This is, in my opinion, the best LOTR fanfic I ever wrote. That is to say, I actually got the plot right! I hope you like it. I wrote it after I thought I had given up fanfic, but part of the plot came to me in a dream, so I just had to write it. I think the Aragorn in the story may owe more to other people's fanfics than to the actual book, but there you go.


And by the love of him also.

"I was held to the road only by the will of Aragorn."

"And by the love of him also," said Legolas. "For all those who come to know him come to love him after his own fashion."

"The Last Debate", The Return of the King. LOTR p. 908 (London: Harper Collins, 1993 edition)

Chapter 1.

Éomer was failing. He had not said as much, but Aragorn knew it. He looked now much as Théoden had looked when the remnants of the Fellowship had first entered the Golden Hall. He might last another winter in good weather, but already Elfwine was taking much responsibility in Rohan. When the two kings had last met, Éomer had talked of sending for Master Holdwine, as he called Merry. Yes, that would be good, thought Aragorn. He longed to see Merry and Pippin again, especially now that Sam was gone. Only now they would be old, too. They were all old – Éomer, Faramir, even Éowyn. It burned his heart to think how young and strong they had been when they had all fought together in this very place. It was part of the curse and blessing of his Dúnedain heritage. He would outlive them all.

He looked out over the city walls across the Pelennor Fields. The clouds were flying across the sky in the spring breeze. It was a beautiful day, if a little cold. He cleared his throat and coughed slightly. He had better make an infusion of lime flowers. The illness he had suffered this winter had been harsh and did not bear repeating. It had been the first time since childhood that he had succumbed like this and he had seen it in Arwen's eyes – the fear of mortality. But, no, there was nothing for her to fear. He had many, many years ahead of him. It seemed he had proved that to her too this winter, he thought with a smile.

"Of what do you dream, Estel?"

He turned to his wife, still smiling, as she entered the garden behind him. The light of the Evenstar would never fail or fade. She was his star of hope.

"I dream of you, melleth."

He coughed again. Tiny furrows appeared between Arwen's flawless eyes.

"That cough is slow to heal, Estel. I am not happy. You should take the sea air somewhere."

"Pelargir!" His eyes twinkled. "I know some excellent taverns there."

"I do not send you to the sea for the good of your lungs to have you corrupt them in a tavern smoke-room."

She knew he was only joking. He did not smoke much now anyway, only when he missed Bree and the Shire. However, he still liked to drop in on taverns, cloaked and hooded. It kept him in better contact with his people than he often was here in the White City. He enjoyed sending little messages afterwards: the King finds your ale most agreeable. He laughed, inwardly. Perhaps not Pelargir.

"Dol Amroth, then?"

It was a beautiful city. Imrahil was dead now, but his son kept a fine court with the grace one could only expect from elven heritage. If he dared to say there was a more beautiful city than Minas Tirith, it would be Dol Amroth.

Arwen nodded.

"Shall I come with you?"

"I had rather you stayed," he said, "although the Warden has no idea how your condition is treated in an Elf."

"It is not treated in an Elf!" Her laughter was like the music of waterfalls. "But I will stay if it brings you peace."

He gently put a hand over her womb. She always brought him peace. And now she brought the future as well. Death and life. Such was the way of things.

He did want her to stay. But he did not really want to go to Dol Amroth without a companion. It now made him sadder than ever that all his old friends were so – old. To ride out together again would be wonderful, a better cure than any sea breeze. Of course, he thought to himself. Legolas. Legolas was not old. That is to say, of course he was old, older than all of them. Sometimes the wisdom in his eyes now was frightening. It reminded him of the Elvenking, Thranduil, although he did not imagine his friend would thank him for the comparison. He had tried to do all things in Ithilien as unlike his father as possible. But there was no weariness of age on Legolas. His was the life of the Eldar. He would go on in the strength of youth when Aragorn rested with his fathers.

Legolas. It was a long time since Aragorn had seen his elven friend. The People of the Wood did not come to the city as much as they had in the early years. He knew the Elf often rode to Rohan to see Gimli but, apart from that, he mostly remained under the trees, hidden from the sight of most Men, Aragorn imagined. Yes. He would send for Legolas. They would ride out together and enjoy fellowship once more.

"Estel?"

He had not realised how his mind had wandered.

"Forgive me, melleth. Shall we go indoors?"

He took her arm and walked under the archway, feeling suddenly peaceful. He would send for Legolas this afternoon.