Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien
My love is buried and gone...
It seems strange, as I stand here looking at the grey stone of Aragorn's tomb, that only days before he still walked and talked among us. And yet…I knew this time was coming. I saw it in the way his hair turned from brown to a sophisticated, silvery grey…in the beautiful, reverent lines of age that began to crisscross his face….and in the hesitant, wearied manner of his step. It was hard to acknowledge, at first. My father had warned me, and Elrond had warned me even more so. Death comes for the human; and we must acknowledge it and live with the simple truth that we are to be left behind…for a time.
All of our children came to the funeral. The babes I carried and birthed, dressed in their finest robes with tears on their cheeks and solemn expressions. And I, held in a place of honor yet wishing to be anywhere else….to be with him. I put on a strong face for Gondor, for my precious city so they could mourn their King as they should. I wanted to howl, to rail at the sky and throw myself over his body when they put him in the earth…but I could not. Instead I gripped Faelon's hand 'till he was pale with the pain, struggling to keep myself together as I watched the love of my life be buried in the cold depths of a tomb with no way out. I forced myself to sit next to an empty throne during the memorial feast, staring out on the masses of mourners with a screaming soul and trembling fingers.
Ainion…bless him. He came and sat with me halfway through the whole affair, leaning his silvery curls against my shoulder like he had when he was a babe. I suppose it's the only thing that carried me through the evening, stroking my hand through his hair as I drifted in and out of awareness. Miriel and Vanya stood in a corner looking devastated, Vanya with her husband and children and Miriel with copious glasses of wine. Faelon was absent, having chosen to return to the Tower after the burial, and I wished I was unimportant enough to have been able to go with him. Rilien had also neglected to appear after the main part of the service, choosing to return to his temporary rooms in Minas Tirith with his wife and child. Nithron, Feredir, and Alyan stood around a wizened Faramir, talking in soft tones while the old Steward spoke with a visiting Magistrate. Eowyn had passed some years ago, and her departure had left him changed…haunted. Still, he had his son, and he had made it clear that when he died he would succeed him.
My father had left me the Greenwood when he sailed, but I was not often there. There weren't many of my people left to govern in any case, and I left most of its care in the hands of the Council. Slowly, it became apparent that the existence of elves was becoming evermore scarce, and my heart ached for the way the world was changing. Gimli wrote occasionally, but his letters were becoming less and less and each one a little more confused than the one before. More often then not, they came accompanied with an apologetic letter from Gror, who explained that his aging father was nearing his Time, and we must excuse his occasional obscurity.
"Meleth…I wonder if we have done all we can in this life…to ensure that our legacies survive."
Though long ago, the memory is crystal clear to me. It was sometime after Rilien had left for the Greenwood with his wife, and we were standing out on the ramparts of the sixth tier. It was late evening, and night had fallen like the softest of blankets…enveloping us in a subservient starlight. Aragorn was leaning on a turret, and the soft rays of the moon danced across his features, throwing his visage into sharp relief. Smiling softly, he turned and cupped my cheek.
"Legolas, we can only live to the best of our intentions, understanding that our lives are ours and that we govern our choices." He chuckled. "Haven't we proven that against impossible odds we can succeed?"
"They say you cannot change Fate" I murmured, turning my head away.
A soft breeze whistled over the high and forbidding walls. Somewhere, a bell tolled, like some distant and forgotten memory. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.
"Well" he whispered, tilting my chin and reuniting our gaze. "Whoever "they" are...they are wrong."
The kiss was strong yet sweet, permeating my bones in a luxurious warmth. We made love that night like we hadn't in years; in a mess of tangled sheets, gasping breaths and stifled groans. It was true…what he said. Despite our own misgivings and despite the criticisms of others, we had flourished. Ainion had struck Yusraa down and reunited Rilien's soul with the afterlife, and we had lived out a great majority of our lives in peace. No matter how much we might wish to do more, it was really a rather selfish endeavor. We couldn't conquer the world, and neither of us were going to exist into eternity. The best thing we could do was be grateful for what we had, and what we'd accomplished.
The ceremony ended near midnight, and by then I wasn't sure if I could get out of my chair. Ainion helped me to the Royal Suite, but I bid him leave me at the entrance. He did so reluctantly, with many a worried glance over his shoulder. I waited until he had gone before entering to survey the room. I remember that it was filled with reminders of his presence. Since his death, I hadn't touched anything, preferring to avoid spending any time in our rooms as a way of avoiding my grief. Now, I was faced with the reality of it full force. Aragorn's sword still hung on the wall in the study, glinting softly in the firelight as if simply waiting for its master to return. There was his pipe resting on the beside table next to a pair of soft riding gloves that I'd given him for an Anniversary. His cape was slung over an armchair next to his desk, and a collection of scattered papers with his signature rested on the desk. Even more prominent was his scent; lingering like a whisper in the corners and permeating the bed…where I sank down in a kind of numb stupor.
I couldn't bring myself to weep, I felt that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop until all the moisture was wrung out of my body. With a kind of detached purpose, I wrenched back the sheets and crawled under the covers, huddling into Aragorn's usual spot like a man starved for air. Closing my eyes, I fell into a restless sleep; somewhere between unconsciousness and wakefulness. The next day, I woke feeling as if I was a shell of myself. The feeling was similar to when I had thought Aragorn fell in the warg battle on our way to Helm's Deep. Forcing myself out of bed, I stumbled to the study and wrenched out the papers my father had given me when he had named me King of the Woodland realm. Calling for an attendant, I wrote out a hasty missive and handed the papers away; cautioning him to give it to no one but its intended recipient. Once he had left, I made as surreptitious a way back to Rath Dinen as possible. I was given a few curious and occasionally sympathetic looks, but no one disturbed me.
The stone underneath my fingers is cold and unyielding…so unlike him. He was quick to listen, swift to understand. A thousand master craftsmen could carve his likeness in the glittering caves, but it would still be lifeless. Even as my limbs grow weak, my fingers curling against rough granite and deathly stone, I can't appreciate the motionless serenity in the mockup of my husband's visage. His body lies below; a body I loved more passionately and with more fervor than I could possibly love anything in this life or the next.
I cannot fault my father for not wanting to see this moment; there is nothing glorious or beautiful about Fading. The soul relinquishes its will and the body follows. Even as I sink to my knees in a darkened crypt, I can only think of seeing him again. Somewhere, a city is waking to face the light of a new day; a city I have given my life and my legacy to. My children are gathered here…and maybe it is fitting. They will not have to return now…not for a while in any case.
My hand slips from cold…marble fingers and into warm…soft ones. Somewhere, in a land far distant now, the door swings open and Faelon throws himself to the floor beside me, shouting desperately. But here…here grey eyes stare into mine with a warmth that leaves me sobbing with relief. Aragorn is here, he is young and whole and alive. I cannot go back. Familiar arms encircle me, draw me close, cradle my head in hands I have loved so long and so well and I can breathe again.
"Forever I am here" he whispers, and his voice echoes across the wastes of my heart, fluttering free to join his soul in a sky of splendor. "We are beyond…we are free…As I am…you are….
As you are…I am.
Author's Note: This has been a journey. To some of you, it may seem incomplete, and that might be because it somewhat is. Initially, I had intended to take As You Are, I am through all 100+ years of Aragorn's reign, but I quickly realized that this was a task far too daunting for me to take on...at least for now. In any case, this was always my plan for the end, though it came a little more quickly than I intended. However, I am satisfied with it. I am proud to say this is officially the first fanfic I have followed through to the very end. To those of you who have followed with me from the beginning, thank you. You committed and you stuck with it. I am so incredibly, terribly grateful. You've kept me going through this, even when I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. There were so many times I just wanted to walk away. Legolas and Aragorn's love was so tangible, and there were times when it overwhelmed me. I felt like I was being fraudulent, creating a bond so deep when in life romance just doesn't work that way. I hope I have done our couple, and you as readers, justice. Thank you for reading. I may occasionally do some one-shots, but this has been the bulk of the story. Much love to all of you here.
-M
