Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, etc. mentioned in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkein. I do not have anywhere near the level of creative genius it takes to create a world with this much coolness. I am making no money by writing this fanfiction.

A/N: I know that Aragorn only lived 210 years in the books, but I thought that that wasn't near long enough, since there is recorded proof that there are people today who have lived to be as old as 115 years, and I thought that as a man with a "longer than normal" lifespan, he should at least live to be 250 years old. Don't sue me. ;) Also, for the sake of convenience, Eldarion does not exist in this particular story. I felt much too lazy to calculate his age, and simply could not be bothered with math. Sorry!

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Long, slender fingers caressed the stone casket, the being whom the fingers belonged to lost in thought, reminiscing about the valiant man the casket protected from the elements. The elf's long, dark hair tumbled down her back, the usually well kept hair now slightly tangled with neglect.

It had been only four days since Aragorn fell. Four days, and yet the very moment that Aragorn's life left his body, Arwen felt her own will to live begin to ebb. She had no further reason to live, and the cruelty of the world in taking her love now became unbearably strong. She remembered the first time she had met Estel, in Lothlórien. How he had mistaken her for her ancesstress Tinúviel, how from that moment she had resolved to forsake her immortality and marry him.

Indeed, after he had journeyed many long years and finally fulfilled the condition her father had set for him - that he first become the King of Gondor and the lost kingdom of Arnor - she had become mortal, and given up the gift of the First Born. Aragorn had ruled his kingdom for 160 years, and during those years his people had prospered under his fair and just rule.

Now, he was gone. Never again would she behold his shining grey eyes, so full of wisdom gained in his hard life, and in the eyes of an elf who had lived over 2,000 years, a painfully short life. But now she fully understood the benifit of such a shortened life. Those who lived such a life lived in the moment, they knew that each day could very well be their last. Arwen would have never given up the years she had spent with Estel, not even for another several thousand years of peace.

Arwen had known the moment she felt the light of Estel's life extinguish within her heart that she would not succeed her husband on the throne of Gondor. She had left that duty to the descendant of Faramir, and knew that he would uphold the current harmony of the land. She had no more worries.

Sighing in contentment, Arwen lay down alongside Aragorn's casket, knowing that she would soon see Estel again. In the very near future, she would again behold her husband's silvery eyes, and rest with him for the rest of eternity. She knew, and she was glad that she had forsaken her immortality. For if she had not, her death would have been very lonely indeed.

Arwen was not alone, and neither was Aragorn. They were together.