Disclaimer: Tolkien owns it. Christopher, currently, I believe.
In his heart, he had known.
He had always known, really.
When his father knelt by his side and told him, with loving words and a slight smile, that women carrying child always had a beautiful glow, he had known it was more. His mother had been renown for her beauty, surpassing all the world. He had seen her glow in the moonlight. He had seen her face light up with the dawn. He had felt the air itself grow brighter in her presence. He knew her light for it was also in him. But when she carried them, he had known.
The day she gave birth to them, it was raining. The hallway was dark and the sounds of her cries made the world heavy and oppressive. Darkness had settled over the white marble and the rain fell hard across the ground, dampening the sound of the wind. Hours trickled by and his eyelids drooped as he slumped back against the shady walls.
It was not sound that awoke him from his half-slumber. He could feel them. The halls became lighter, the stones welcomed the rain, and the grieving sky lifted. Water tinkled against stone and the wind died to a small breeze. He heard the cries of small bodies and immediately let himself into the room. The air was hot and stuffy, but he did not notice.
He knew, then, when he saw them.
Two of them, yellowish and identical, crying as they were wrapped tightly in blankets and handed to his exhausted mother. She smiled at them and together they seemed brighter than the sun. He had looked at his father, but his father hadn't noticed. His mother was dimmer, she had given much of her own light to the twins.
Aduial and Aeliel, twin girls. They were his sisters, named for the evening and rain under which they were born. Every day he watched them, and loved them, but grew sadder because he knew. Every day his mother and father grew dimmer, closer to their end, and as their light wanned the twins' grew ever brighter.
When the day came, and he was bestowed the crown and sword of his fore bearers, he knew. The sky dimmed as his father passed beyond this world, and the earth was silent as his mother walked down the marble steps toward the golden leaves of Lorien where she could, once again, gain peace. He had turned from her as she walked, dim and dark down the white steps, and he saw his sisters. Tall and beautiful, they were lit with all the goodness of the stars in the twilight. His chest tightened as he heard their lament resound through the rings of the city, and he knew.
All the grace his mother held, all the grace of the Eldar, had passed to them. He, unlike them, was as mortal as their father. They were too beautiful to be mortal, too sorrowful to know the passing of time, and he knew that. He had always known that.
Perhaps it was because he had known for so long or perhaps it was the numbness of his heart as his family broke apart, but he did not weep when they left him. He could only stare as they rode away from the white city toward the ancient havens. When they crossed over the horizon, he knew he would never see them again. They would pass beyond his world, just as his mother and father had.
He always knew it would come to this.
He always knew he would be alone when he was king.
The last, without family or comfort, the last son of the Eldar.
Eldarion.
A/N: Usually I write pointless fluff, or romantic drama. I don't know why I wrote this or what inspired me--but I like it, so I decided to post it.