Anna - The Gift of A Soul
1. Chapter One: The Friend
A fanfiction based on books by J.R.R Tolkien. Not connected to my other fanfiction, contradicts Nár Tinwen.
By Arwen Imladviel
--->Valinor-beyond-the-sea, the land of life and plenty. Who could miss anything here? Yet I miss. I miss those who were separated from us by the width of sea and world. One in particular, one who shall never come here and dance for me under Yavanna's trees. Oh, Anna! The fire in her hair, the fire in her heart, it burned me, marking me hers. But she would not be mine, and I would be wiser if I made myself forget her. But then I would believe what the others believe about her, those lies and half-truths.
It is my duty to guard the truth, even though few listen to me. You listen, Olórin, and I thank you for it. You always listened, and your long toil has not changed you in that aspect. So let me tell you the story of Anna, and let us see if there is something in it that even you did not know.
Who was Anna? The music she made you remember, how it began full of joy and passion, rich and airy and then deep... oh, it brings me pain to remember it. But you remember it. The name she was called means Gift. A gift from Eru. She was a maker of things, in service to Aulë. She made beautiful things... it brings me unbearable pain to look at those which remain unto this day.
One time Anna asked me:
'Who do you think is the fairest of the valier?' I knew she wanted me to say it was Yavanna, whom she adored, but I am always honest.
'My lady Varda is.' 'Is she the fairest of all Eä?'
'Fairest of Eä?' I asked, wary.
'Yes! Who is it?' And I knew from the way her blue eyes looked at me that she wanted me to name herself the fairest of Eä.
'That I cannot say, for Eä contains all its past and all its future, and I haven't seen most of those.' 'Then someone could become the fairest... sometime in the future.' And Anna walked away from me, deep in thought.
As the world grew older, Anna grew stranger. She said things she didn't mean, and asked questions with no answers. She began to gather secrets like a bird would gather twigs to make a nest of them. She gave things secret names, and spoke incomprehensible words. She made hiding-places for herself and often disappeared into them. And then she started complaining. She was not satisfied with the colours of flowers, nor with the shapes of stones. She seldom smiled those days. She stopped laughing altogether. But neither did she cry. Her face was not like the face of a living being, her skin and hair lost all colour. She was a shadow, a hollow echo of her previous self.
I braced myself and went to talk to her. We had, after all, been friends. And more: I had kissed her once, though she had run away after that. But friends we had remained, and I had taught her the use of weapons.
'What ails you, Anna?'
'Go away, Eönwë.'
'I am worried for you.'
'You are just curious. You want to tell my secrets to everyone.'
'No, I want to help you.'
'Well, you can't. No-one can.' Suddenly something overflowed inside her and she started crying, sobbing softly, without making a noise.
'I am in love, Eönwë!'
'Is that not a good thing?'
'No. Not when it is him.'
'I see. Your heart desires someone you cannot have, for he has found love in someone else's arms.'
'No. He has no-one, as far as I know.'
'Then what is the wall between you, that you cannot go to him and confess your love? You have never been shy, Anna dear; has love made you a timid mouse? You who used to be like a dancing flame.'
'The wall, as you say it, is my lowly station.'
'I would not call you lowly; most the Maiar have less power than you do.'
'That is just it.'
'Now I do not understand.'
'He is not a Maia!' Anna covered her face with her hands in shame and despair. I was silent for a long time.
'I think you have to get over it. Ulmo is not the kind of lord who...'
'It is not Ulmo.' 'Who, then? All the other valar have a spouse and you said he has none...'
'You have to understand me. I do not want to be like him, I do not want to give myself to him, but I think my love would change him. And I cannot stop loving him. His music... I loved his music. He has talent to do a lot of good.'
'I do not understand, Anna. Who are you talking about?' She looked deep into my eyes and smiled.
'It is Melkor. Eönwë, I am in love with Melkor.' I could find no words. I wonder now would things have been different if I had said something just then, something to turn her head. But I guess no- one could have turned her heart. But I could have at least told her not to call him Melkor.
Things stayed calm for some time, with Anna waning slowly and steadily into a wraith. I kept her secret; this, too burdens my conscience these days. The few things she made were colourless and hard. Then came the moment she was there no more, and would not come back, and not even Oromë's hunt could find her. She was lost to the shadows in the northern forests, where predators prowled the darkness under leafless trees, and ghastly creatures sat watching in the branches. Her scent was lost among the smells of swamp and rot, and the tracks she had made went round in circles until they disappeared. Anna was gone. And I knew she had gone of her own free will. She had gone to the Enemy.
That is where all the other stories end. They say Anna was lost in the woods. Some say she came back later, as a wood-spirit, to dance on starlit glades. Some say her bones rest in a secret grove. Some say she turned into a tree like Yavanna whom she admired, but did not know how to turn back again. I know better, for I met her.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.