Tale of Hate

My love I gave for hate










The greatest legends of Middle Earth are those of tragedy.
The tale of Beren and Luthien, the tale of Hurin and Morwen, and the tale of Nienor
and Turin, are but a few of those bitter stories. But there comes to mind a far
more grievous tale, one of betrayal, of faithlessness, and of hatred. It is the
tale of Arwen, a beautiful Elf in love with Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to
the kingship of Gondor. It is the tale of a promise that was broken, a faith
that was lost, the hope that was destroyed, and the hatred that consumed the
life of Arwen Umdomiel.

 

***

 

In the year 3019, as the victorious Rohirrim drove the
multitude of Orcs from Helm’s Deep, safe within the halls of Rivendell, Arwen
Umdomiel watched the darkening horizon. She wondered if someone else, a
dark-haired Ranger with piercing eyes and a white-flecked beard, was staring
into the horizon, thinking of her.

 

“Arwen, my dear, I sense your heart is laden with worry.”
Arwen smiled at the sound of her father’s deep voice.

 

“Are you here to lift my anxiety, Ada?” She turned and saw
Elrond return her smile.

 

“Daughter, do you need assurance?” Arwen turned again, her
smiling fading. The setting sun had nearly disappeared, and night was slowly
enveloping the world.

 

“I know he lives. But where is he? Does he think of me?
Does-”

 

“My dear Arwen, do not fear for Aragorn. He loves you, and
he will do everything in his power to return to you.” He gently turned her,
cupping her porcelain face in his strong hands.

 

“Is that assurance enough?” He said, grinning.

 

“Thank you, Ada,” she whispered, and he kissed her forehead.

 

“Go to sleep, my daughter, and dream of your love.
Goodnight,” Elrond murmured, and left Arwen in the night.

 

***

 

She enters the dreamworld now, an ethereal world, a
kaleidoscope of color and memory. She dreams of her mother, her brothers, and
her dear father in happiness. But where is her Estel? Where is her love?

 

Arwen catches as glimpse of him, his hair ragged, his
face drenched in sweat. He is surrounded by bloody stone, but also by cheers of
victory. A great battle has been won.

 

“Aragorn!” She calls, her voice filled with happiness. It
seems an eternity has passed since she last laid eyes upon her love.

 

She watches as his grey eyes light up in happiness; he
sees his love! He approaches her, almost shyly. Arwen steps forward, joy
flooding her entire body.

 

But as she moves forward, she is stopped by a voice from
around her. It is young, full of hope and elation, and is clearly feminine.

 

“Lord Aragorn! You live!” A young woman, with golden hair
brighter than the sun itself, bows low before Aragorn.

 

“Yes, Lady Eowyn.” He returns her bow and kisses her pale
hand gently. There is something in that soft kiss, something different, Arwen
realizes. “Are the women and children safe?”

 

“Yes, my lord.” There is a long pause. Arwen watches
Aragorn’s face, confused. He is struggling deep within.

 

“Is your duty still heavy upon your mind?” Eowyn asks,
her voice filled with hope. Aragorn does not answer.

 

“You must not hold yourself to a forgotten promise. A
promise to a lady gone over the sea!” Eowyn bursts out angrily.

 

“Arwen has not forgotten my promise!” Aragorn said. “And
I cannot be certain she has departed from these shores.” Arwen feels her heart
beat faster as she suddenly realizes what Aragorn so fiercely struggles with.
He means to betray her with this young woman of Rohan.

 

“A night ago, you told me with great certainty she was
gone. She no longer feels love for you, Aragorn! If she did, she would have
stayed.” Arwen can no longer stay silent. She steps forward, past Eowyn, face
to face with her love.

 

“Aragorn, I am here! I have remained! Can you not see
me?” But he does not respond. It is as if she is as invisible as the wind now
softly blowing through Eowyn’s golden hair. How beautiful is she. Her voice is
soft, her face white and delicate. Her eyes are a deep, crystalline blue, more
lovely than the greatest treasures of Moria. She is dressed in a simple white
gown, but the simplicity gives her an air of beautiful innocence. Lady Eowyn is
beautiful indeed.

 

“I still love her, Eowyn,” Aragorn murmurs helplessly.
Eowyn passes through Arwen, and, taking the Ranger’s trembling hands gently,
brings them close to her heart.

 

“You will always love her, Aragorn. There will always be
a place in your heart for her. But will you not let anyone else have claim on
your heart? Aragorn,” she says, her voice becoming urgent, “I love you. I do
not care if you refuse to reciprocate that love, for no matter what happens, I
will love you beyond the end of my days. I know that such feelings seem
inappropriate and strange, for we have known each other but a few weeks, but I
cannot help the way my soul aches for you.” She released his hands, and turned,
defeated.

 

“Eowyn…” Aragorn trails off. The Shieldmaiden turns, her
face betraying her emotions. “Please do not leave.” He steps forward, and the
two meet in a desperate kiss as all restraint fades away.

 

“No,” Arwen whispers, and she feels her very soul chill.
The kiss lasts but a moment, but it took only a moment for the Elf’s heart to
shatter into pieces.

 

***

 

All through the night, she watched, trapped in the
nightmare, as Aragorn broke his promise to Arwen. She watched as the two
kissed, watched as the two met in a bed of passion, their inner fires consuming
each other. She wanted to avert her gaze, leave the dreamworld, but the
nightmare held her.

 

With each kiss, with each moment of touch, her soul would
further rend apart. Never before nor after had such an agony been felt. There
is no greater pain than the pain of a lover betrayed.

 

And after those long hours of passion and betrayal, the
nightmare ended, and Arwen departed from the dreamworld, leaving Aragorn asleep
with the fair Eowyn in his arms.

 

 Arwen Evenstar awoke
in the golden morning’s light, her soul trembling with brokenness, her face
stained with bitter tears. All love had been lost in the dark night; she was
void of all joy. She did not even attempt to console herself with the fact that
it had only been a nightmare. She did not blind herself to the bitter truth. it
had been more than a dark dream, it had been a vision.

 

As she lay in her bed, the void in her heart paralyzing her
body, she felt the first glimmer of something she had not felt before. It was a
faint light, far fainter than what her love had been, but it still lit the dark
emptiness of her soul. The dim light fed on the darkness, fed on the brokenness
and betrayal, and grew.

 

Hatred was consuming her soul.

 

Her tears dried, and Arwen rose, her hands clenched tightly
into fists. She hated Aragorn, for his faithlessness. She hated Eowyn, for her
passion. She hated herself, for not loving Aragorn enough, for not being with
him, for not giving him enough reason to have faith in her.

 

“Arwen?” Arwen turned, her thoughts interrupted by Elrond’s
call.

 

“What is wrong, Arwen? I heard you cry out in the night, but
I could not wake you.” Elrond approached his daughter, and suddenly he saw the
shadow upon her face.

 

“What has happened, Arwen?” He said, his eyes filled with
concern.

 

“I am leaving, Ada.” Her voice was quiet but harsh.

 

“To the Grey Havens?” He asked uncertainly. Elrond Peredhil
was proud of the bond he shared with his daughter. In the years after his dear
wife’s departure, the two had become close. He had been able to sense his
daughter’s feelings, sometimes even her thoughts. But now there was a strange,
black mist enshrouding Arwen.

 

“No,” she whispered, and for a moment her face softened.

 

“To Aragorn?” Elrond guessed again, and a look of pure
hatred came to Arwen’s face. suddenly, all beauty fled her countenance, and
Elrond new what had brought about the change in Arwen.

 

“My daughter-” he began.

 

“Goodbye, Father,” Arwen said harshly, brushing past Elrond.
Once exiting her quarters, she broke into a run, and she fled beautiful.

 

“Arwen!” Elrond called after her, but she did not turn or
stop. He pursued her, but he could not catch her. And just as night once more
came to Middle Earth, Arwen vanished into its shadow.

 

As days passed, and nights lingered, Elrond searched for his
daughter, and did not find her. He returned to Rivendell with a heavy heart and
bitter tears. Long did he mourn for Arwen, his beloved daughter.

 

Arwen was seen once more, by a young girl of Rohan on the
plains of Edoras. She had changed much, her face was gaunt and sickly, her eyes
dull and her body twisted. She was dressed in black, and the girl said she
looked as if death itself. When news reached Elrond of the ghastly Elf, he knew
it was his tormented.

 

After that, Arwen Umdomiel was never seen again. It is
believed that she took her own life one dark night, filled with hatred for
herself. The shadows of the night became her grave, and the howling wind at
midnight her obituary.

 

The War of the Ring ended, and Aragorn was crowned King of
Gondor, with Queen Eowyn at his side. Elrond attended the coronation, and later
in the king’s quarters informed Aragorn of his daughter’s evident death.

 

“I did not know, my lord,” Aragorn whispered in shock. “I
had thought for certain she had departed to the Grey Havens.”

 

“You assumed, Aragorn! You had no faith in Arwen, and your
faithlessness cost her everything!” Elrond spat, his eyes misting with tears.
“She loved you, but she exchanged that love, and all other love, for hate.”

 

“I… I am sorry, Elrond,” Aragorn murmured, tears trailing
down his cheeks. “If I had known…”

 

“From henceforth, King Aragorn, consider any friendship
between you and I dissolved,” Elrond said, wiping the tears from his face. “I
am leaving these shores now. Farewell, Aragorn.” Elrond left Gondor, riding to
the ship that would take him to his last hope.

 

***

 

My love I gave for hate,

not long my days will be.

My curses lie on her

that loves him after me.

 

Calm eye and golden hair,

speech sweet as cuckoo’s stave;

For brows drawn fine as thread

My love for hate I gave.

 

White tongue and lips of red,

sweet tongue and gentle gait,

‘tis sad it should be said---

My love I gave for hate.