Worship Our enemy now besets us. The blood of Men has purchased the
freedom of these lands, but our strength alone will not be enough
to carry us. Darkness assails our borders and spreads throughout
the lands of Middle-earth, and so I have had cause to consider my
allegiances.
I have no use for the mystical beliefs so beloved by the people
of Gondor. I cannot tolerate the absurd notion that we are ruled
by the invisible. These unseen forces command obedience to rules
of conduct, the design of which none of us may be party to. More
than this, they enslave free will.
It has always seemed to me that if a man must have these things,
he may have them in abundance; all he must do is anoint a King,
who will serve him better and more cheaply than any mystical
power. It is a suitable solution, and one without compromise to
fleeting whims.
Beyond the province of mystics there is little else to choose
from. Some have taken to the idea of prophecy, but prophets are
often venerated as though they fell shining from the sky, full of
wisdom and without flaw. Too often it would seem that those who
want to believe overlook what they cannot reconcile and instead
seek out the smallest kernels of truth.
But I will serve you up this truth, and you may be assured of it:
prophets deceive. They bend their talents toward the prevailing
politics of the day and speak of things that will certainly come
to pass—but only because weak minds will believe it to be so
and bring events into being. This I have seen, and this I cannot
abide.
All that remains are the legends among Men. Their fame is carried
forth in poem and song. Blank faces gleam out from atop statues
of polished stone, strong and ever silent. Legends they became
because they have gone on from this kingdom, and once they have
passed from this world, all deeds are magnified. The mystery of
it, to my mind, is how smaller deeds are forgotten. Poets sing of
heroes, or of the horrific, but only the most noble or ignoble
moments are memorialized.
The ugly underbelly of the hero is concealed. No one remembers if
he has crawled, or if there is mud on his tongue from the boots
of his conquerors. No one wonders about the span of time that
passed between a hero's hours in the mud and the moment where he
stood straight again. Evil is spoken of in whispers to frighten
small children, and the faces of the statues gleam bright,
untarnished.
Evil is not always so alarming. I know this because I have seen
its form, and yet I did not sense its presence. It has manifested
in a small golden trinket, a Ring that could compel a curious
loyalty—if I were a man in need of something upon which to
rely. Such an insignificant, harmless guise for something I am
told could rule my thoughts and desires. There is fathomless
hatred inside this Ring, waiting for the folly and weakness of
Men to release it once again.
The presence of this Ring has caused me to recall the arrogance
of my youth, a time when I quickly came to believe that I would
need no source of hope outside myself. I would not bow to any
force I could not see. I would need no prophet to wag his silver
tongue and bring me my destiny complete. Legends may come and go,
and be replaced with others, but their deeds did not inspire me.
I thought I would not find any alternative in this world.
Thus it was inevitable that I should learn how wrong I was.
Within the space of days, it was shown to me that what we believe
can be uprooted, turned upon its head and thrown, leaving us
shaking and changed, and no longer alone. For there are things we
cannot see, things no sword can defend against and no armor can
protect us from.
When I speak of the deeds of Men, I have spoken of those things
that linger on in memory. The times in which we find ourselves
are somewhat desperate. Others have sought solace and consolation
in the things to which they cleave, but I have had only my sword.
It has carried me through battles hard-fought and hard-won, and
battles from which there was only retreat. I have relied upon my
brothers, those who carry the same banners and know passion for
the same causes as I, and have not found them wanting.
Still, there has been something lacking. I know all too well that
the heart becomes empty after a time, its emotion spent and
replaced by dull duty. Honor compels the death of all desire, and
a soldier then may only exist, but he does not live. I have
looked to the leaders who show us the way and have found myself
among them, beating back the minions from Mordor and the evil
from the East, pushing them away from the gates of Gondor. It was
not my intention to lead, but to do what was right to preserve
these lands; I am not a man who will find his visage on a statue
one day.
But there is one who will, and he will rule my kingdom well. It
is possible for a man to be the prism of his kingdom, for his
heart to be the beacon of its people. Aragorn will be that King;
I know it now.
The need to believe in something outside one's own sphere, to
love and to follow, to give unquestioning devotion to another, is
a need I had never considered. In my youth I could not give it
voice, or concede to myself that I disliked the options more than
the idea of such loyalty. I considered this need a weakness,
something lacking inside the core of a man who seeks to pledge
himself to another.
This adventure I have begun has led me to another path. Legends
are made flesh; prophecy comes to roost in blood, and so it is
with this man. I said I would not follow him, for I was scornful
and made stubborn with pride. I would not be made to stand beside
him, lest I find he had gone in front and left me behind.
Now I will follow him to any land, and I would command all others
to fall behind him, if the commands were mine to give. For I see
so much of what I could not know before.
There is a place for every man, if only he can find it. The place
I sought was revealed to me in dreams, a lilting poem that
haunted me, intangible. The wisdom of Elves gave me to understand
that my destiny was to be twined with that of the heir to my
kingdom's throne. I fought against it, and him; I gave over my
pledge for the greater good, but my mind's eye was on the distant
borders of my home.
It is a place I was resolved to go alone. Now I am resolved that
we will go together.
Here in the winter lands of Lorien there has been rest and peace
for all of us. I have given much thought to what has grown in the
empty spaces of my heart. I have a greed for things I desire -
peace and security for Gondor; an end to the wars that plague all
our peoples; and the touch of a king.
This last, the strangest of all desires, has been the one thing
easily attained. It did not begin with a thunderous crash, but
instead the softest of glances, and words with meanings easily
mistaken if one did not listen closely enough. I had not thought
to lose control of this fire quite so easily, but it rages like
an untamed animal, licking and scorching at the corners of my
heart, where there is room for it to burn.
His eyes have a language of their own, quite apart from the
strange Elvish or the rough language of our ancestors. He speaks
eloquently, with an authority I cannot disobey. His hands know
this language, and he has taught me the rudimentary elements of
it. I know enough of it now to speak without words, to return
touch for touch, and look for look, the joy he gives me.
So many places for that touch to wander, and when we are at last
alone, with all stripped away, he has shown me a talent few
possess. He touches my skin, and my heart, and we become one. His
hands never leave me; they are tender, so much so that they tear
my skin and leave behind wounds, wounds filled with the blood of
wanting.
Too soon we will leave here, and this will be at an end. I know
well that such bliss does not last. It cannot survive the demands
that will come, for he is, after all, a King, and his place is
not by my side. It is instead my place to walk behind, in the
circle of his company but always apart. I will follow. I have
long known it, but could not reveal it to any. I have not said it
will be so, but he knows.
And so my questions are answered, and the words of my teachers
made real. For each man, there must be something to which he
offers allegiance, something sacred, something true. I have said
there are things against which no armor can protect us, things no
sword may defend against, and here is proof; I am captured and
controlled by a touch, a word, a thought. Inside this small space
we inhabit there is fathomless joy, waiting to be released by the
courage and strength of a King.
I have no use for mystics or prophets, or for trinkets of gold,
but beneath the curve of fingers against my skin, I have learned
the purity of worship.
by Destina Fortunato
rom childhood I have been taught that all Men must choose
something to which they offer allegiance, something in which to
believe. A swift sword and strength of will is not enough, my
teachers said; a man must have something at his core to which he
can remain true in the darkest times, when no one will stand
steadfast beside him.
