"My son, guide your people well," Aragorn told Eldarion. The young man
looked to be at his prime. His father's strength and wisdom was in him as
was his mother's beauty and grace.
"I will, Father, my King," Eldarion honoured his father one last time, then, with all Aragorn had entrusted him with, he pulled away from his mother and father. Finally, there in the House of the Kings, was left the Queen Arwen and the Lord Elessar. The ever glowing warmth in his blue eyes was still there, but was fading fast.
"My Lord," Lady Evenstar said as she laid her hand on his. "They hour is hard, but your strength has not failed you as of yet. There is still yet time in you."
"Lady Undómiel," breathed Aragorn, "the hour is indeed hard, yet it was made even in that day when we met under the white birches in the garden of Elrond where none now walk. And on the hill of Cerin Amroth when we forsook both the Shadow and the Twilight this doom we accepted." The words seemed laboured. Love for her was still like a radiance about him. No darkness, no evil would ever take that away from him.
"Take counsel with yourself, beloved, and ask whether you would indeed have me wait until I wither and fall from my high seat unmanned and witless. Nay, lady, I am the last of the Númenoreans and the latest King of the Elder Days; and to me has been given not only a span thrice that of Men of Middle-earth, but also the grace to go at my will, and give back the gift. Now, therefore, I will sleep. "I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you, to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men."
His hand gently turned over and gripped hers. There was a tenderness about it, but at the same time, weakness, she knew that he was waning.
"Nay, dear lord," insisted his love, fighting back a sea of tears, "that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Númenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive."
Her grief was obvious to him, but always he would remember their time together. In Rivendell; in Lothlorien, their love blossomed. On Cerin Amroth, in the gardens in Imlandris, they swore themselves to eachother. And within the walls of the fair city of Minas Trinth made it known that they would belong to each other forever.
"So It seems," Estel spoke softly. "But let us not be overthrown in the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring." A weak cough pierced Undomiel's heart. "In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory, Farewell!"
It was there then that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, lord of the Dunadan, heir to Isildur's throne, King of Men was released from his love, his home, everything. Within Arwen's grasp, her love, her life, her Estel, faded. No one would ever know how empty she felt right then. All she wanted was to be back in his arms. To hear his soothing voice one last time.
"I will, Father, my King," Eldarion honoured his father one last time, then, with all Aragorn had entrusted him with, he pulled away from his mother and father. Finally, there in the House of the Kings, was left the Queen Arwen and the Lord Elessar. The ever glowing warmth in his blue eyes was still there, but was fading fast.
"My Lord," Lady Evenstar said as she laid her hand on his. "They hour is hard, but your strength has not failed you as of yet. There is still yet time in you."
"Lady Undómiel," breathed Aragorn, "the hour is indeed hard, yet it was made even in that day when we met under the white birches in the garden of Elrond where none now walk. And on the hill of Cerin Amroth when we forsook both the Shadow and the Twilight this doom we accepted." The words seemed laboured. Love for her was still like a radiance about him. No darkness, no evil would ever take that away from him.
"Take counsel with yourself, beloved, and ask whether you would indeed have me wait until I wither and fall from my high seat unmanned and witless. Nay, lady, I am the last of the Númenoreans and the latest King of the Elder Days; and to me has been given not only a span thrice that of Men of Middle-earth, but also the grace to go at my will, and give back the gift. Now, therefore, I will sleep. "I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world. The uttermost choice is before you, to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men."
His hand gently turned over and gripped hers. There was a tenderness about it, but at the same time, weakness, she knew that he was waning.
"Nay, dear lord," insisted his love, fighting back a sea of tears, "that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Númenoreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive."
Her grief was obvious to him, but always he would remember their time together. In Rivendell; in Lothlorien, their love blossomed. On Cerin Amroth, in the gardens in Imlandris, they swore themselves to eachother. And within the walls of the fair city of Minas Trinth made it known that they would belong to each other forever.
"So It seems," Estel spoke softly. "But let us not be overthrown in the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring." A weak cough pierced Undomiel's heart. "In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory, Farewell!"
It was there then that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, lord of the Dunadan, heir to Isildur's throne, King of Men was released from his love, his home, everything. Within Arwen's grasp, her love, her life, her Estel, faded. No one would ever know how empty she felt right then. All she wanted was to be back in his arms. To hear his soothing voice one last time.