Disclaimer: I own nothing. Anything that you recognise belongs to the very talented J.R.R. Tolkien.
He is tired.
I see it in the way his eyes lower when I ask him about his day, the way he hands his crown and cloak to me wordlessly instead of hanging them up himself as he always does.
I tell him to take a bath, attempting to lighten the mood by playfully telling him that he smells, but he merely gives me a ghost of a smile before retreating to the bathroom. As I stand there holding his discarded clothes, the sound of splashing water floats through my keen ears, but not the loud and boisterous songs he usually sings, exposing his Dunedain side.
I fear the King in him is slowly consuming his Ranger side, day by day.
My father was wise beyond his years, but now I wonder whether what he said was really true. Is Aragorn really born to be King Elessar of Gondor, and not just Strider, a ranger from the North? Despite the wisdom of my race, we are failing, and I despair that even my father, respected highly among all the great races of Middle-Earth, was wrong in his prediction of the future.
The sounds in the bathroom cease, and I hurry to compose my features into a smile, quickly hanging up Estel's clothes and crown. I smooth the bedspread down just as Estel steps out of the bathroom, clean and fresh. When he was a ranger, his face was dirtied and though I did not tell him, his body smelly. But now at the sight of his smooth, worn face, I feel a pang of emptiness.
He shuts off the flickering light, and we get into bed. He turns away from me, facing the other side, and though the bed is small I feel the worlds of distance between us. I finally speak, wanting to know what troubles him.
What weighs on your heart, Estel? I ask him. He is the Hope of Men, the Elfstone of Elves. Hope never dies down, nor falters.
He does not reply for a long time, but his breathing is uneven, and I know he is awake in the dark. I stare up at the ceiling, my sharp eyes picking up the details on the smooth stone. I miss the valleys and waterfalls of Imladris, where even after everyone settled down, I could still hear the whisper of the wind, feel the kiss of moonlight. I gave that all up for Estel, for this city of stone, and I still do not regret it, but now that he is not responsive I find it hard not to feel otherwise.
Do you regret it, Evenstar? His voice startles me out of my daze, and his words take a few minutes to sink in.
And I know immediately what he is referring to. He is asking me if I regret not taking the route to the Grey Havens, if I regret leaving my father and the rest of my kindred behind, choosing instead to dwell with him, my mortal love.
There is a moment's silence as he waits, his expectant breath whispering against my ears. I want to speak, but no words come out of my mouth until after some time.
And then a smile bursts forth on my lips, and I turn to him. The movement jars the bed, and he turns slightly as well, meeting my eyes. I hope he can see the love and affection I have for him shining in the dark, even with his mortal eyes.
No, Estel. Not once have I regretted it, and never will I feel that way.
He searches my eyes, finding them clean of deception, and finally he gives me a genuine smile that shines bright as starlight.
And finally, he sleeps.