Name the Hour
The setting sun cast a wash of crimson over the Undying Lands, and a full moon was beginning to rise. The autumn air was warm, with no wind to disturb the trees. The very atmosphere tingled with expectation.
It was Fëadur, or Spirit-Night; the one night when the spirits of the dead could leave the Halls of Mandos and visit their living loved ones. The night occurred every few years, when the full moon rose on the last night of October. It was regarded as a night of joy; this year, however, it was laden with grief. For one year apart on this date, Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Undomiel had died.
Elrond Peredhel sat silently by his bedroom window, gazing out at the deepening dark. A candle shone next to him, casting weird shadows on the walls. He ignored them; he was lost in thought. His daughter had followed her husband to the Halls of Mandos, but Elrond refused to let their spirits die.
There was an old saying that the only time a person really died was when his or her name was no longer spoken. It had become a ritual with Elrond and his wife, Celebrian, to speak both Arwen and Aragorn's names on a regular basis, multiple times a day, to ensure that they were never really gone. Now it was time again.
"Arwen Undomiel," the elf whispered reverentially. Now his daughter's spirit was alive for at least another few hours. "Aragorn Elessar." That preserved his son-in-law.
"Elrond?" said a voice behind him.
He turned; it was Celebrian. He gave her a warm smile, which she returned.
"How are you?" she asked, moving to seat herself beside him.
Elrond was silent for a moment.
"It's been a year," he murmured, after a lengthy pause. "It seems like forever."
"And are they still here?" Celebrian asked.
Elrond nodded. "Their names are still spoken."
"Good," said Celebrian softly. "I will never forget them."
"Nor will I," Elrond replied.
They fell silent, gazing at the rising moon. It was nearing eleven; the true purpose of Fëadur was about to be manifest.
Every Spirit-Night, at eleven o'clock precisely, Námo would gather the Dead and bid them to follow him across Valinor and Arda, where they would spend some time with their living kinsfolk. After two hours, Námo would bring the spirits back to his halls to wait another few years.
The coming of a spirit was always heralded by three knocks on a door. The two-hour period was known as Námo's Knock, although in reality it was the spirits who did the knocking, having been given temporary corporeal bodies.
The moon hung in the sky like half a buttered biscuit, eerily lighting the ground below. Anyone looking to the West would see a host of silvery figures gliding silently eastward across Valinor, led by a dark shape. Námo was coming.
Elrond and Celebrian waited with bated breath; their ears were pricked, ready to detect the fateful sound of three raps of bone on wood. The minutes crept by… midnight was nearing…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"It's time!" Celebrian gasped. "Get the door!"
Elrond leapt up, knowing just who he would find. He had always been visited by his late brother, Elros, who had died thousands of years earlier. He never missed an opportunity to catch up on life, in a manner of speaking.
Elrond flung the door open, smiling in delight as he was folded in a tight, brotherly embrace. He gazed lovingly into a face that was almost his reflection, though it was much younger.
"Welcome back, Elros!" Elrond cried, even as the breath was forced from his lungs.
"Good to be back," his younger twin grinned, releasing him. "How is everything?"
Elrond hesitated for a moment before he replied, "Almost the same as last time. I trust you'll notice the difference."
Elros nodded. "Yes, your wife isn't here."
"Celebrian? She's here," said Elrond, sounding mildly surprised. "What I meant was—"
"Us," said a soft voice.
Elrond stared over his brother's shoulder at the two figures who stood on the threshold. The first was a man clad in kingly attire; on the second figure, a woman, dark, wavy hair framed a pale face with bright blue eyes, and a sweet, familiar smile…
"Aragorn," Elrond whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. "Arwen… You're here."
They nodded, moving gracefully forward. Elrond stepped slightly away from his brother to embrace his daughter and son-in-law, feeling tears pouring down his face.
"I never forgot you," he told them. "Celebrian and I have been saying your names regularly for the past year, just so your spirit will never really fade…" He knew they knew of the saying.
"But we won't fade," Arwen replied fondly. "We're right here."
"Arwen!" gasped another voice.
Elrond turned to see his wife hurrying into the room. He released Arwen and let Celebrian hold her, as tears of joy streaked their cheeks.
Arwen and Elros were both eager to know everything that had happened since the last Fëadur (or in Arwen and Aragorn's case, their deaths). Elrond and Celebrian told them about it just as earnestly.
"Lady Vairë's tapestries don't give out the small details," said Elros reminiscently. "She only weaves the basic things. It's good to be able to visit, and catch up on things…"
Elrond nodded, turning to Arwen and Aragorn. "How is death suiting you?"
"Death is much the same as life in many ways," Arwen replied. "Lord Námo's halls are beautiful, and Lady Vairë's tapestries just add to the splendor. We don't have to worry about eating or drinking, either."
"That's the one thing I missed," Elros sighed. "Food."
The elves and human laughed. Elrond gave his younger brother a playful poke on the arm. "You missed food? You were always the picky eater!"
"I was not – that was you!" cried Elros.
"It wasn't!" protested Elrond.
"It was!" Elros retorted.
"It wasn't!"
"Was!"
"Wasn't!"
"Stop it, you two," chuckled Celebrian. "You're acting like children."
Elrond pulled a mock scowl. "Who are you, our mother?"
"I'm your wife," she countered swiftly. "That settles it."
"Well, I can't argue that," Elrond shrugged.
"I can," Elros grinned. "She's not my wife!"
"No, but she's your sister-in-law," smirked Elrond. "Isn't that just as bad?"
Elros opened his mouth, but Arwen intervened. "Don't start again, Uncle."
The half-elf closed his mouth, faking a pout. Elrond laughed again.
Aragorn glanced outside, to where the moon was a little lower in the sky.
"It's getting late; we should move on," he said. "It has been a pleasure, Lord Elrond."
Arwen nodded, rising also. "I'm afraid so. Goodbye, Ada… Naneth."
Elrond and Celebrian moved forward, sadly embracing their daughter once again. Already her body was becoming like mist. Elros put his arms gently around his twin, and the two brothers held each other fondly.
But at last they parted, and the three spirits moved toward the door. Just before their bodies faded fully, they whispered together, "Remember us, until next time."
"We will," vowed Elrond and his wife.
Then Elros, Arwen and Aragorn were gone.
But it wasn't to be forever. Husband and wife smiled softly and said together, "Elros Tar-Minyatur… Aragorn Elessar… Arwen Undomiel."
Because some people never really die.