Of Eldir and Dori

by Laurelin Caline
July 30, 2003
Stories > Authors > Laurelin's stories > Of Eldir and Dori

    On the late night of September 22, 3020 (which also happened to be Bilbo’s 113th birthday), Eldarion, the only son of Aragorn was born. His mother, Arwen, went through a tough labour, of which her life was almost forfeit. Her pain eventually came to an end and a handsome young boy she had. Eldarion had the cutest face in a thousand leagues; his hair and eyes were of a deep mahogany brown, and his skin olive. All who looked upon him were weak at the sight, so poised, mature, and noble he was.

    Eldarion spent his childhood helping his mother, whom he loved greatly. He would play games with her and listen to her tell the tales of her fathers. She told of the Lands of the Undying and how her people departed from Middle-earth to live there. Of Rivendell and the Last Homely House, and of Lórien and her childhood she sang. Eldarion loved her stories and often pretended he was in them, but what he loved most was the Elves and their languages.

    Aragorn taught Eldarion since youth how to ride and how to fight. But Eldarion never had the will for that, nor the feet or skill for it either. Nevertheless, Aragorn pushed him on never to fail, for he knew well that if Eldarion, his only son, could not fight, then the world might come to darkness.
    Aragorn also managed to allow time for Eldarion’s studies. Overall, he had a taste not for victory, but in his study he was complete. In his classes on Healing and Counseling he excelled and soon after became a wise man.
    There was also another trait of Eldarion that was very odd among his people. For when he walked among horses or, even worse, tried to ride one, they became uneasy and nervous. None knew why. His presence was not alarming nor coarse. It could be his looks, by a chance, that they couldn’t bear but that would be odd now, wouldn’t it?

    In his late twenties, Eldarion went into a battle alongside his father to fight for his country in a long grievous battle. He was placed in the lead, but due to his frail skill he fell hopelessly in the beginning. While he was severely injured and suffering, a woman came to him at his prayer.
    “Suilannad-inyëiën Dori Olardarion Stonewall Valley arinyë-harana tulto.” (Greetings I am Dori, daughter of Olardarion of Stonewall Valley and I am here to help you.) said she.
    “Hello, Dori, I am Eldarion Haraniön. Le quentë Quenya?”(Eldarion, son of the King. You speak Elvish?) he said in return.
    “Tancavë. I learned from want. I loved the Elves when they were near, though they never came back to us. They told me you only spoke Elvish, is that not true?” Dori replied, waiting for no answer.
    “Many say so, for I speak Elvish fluently and often. Only in need would I not. It has its loveliness.”
    “Yes, It does,” she said smiling.
    “Le harya vanya-hen.”(You have beautiful eyes.) He spoke painfully and slipped into a fever.
    “Has he gone mad already? It’s only been a couple of hours!”

    Time slowly passed, and then there was movement in him again. He felt life in him once more.
    “I will put some Lothlas oil on your head and Voinyar on your wounds to ease the pain. You will heal in time,” she said softly.
    “I could use some Athelas on my torn ligaments and Anglamar liquid to heal me from hurts.”
    “You know your plants well, though it’s not known for sons of the King to be among healers… at least not in my village. Tell me, where have you learned?”
     “My father taught me. And I enjoyed listening. I have mastered in Healing and will soon become Evinyatar.”
    “That sounds interesting. I learnt from my mother, before she died… many years ago.”
     “Nia absenen.” (I am sorry)
     “No need for pity; she died in peace and in peace she rests. You must take some rest, Master; you have a long time to spend bedridden ‘til you fully heal. Although you will never be rid of your grief nor pain fully, much of it may yet wane.”

    He took rest. For one and a half years she took care of him. That was until he was well enough to venture on, though he would never be able to fight again (for which he was truly thankful).  Soon enough he was able to walk, though not able to yet go free. One day, he was walking through the gardens upon the palace roof, a stone walkway fitted between two garden beds. They were filled with the beautiful colours of flowers all about; some were pink, some yellow, and green and white. Dori was near on the watch making sure he wouldn’t hurt himself. To her he said, now looking over the edge to the Pelannor Fields:
     “Dorianna Maeth Rinn of Stonewall Valley: long we’ve spent together and that’d be forever if it were let. You came to me at night to aid me in my pain (suddenly a sadness and quick pain entered him) and if you had not been not there, I would be gone. Iquista nyarinn manen le nar.” (Please tell me how you feel.) he finished as Dori walked up to him.
    She replied, “I feel shredded, sort of torn in little pieces all blowing to different places. Of maybe caged, unable to breath… Ni lá-ánadswes!” (I can’t breath!)
    “Nor I since I met you. It’s a hard decision to make, Ni ista.” (I know.)
    “Tancavë. Moving to Minas Tirith would be a big change, bigger than I expected from you... or too little. And all just for the sake of you care!”
    “Lau! lau! le avá hanyan! (No! no! you don’t understand me!) I want you to move to my halls and I will care for you the way that you cared for me. Let us heal this land of grief, despair, and pains. Wouldst thou come if pardoned… Nar le tulnni?”(are you coming?)
    “Ainuyaxë! Ma? Nar le aquet an ni na vesta le? (Holy Cow! What? Are you asking me to wed you?) Though my heart is blended, my head sees me turning into stone right here and now.”
    “Are you refusing?”
    “No! I do not answer, not even if wanted… Chickens fly! Monkeys climb! Lizards lie! I need air… I need breath… (Breathes) Ni avá ista.” (I don’t know.)
    “Very well then. Goodbye, my Lady,” he said as he kissed her hands  and turned to leave.
    But at that moment she insisted, “Eldir! I would have followed you, my Lord, my Patient, my Love.”
    As she said this, Eldarion paused and came to her and swept her off her feet. “We are not parted nor defeated. We are one.” And he kissed her.

    They lived together in his home for many promising years. He counseled people, and she healed. Five years after marriage, they bore two beautiful twins, Aradir and Dorthea. Araen, a sister of Eldarion, taught Aradir how to wield sword, and Dori taught Dorthea how to mend wombs.

    “My King, our people are failing in war; we need strength to defend. Your sister is wounded. What’s your plan of action?” Methlor asked the king.
    “Ni selma mahta te… I will fight them,” Eldir answered.
    “You, my Lord? But you cannot fight physically nor mentally!”
    “I am Hru, Methlor. To be that is to serve my people. That includes defense. I will fight. I must fight. An Gondor!”(For Gondor!)  Then, he went to his Armoury.
    “Why do you go on so? You are Aragorn’s son, not Aragorn himself. You are not bound to Isildur’s fate. Do you want my sorrow? Do you want my grief? I will be nothing without you. You’ll be nothing more than a beloved memory. You know that. You know your fate is at hand. You do not have the strength,” Dori said, coming out through the shadowed door.
    “But even so, there is still hope,” Eldir answered.
    “You are too much like your father.”
    With that, he went to the stables to hop a horse with Dori struggling behind him.
    A grace was bestowed upon him that night, for when he came to the stall of a pure white horse (which his father gave to him when he was young, though he was never able to ride him) something happened that was, indeed, a miracle. Eldir walked slowly into the room and put his hand out to pet Starmist, so that he might become used to Eldir’s presence. At first the horse shivered, but then he stood still, liking the soft strokes of his master. Eldir saddled him with his silver effects and hopped on. Lightly kicking him on the sides, he gestured for the horse to trot towards Dori. To Dori he explained, “Dori, if I shan't return…”
    “And you know you aren’t.”
    “Yes, but if I shall fall, I say to you, Dorianna Maeth Rinn of Stonewall Valley, long we’ve spent together, though it was not forever. You came to me in my need; if not for you I would no longer be. You married me and we were happy. But now I walk into a trap: my doom it may be.  Námarië, My Fair Sweetness, in our son there is hope. Maybe he will be skilled in the blade, better than I. Námarië na le.”
    “I remember. And forevermore I will. You I will never leave, but my heart draws me still. Mara mesta, my wise man! May my love for you never fail and ever you will remember. Námarië!”
    And he rode off into the darkness of no return.

    He left to the battle, and took the Orcs at unawares and them he slew. His sword whistled in the air and his voice called in the morning breeze. He fought greatly and bravely. Victory was won. But it was then that an Orc that they thought was dead took up his last strength and against Eldir he spent huge blows. And through the darkness whistled a poisoned dart and struck Eldir in the breast.
    Immediately was he taken to the Houses of the Healing, where Eldir called for Dori. She he saw, but only for one moment-- before he faded.
    She wept at his side, being indeed glad to see him before his passing, but also taken by despair. “Eldir! Eldir! Tulin at-na ni! Eldir! No! No! ELDIR,” (Come back to me!) but he never returned. In sadness she wept and grieved over her loss.

    She decided to leave Minas Tirith and go back to her past home at Stonewall Valley and leave her throne behind, for she could not bear the burden alone nor did she want it. To Arawen, Eldarion's oldest sister, she left Aradir, so that he might be the next King. With her she took Dorthea. She would never again love a man as she had loved him.

In My Heart I did know
that someday you would go,
and leave me here to be
alone to drown in an unsinkable sea.

In your heart you always knew
that you would soon leave to
war only once to return.
You’d lie in peace and I’d learn
that life wasn't meant for me alone.

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