Hey guys! So I was reading the appendices to LOTR and in the one concerning Aragorn and Arwen it said "But Arwen went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star." And I thought "Hmmm, that would make a decent title for a fic." :p Here's the result, written during a particularly long and boring car trip :) Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters, places, etc. belong to J. R. R. Tolkien.

'The King is dead; long live the King!' I can hear the bells tolling, a mournful sound that seems to come from a distance.

All sounds are muffled; the light of the day is dulled. Estel lies peacefully on his tomb in Rath Dínen. He could be asleep, were it not for his deathly pallor and the lack of the steady rising and falling of his chest. I still hold his hand; I held it throughout the night as I heard his raspy breaths become shallower and shallower, until no sound but my own breathing could be heard. Strange is the gift Ilúvatar bestowed upon the Edain: to be so short-lived, so ephemeral.

My face is resting upon Estel's chest when the caretakers arrive to take him away, to prepare him for the gloom of his marble tomb. I stand up and leave. I cannot bear seeing them lifting his lifeless body.

I feel the crisp morning air on my face as I leave the tombs, and I wander aimlessly through the city. Passersby murmur their condolences, to which I only half-consciously reply with a little, almost imperceptible nod. Minas Tirith seems drained of its beauty, the same way I feel drained of my life, a mere shell of my old, happier self. My little Eldarion is king now. He looks so much like me, but his temper is Estel's; he passed to him his wisdom, his honour, his fidelity and, by the Valar, his heart. He will make a grand leader for these people, that I know. The realm is in good hands.

I must depart. To Lothlórien, the land of my kin, I will go. I cannot stand the idea of my beloved children having to watch their naneth waning by the day, nay; I will not have them suffer the same way I did when my naneth was attacked.

OO°oo°OO°oo°OO°oo°OO

I stand in front of the mirror in my chambers. The light in my eyes is dulled, my elven beauty is dimmed; I seem paler, an unhealthy shade of grey, and dark bags adorn my lower lids. I lie on my bed, discarding my queenly composure, and I weep bitterly. How I wish Estel's tomb was mine too.

OO°oo°OO°oo°OO°oo°OO

Lórien is changed. The once glorious mellyrn, which would have turned golden by this time of the year, have shed their leaves. To me they look naked, unprotected, a shadow of what they used to be. Are they not much like me?

I finally arrive at Cerin Amroth; so many happy memories waft from the shadowy nature around me. Here, many years ago, Estel and I plighted our troth, and I forsook the Life of the Eldar. Now, among the elanor and niphredil, I lie down and, at last, accept the Doom of Men.

OO°oo°OO°oo°OO°oo°OO

Night falls; Varda lays her velvety veil upon Arda, but this time, no star comes to greet the snow-laden lands. The last of the Eldar in the East has passed beyond the Circles of the World.

Notes:

Naneth (S) - mother