The sun is setting somewhere, lost behind the thick veil of fog.

Grey.

Everything is grey. The sky is choked with clouds and the city reflects the dull color sorrowfully, as though the world itself weeps for him. Everything is dismal, empty, staring out like the desolate, ashen remains of something that was once full of life.

Like him.

His eyes stare back at me, almost lifelike, and I trace the cold features of his face. So like him, and yet not. My hands are shaking. I can't make them stop.

The cold stone glares back at me through the haze of hot tears. If you lie here lifeless, then why do I feel like I'm the one who died? Why did you leave me here?

Without hope.

Someone gently moves to pull me away. No! Don't make me move. Don't you understand? He was my hope. Is this the doom I have accepted, to fade into nothingness, erased by the never-ending tides of time? To suffer knowing I shall never hear his laugh again?

I trace the lines of my dress. It's black, and I feel invisible, lost in the shadows of grief. Everything just feels so wrong without him. I miss you, Aragorn. My fingers grip the velvety fabric in a death grip.

Black.

Such and appropriate color for death. It is hopeless, having no light or brightness. It is like the shadows of despair, like the night in the frozen winter that comes without a star to bring warmth.

Burning tears thread their ways down my face. I do not cry alone, but in my anguish is found more sorrow then is their ability to understand. Bittersweet pain, grief is called by some, but my eyes seek joy in its smallest form and find none. There is nothing without him.

I had not yet tired of my days, dwelling within this place that was always my home because you were here. You were my home. Now, every moment is filled with pain so numbing and so sharp it rips my soul to more pieces then I had ever imagined possible.

The wind is cold. It whips through this place with no mercy, keen and biting. It stings the rivers of tears that fall down my face, but perhaps I welcome the pain, for it makes the hurting inside seem less, though only a bit, only for a moment.

This world is empty without you. My kin have departed from these forsaken lands. They have sought the shores beyond the Sea, and their light and laughter shall never again be seen or heard in the forests, or their voices raised I song in the valleys of the north.

But I. I will walk forgotten paths in ancient lands where nothing but ruins remain of the great cities, and the memories that lie upon them are lost from the world. I will accept the doom that I brought upon myself when I first beheld you, though I depart in despair in sorrow.

Night has fallen, all around and in my heart, yet here I remain, as though if I do not look away the cold stone will breathe as though it were you, and speak words of comfort to me, to tell me there is still hope, yet a carven image does not draw breath, nor speak any words, not even to calm the fierce storm of grief.

Something hits my hand and I study the cold drop lying there before recognition dawns through the fog of my mind. It's raining. The skies above weep, unleashing their torrents, battering the stone courtyard. The water runs along the lines of his proud face.

I'm shaking. Everything is cold. The night has come without a star. There is no hope. Hot tears stream fiercer, the only warmth to my cold, numb face. My heart is burning, my throat aches with unvoiced sobs.

Frozen.

The world is frozen, lost in the cold, vicious pain. My legs feel so weak, I can't hold on anymore. I slip to the ground, knees colliding with the hard, unforgiving floor, but the sharp darts and little compared to the ache inside. The rain is icy, pounding me harshly, stinging in the biting winds.

"Estel."

The parched, broken voice can't be my own. I weep, praying for something, I don't know quite what. I would give the world to hear your voice again. Maybe I just want to die. Would it really be that hard to leave the stifling grief?

"Arwen!"

The voice came ringing through the torrents, clear and bright, but I don't remember who it is that calls me. It's so familiar, but all thoughts seem lost in this numbing, wrenching pain.

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. I don't want to stand. I just want to die. A hand grips my chin gently and I open my eyes to find a blue, piercing gaze that is filled with care and pity. Something about them is haunting, and a pain lies in their fathomless depths. I pull away from the grasp and nearly fall, but am caught and held securely.

"No." I mumble, trying to get away. I don't want to leave. I don't want to be alone. I kick feebily, but I have no strength, and the ground vanishes from beneath me as I am scooped up into strong arms. A name comes darting into my thoughts. "No.Legolas."

He says nothing, for there is nothing to say. He can see it, the despair in my eyes. I bury my face in his shoulder, shivering violently, sobbing into his soft tunic. I can feel him tense beneath me, fighting his own pain.

"Aragorn." I say his name, over and over, crying brokenly, "Estel."

There is no hope without him.