Zakar's Lament

Played By:
AelKennyr Rhiano
Zakar Zamin


Zakar stood at the top of a cliff on the Isle of Shadows looking over the river into Tare Ru.  Days of searching, of inquiring, all without success, wore heavily on his spirit.  No one had seen, or heard of, Rose Breen in weeks.  If she had been hurt, how long could she survive unaided?  And if something else had befallen her….  He sank to the ground, instinctively pulling his guitar into his lap, the fear he had fought with for so long looming larger than ever in his mind.  He had held friends in his arms as they died from illness or wounds, but Rose had found a special place in his heart.  The gloom that settled over his spirit made it seem that the waters far below were beckoning him to drown his sorrow into their cold embrace.

He looked up toward the sun, setting.. 

He looked up toward the sun setting over the distant hills praying for light to warm his heart.  With a heavy sigh, he pulled his guitar into position and started to play.  He tried to play simple, happy tunes, but they kept modulating into a minor key.  Tired, he let the tune follow its dark, resonating with the despair growing in his soul.

Slowly words came to his lips.  In halting, mournful phrases he sang:

Where are you, Rose Breen?
Where have you fallen unseen?
Nothing can I glean.

Should I sound your knell?
The Halls of Mandos to dwell?
Your fate, who can tell?

Eru, hear my cry.
Let not my heart go awry.
On you I rely.

 Zakar falls silent as his last chord fades with the evening. Closing his eyes, he pushes his guitar to his back as he slumps forward, his elbows on his knees, lost in endless darkness.

Fast as thought, like a wind that sweeps through the whole of middle earth and returns to the sacred mountain, Manwe's home, Eonwe transports himself, the first time since the incident at Mandos, since the terrible sundering between he and his Lord, the King of Arda. Manwe had called Eonwe, HIS herald, and gave him this duty to discharge, and with a wild joy and a solemn countenance, the Maia moved to obey. The robes he wore as he took physical form, familiar and yet new, for now he notes the swishing of the cloth, the swirl of the cape, and the creaking of the leather braces. Blue eyes narrow as he surveys his surroundings, looking for the Child of Eru who is the cause of his journey.

Blue eyes narrow as he surveys his surroundings..

Eyes closed, unaware of his surroundings, Zakar wrestles with the darkness that threatens to overwhelm his soul. Quietly he prays, but it sounds hollow. Tears sting his eyes and one escapes to trail down his cheek. He blinks, wiping his face, struggling to regain control of himself.

Tears sting his eyes...

The Maia looks about, satisfied that he had chosen correctly and materialized where no mortal may mark his taking on his physical form. Like a wind he has arrived, and like a wind he shall depart. But now, he must locate the Child of Eru who has cried out to the Imperishable Flame, in loneliness and need.

he... spots a lone figure upon a hill...

As Eonwe looks about, he lifts his eyes and spots a lone figure upon a hill, a musical instrument upon his back. Yes, one similar to the same that Ainome uses to entertain the Lord of the West, but shaped  differently and smaller. The mortal is wearing it upon his back in like form to the way Eonwe has strapped his broadsword, and Eonwe looks curiously upon the instrument, wondering to himself how it might be played in such a position as he walks up the hill and toward the figure, arranging his form to look no more than one of the second-born-- a child of man.

...he walks up the hill and toward the figure...

ℤakar slowly rises to his feet. He realizes sitting on the edge of a hill is not a safe place to be in his current state of mind. Turning, sees a man approaching, nearly all the way up the hill. A lord, Zakar surmises, based on his fine dress. Momentarily distracted, Zakar frowns. Has his grief dulled his senses so much so that someone could get so close without his noticing? "Yet what would it matter?’"Zakar pushes the unwelcome thought aside.

“Greetings,” he says, his voice flat.

"Greetings," he says, his voice flat.

Beyond them both, below the hill, the land has spread out her beauty beneath a sky that knows moon and sun in equal measure.  A mixture of smells assails Eonwe's nose: the salt of the sea, the smell of rich soil, the cold scent of rock, the warm smell of grass. Eonwe watches the  mortal before him rise, and it seems to the Maia, that this child of Eru is inured to it all.  His words of greeting with affect.  Eonwe slows his steps and dips his heads slightly. "Greetings, " he answers in a rich, deep voice. "The blessings of Eru upon you." He slowly looks about and then to the one before him. "Have I disturbed you?"

"The blessings of Eru upon you."

Even in his darkened state, Zakar perceives the majesty in the man’s voice; and yet there seems to be something more. Like a fresh breeze bringing a measure of relief to those in the aftermath of battle, Zakar finds the sound of the man’s voice to blow upon gloom enveloping his soul. Something in him whispers that this man can be trusted. Yet can this be true or the darkness in his mind deceiving him?
“Nay sir,” he replies, shaking his head. “I fear I am the one who darkens the landscape."

Eonwe tilts his head a little to one side, regarding this, one of the  Second-born, the Atani.  Different than elves in more than the length of their mortal lives, yet so much in common, for that pain which colors the words spoken it clear to the Herald of Manwe.  With the calm and sure tone he has had since the beginning, he answers, gesturing with a hand. "No, friend," he replies, "For here stands all the creation of Yavanna, green and vibrant, untainted by sorrow or pain, a sure assurance that we are connected to the source of love and light." He drops his hand, and then adds in a gentle voice, understanding now, how it feels to...feel. "Your words give voice to a sadness."

"Your words give voice to a sadness."

ℤakar observes the man, trying his best to set aside the troubles darkening his mind and not being very successful. It is evident that the man is perceptive and seems nonthreatening. He follows the man’s hand to look at the surrounding landscape, not catching the significance at his mentioning the name of a Queen of the Valar. Sorrow welled in his eyes as he fought to maintain his composure.
“It is missing a rose,” he whispers hoarsely.

"It is missing a rose," he whispers hoarsely.

"A rose, " the Maia murmurs, echoing the man's words.  The sadness is almost a taste, borne upon the very syllables.  "Tell me of your rose, friend. The sight and scent of it must be most precious to you."

Zakar hangs on the man’s words for a minute, a jumble of thoughts tumbling about in his mind. Finally he comes to the conclusion that he has nothing to lose and, perhaps, a glimmer of hope to be found.

“My Rose is dear to my heart. She is a fiery maiden with long, dark hair and golden eyes. She is headstrong and has been missing for many weeks now – far longer than she has ever been gone before. Her family is worried and I am beside myself. I have wandered these lands looking for some sign of her and find myself empty hand. I fear that she has come to some harm and is beyond our reach.”

He pauses as emotion threatens to overwhelm him again. Even as the words pour from his mouth, he thinks he has shared too much. But like the water behind a breached dam, they could not be stopped.

"What is beyond our reach, is not beyond the reach of Blessed Illuvatar," replies Eonwe, and his voice, full and melodious, is also deep and bears a compassion that surprises even the Maiar. "Can truly anyone or thing beyond our reach when we turn to Eru?"

  ℤakar looks at the dark haired lord curiously. Few in this land know of Eru. A small ray of hope broke through the dark night of his soul as he recognized the truth of the man’s words. Yet his despondency was not about to give up without a fight.

“I know that Ilulvatar holds all things in his hands and sees the beginning to the end. Knowing that, I can trust him to order my… our… steps; though some paths are harder to walk than others."

"..some paths are harder to walk than others."

Eonwe's blue eyes rest upon the face of the other man's, eyes that neither judge nor condemn, but are depthless.  He gives a small nod. This is the one he was told to seek out.  "True are your words, and yet, at the moment, your steps are most uncertain, at the time your eyes are blinded by your hurt and your anguish, even as your heart may lie, a dead and cold thing, yet even then, you are not alone."

Eonwe allows a glimmer of the light within, the eternal light that clothes his ethereal form, to shine through.  "Hail, Zakar," He says solemnly.  "I am Eonwe, the Herald of the Lord of the West, bidden to come to you in this time of your travail and  disconsolence.  Sent from Manwe's palace, Illmarin, upon  Mount Taniquetil I have come to deliver you hope."

ℤakar stand speechless, his mouth agape. All thought, fear and despair flee as he stands amazed at this declaration of the Maia. He had been taught about the Valar and the Maiar but he never expected to stand face to face with one – not in this life. ‘Hope” he had said. Dare he believe it… dare he not?
Slowly he becomes aware of himself yet no words can find his mouth. Unable to think of anything else, he bows respectfully.

...he bows respectfully.

The Voice of the Lord of the West speaks, and the very wind itself stills to listen, the words filling the air like the scent of myrrh.  "Heed now, Child of the Atani, the words from the Lord of the West brought forth from the mind of Blessed Eru, " he begins, and it is the calm and tranquil visage of the Herald that stand before Zakar now.

"Second born, but no less loved, the children of men scatter across middle earth, fertile like the creations of Yavanna, young while the Firstborn has grown into their years upon the mortal realm.  You have all but forgotten your father, Great Eru, but he has not forsaken you. This you must hold in your heart against the coming darkness.  You must embrace your firstborn brothers and sisters, for the one has need of the other.  Together, the Children must stand."

"...it is an existence that can but endure shortly."

His gaze is level as he speaks the next words. "Heed me now on the matter that transfixes your heart and scatters your thoughts.  Your Rose blooms forth the promise of mortal man, but carries also  the gift born to elven kind. Thus she hangs between this existence and the next, caught with fëa and hröa, soul and body, torn from each other.  For now she exists, but it is an existence that can but endure shortly."  He pauses to give the other time to digest his words.

Zakar stands transfixed as he hears...

ℤakar stands transfixed as he hears the words of Manwe’s Herald. Bitter hope are his words. What evil has befallen his beloved Rose. There is hope, that he must cling to. Separated? How? Unable to speak, his eyes beg for more.

For a moment, Eonwe stands, transfixed himself by the open and hurt look of this Child of Eru.  His heart tightens at the expression upon the young human's face, and for this moment, the Herald feels the pain and the loss.  He has been changed by the dark magicks in Mandos; even healed he has still been changed.  He takes a breath, calms this body and continues.  "Seek from the one who helped give her life the way to avoid her death.  Through the father, the daughter may be saved.  What he does not know, he knows."

"Through the father, the daughter may be saved..."

Zakars mouth move wordlessly as he digests Eonwe’s words. Her father? Torin? What does he know? How can he not know it?  He looks to the Maia: dare he ask for more? Realizing he has been given more than he prayed for, he quells his desire to interrogate Eonwe. His words have rekindled the flame of hope. He looks heavenwards and offers a silent prayer of thanks to Iluvatar.
“I thank you, lord, for the aid and comfort you have brought me, and I pray that Eru grants me the wisdom and skill to persevere to the end.”

"I thank you, lord, for the aid..."

"No lord am I, " answers Eonwe. "But rather a joyous and diligent servant of the Lord of the West.  Grateful I am to stand by his side, receive his words and do him service.  That it brings you comfort is the will of Eru, expressed through my Lord Manwe. " He takes a step back, swirling the cloak about him as he slowly shucks off the mortal, becoming again ethereal being.  "Peace to you, Zakar, child of Man. From your faith in Eru, draw your strength."

Then his form fades from mortal eyes, and joyfully, the Herald of the West flies back, pure spirit to his Lord's side, his soul singing with the pure and fierce knowledge that he is, once again, the Voice of the Lord of the West.

Zakar looks to where the Maia once stood. Hope and resolve rekindled in his soul, he goes in search of Torin.

...he goes in search of Torin.