Individual Novel Assignment
Monologue � Without Stage Directions
Rivendell � Year 2933 of the Third Age
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Part One � Letter to Celebrian
It has been little more than four centuries since you have fulfilled our sea-longing, Celebrian, crossing to the Grey Havens, so far across the sea, and I find myself reluctant to say this, but I must. It is not possible for me to cross out of Rivendell, for it will soon come to a time of dire need. If only I could set this all behind me and sail across the western seas to the Havens as you have already done, to leave Middle Earth and its troubles behind. But I find that I cannot. With every passing day, more of our people are making the crossing, and before this next Age has elapsed, you have my word that I shall be there. Time. Oh what does it mean to us? Nothing but a useless concept of the mortals.
The familiar sun-dappled corridors of Rivendell are quiet now, an errie silence, broken only by the soft steps of an Elven lord, or the heavier footfalls of a visiting hobbit. No longer is this home brightened with the laughter and music of a still present, but ever fading race; our time here, is passing. Silent, that is, save for the water, falling now in loud and taunting splashes. Can you hear it now? Once crisp and vitalizing, almost forgotten, but always present in our lives? That is no longer. The Bruinen flows as strongly as ever, from the mountains, through the valley, and towards the Sea. Across which I will pass, when the time is right.
Still, all of the tidings I send are not ill, and there is good left in the world you have long lost any interest in. Forever clinging onto the last fragments of a glorious summer, the Last Homely Home of our people still stands strong upon its foundations, and many pass through on their westerly journeys. From the tidings of these travelers, it would seem that there is unrest in the East. Perhaps a receding of the light.
Thus, far, the stars have been kind to us, and our children are well, but their Choice remains yet to be made. Both Elladan and Elrohir have departed from Rivendell, and headed northward and shall scour the Wilds with the Rangers, driving the Shadow into the light. Still dwelling in Lorien, our daughter has decided to remain amongst your kindred with my approval. The Passes are not yet safe for a crossing into Rivendell, especially after the incident upon Redhorn Pass.
Ah, but that is about all there is to tell, and the sound of our home without any of our children still remains cold and foreign to my ears. The world outside this valley, however, will soon come to another Age of war, both lesser and greater than the previous. Celebrian, you have never cared much for these things, the affairs of Men. But once we leave these shores, who is to remain? The disappearing Dwarfs, hobbits and whom else? Men. None of our concern, though. Although for some reason �
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Part Two � Arrival of Gilraen
Yes? What is it, Lindir? I thought you were practicing that ballad for the feast tonight. Someone requesting an audience with ME? Immediately? Well, why couldn�t they wait . . . Who do they think they are? Gilraen? Wife of Arathorn? You could have said so sooner! That�s why you�re just the minstrel, I dare not to think what Rivendell would be like if you were its lord. Show her into the study. Apologies will do absolutely no one any good. Just go practice that ballad, Lindir. I expect it to be perfect this time. Understand? Darn waste of a satisfactory pair of pointy ears, never good for anything but verse . . .
But Gilraen the Fair? Here? Unannounced? That could hardly be what to expect . . . Ah, but believing that all that happened around here was expected would have cost me Rivendell by now. Lindir had better not be imagining things again. Last time, after a goblet of wine too many, claimed to see none other than Sauron tapping on the gates. Darn that minstrel. Must demote him next time I get a spare moment. Now I shall see the truth . . . or perhaps not. Why is that study so dark? Draperies must have been pulled down again, honestly, how does Lindir receive my guests?
Welcome to Rivendell, Wife of Arathorn � Oh! Why to you ask me to lower my voice? What is the matter? And why do you look at me in that way, as though I were a hunter? Come now, there is nothing in Rivendell that will harm you. Evil does not come into this valley. Now, once again, what is the matter? Trouble? For whom? You? Arathorn? Myself? No, please rise! You can not tell me? But of course I shall help you! There is no need to thank me. A refuge for all sorts, that is what Rivendell is. Stay for as long as you wish to.
A complication? What type of complication? Are you injured? No? Not only yourself? Arathorn? Aragorn?! Of whom do you speak? Your son? Arathorn has a son? Really? No, wife of my dear friend, this is not the time for your tale. Lindir! Yes, I know you have been practicing that ballad! That is not what I wish. Prepare apartments for Gilraen, perhaps Arwen�s. For a long stay. I�m sure she would be honored to have you. Have the finest food and drink brought up as soon as you can, something warm. And after that, back to the ballad. You can go, Lindir.
I must insist that you rest, and perhaps the next morning shall be a better time for your tale. As I possess some skill in the art of healing, I must suggest that rest would be the best treatment for you. I shall question you no further, but if you insist . . . Yes, Arathorn was returning from the Wilds, from some sort of military exercise or another, I have heard of that. An ambush? Yrch? Pardon, orcs? That Redhorn Pass! After Celebrian�s experiences . . . So many great lives have been ended by arms of those foul creatures . . .
Oh, have I but known! My dear, I can express no words in the Common Tongue to sooth your hurt, but, alas . . . Yes, I see what you mean. The Enemy is rising. The Shadow is spreading. Your son would be in danger. Do not worry, I shall do all within my power to keep that evil from this valley in which you are both welcome to stay. For as long as you wish. Still, the East troubles me, as does the Shadow. I shall think of something . . .
Ah! Lindir, you have returned! Mutton?! Cheese?! Bread?! Ale?! What were you thinking, you wooly-headed poor excuse of an Elf? There had to be something better in our pantries than this! A light snack . . . ?! Back to that ballad with you! I must apologize for the behavior of my minstrel. Probably dropped on the head when he was an infant. There will be a feast tonight, as soon as Lord Glorfindel arrives with his hunting party.
Eat, my dear, you look famished. Ah, you are famished. There is more where that came from. You will be well looked after here, I will see to it myself. It is no trouble. None at all. My own children are grown, but I know that you and Arathorn would have done the same for them, if I had been slain. Letting you stay? In fact, I can and will do better than that. Alas, the halls of Rivendell have gone too long without the laughter and innocence of a child! I would like the son of Arathorn to dwell here with me, as my foster son and I swear I shall treat him as though my own. That is, with your permission, of course. Oh! That is good, then that is settled. Keep on eating. A bit of good rest and food does a weary soul a whole bunch of good you know. You�re not eating. Come on. There�s plenty more.
The last Heir of Isildur, the last in a line of kings, but to be of such importance at such a tender age, could hardly be wished for. Still, I can see that he will survive many seasons and perform great deeds, winning fame, honor and glory. It is all written in the stars above. Don�t stop. Keep on eating. I am only thinking aloud. He will rule. One day. Ah, it may seem impossible now, with the Enemy intent on finding the last heir. But those demons of the East shall never succeed. His lineage will need to be forgotten. And his name. My dear! Do not despair! For as long as he is alive, there will be hope! Ah, there we are. What a perfect name? �Estel,� Elven for hope. Our little Estel. Mmm. Good. You�re still eating.
Where is he now? Ah, with Lindir. With LINDIR? You trust your SON with LINDIR? I wouldn�t trust him with a bent nail, much less a little boy! Yes, you are right. He will grow up with the mightiest Elven lords which have not yet passed onto the East! Yes, the finest music as well. Then in that case, I must find another minstrel. I�ll find something for Lindir to do. Ah, picked all the meat off the bone, have you, now? That fulfills the stomach, now the mind must rest.
Lindir! Ah, there you are. Please take Gilraen to her rooms, and have Estel brought to her. Estel. The little boy. You didn�t LOSE him, now did you? Which one? The one she gave you. No, not to KEEP. Oh Lindir, what am I going to do with you?! No need to thank me, my dear Gilraen. It will be my pleasure to raise little Estel. Mmm. A little wild is he? After Arwen, I�m sure I can handle anything. You wouldn�t believe what a loud crier she was. Sleep well. Oh, and if you need something, just holler. Goodnight.
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Part Three � Farewell to Celebrian
Celebrian, we have another child! Dear little Estel, the hope of mankind, hidden in Rivendell. I wonder what Sauron would have to say to that. Don�t be tart, my dear, Gilraen is naught but a friend. No one could take your place in my heart. A child. Another. Oh, after Arwen . . . I thought we had promised. Not our fault, particularly. An interesting turn. And what had I been saying about Rivendell being drab?
Still, it is to be a child without the Choice. Not of the Peredhil! One to have the chance to be freed of the cursed Elvish life. Ah, I am sure you are shocked to hear me vent so, but the truth now, is it not? When I had made my choice, immortality seemed to promise so much, and you, of course, my dear. But to live forever in a life of greater sorrows and lesser joys than Man? Oh, we have forsaken happiness! It is possible for us to feel joy, but only for that fraction of time. Ah, but then again, why am I worrying about time? Useless mortal concept! Useless mortals! A Man ruled Middle Earth to be read in the stars? I have never heard of such silliness. It shall never happen. What folly!
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