limbed trees.

I feel…….

at peace.

How long have I slept?

How…..

long….

and

where…….

where

is Sam?

A long un-heard
voice
speaks my name,
a hand,
too large for hobbit-kind,
falls upon my shoulder.

Strider.

Not for the first time
in our acquaintance,
he helps me rise.

Beyond him,
a cot embraces
a still'd form.

No.

How very small
he looks
against the down
of the pillow.

I never thought
I should call
him fragile,
but that is how
he seem to me, now:

worn,
weary lines of worry
gathered
by his eyes,

ragged-edged
 gash
open upon
his brow.

His feet.

Red-blotched linen
binds them.

Oh.

I kneel beside him.

I remember.

He said
he would carry me,

like….
a child's game…..

he said….

he did …….

Oh,
he did.

In shame and sorrow,
I take his hand.

He will never
let me tell the balance,
the fullness of this tale:
 
how ever
he was there…

how ever
he cared
(and carried),

held
and
hoped.

And when,
at the last,
my own hope
left me,
he became
Hope,

and with his simple
strength,
held us both
to life.

Hope unending,
hope unrelenting,
hope undying….

My  hope…

Our  hope….

Hope
unquenchable.

Bronwe Athan Harthad: Endurance Beyond Hope

He thinks he failed,
you know…..

and that which will ever
remind him

is ever there,

there,

at his finger-tips….

or

the pained lack thereof.

I cannot,
yet
I must
meet his eyes,

I must,
lest  he think
that I believe
(as he does)
that he is nothing.

So much sorrow,
so much regret,
so much
emptiness
live there.

So that I may not see
(and that he
may not see
me
purposefully
not seeing),

I brace him
against my shoulder.

He does not move,
does not  speak
as my hands,

my

unbroken hands,

wind the spoilt whiteness
from his.

A basin of gem-embraced mithril
would not be good enough
for him.

I did not ask for one.

As if he were a child,
small beyond all
understanding,
I take his whole hand in mine,
and place the other
within the homely
plainness of
blue-veined stoneware.

His head grows heavy upon my shoulder.

I cannot see to tell if he sleeps.

No matter.

The restful warmth of kings-foil
floats
within the water,
scents the air with peace.

My own eyes grow heavy,
falling to quiet,
painless
dream………

Master:

there is one thing
you should know…..

one thing you must believe.

Frodo……

I was there

and

I
know…. 
(none better)….

you did not
fail.

Dear Master…..

you

endured…..

beyond all darkness,
beyond all evil,

beyond all

hope,

you

endured.