Beyond the Stars
Rose G
Disclaimer - These characters are property of Tolkien, and I have made no money from using them.
The King pushed his old horse into a stiff canter, feeling pain with every unlevel step the stallion took over the wide expanse of Pelannor Fields. The winters breeze blew their greying hair back beyond them, the cold shine of the remote stars called to them, the frost silvered grass and trees held them, binding them for now to the World, Ea, that they loved. And ahead of them lay death, waiting like a Warg after its prey, waiting to claim this Man that so loved life and the stallion that he rode.
Aragorn raised one weary hand up to his face, then dropped his hand to the bays neck, feeling the damp sweat of his horse. Anduril was slung at his side as ever, yet he saw that the blade was dull, the point blunted from wear. He felt cold, tired, almost - he admitted to himself - old. Is this what all mortal men feel when they began to age, and how long does this feeling last, from when it begins to when death claims them?
The old stallion, a distant descendant of Roheryn, stumbled forward on the icy ground, throwing Aragorn onto his neck, and the King saw the grey streaks in his mane, the white hairs on the muzzle of his steed. 'Poor old fellow, Haleryn. I know what you feel like. To live like this is agony indeed, to be trapped in Minas Tirith's towers and endless streets by winter and our age. Would I that I could ride again to Bree, to camp once more on the banks of the Brandywine, to drink Butterbur's ale with Halbarad and Gandalf in front the fire at the Prancing Pony. Why does any man long for a kingdom when this is what he wins?'
Sighing, he reined Haleryn in and loosed the horse, biding him to return when called or if he was not called, to return to Gondor or wherever he would, for his owner would have no further need of a horse, let alone an ageing stallion bred for him by Arwen as a war horse. For his owner, King of the Reunited Realms found now that he no longer wished to go to war even to protect his lands, as he felt that he had spent too many years in their service and now hated the security that the kingdom gave him.
Standing tall and silent in the centre of the Pelannor Fields that had never been built on as too many bodies lay there still, King Elessar watched the last sunlight fade from the sky and the stars raise and spin above him. Silver the stars were, silver the frosty grass about his feet, and black was all the rest of the world about him yet blackness more different to the choking shadows of Morgoth's and Sauron's reigns could not be envisioned.
He turned stiffly to look at the stars reflected in a soak of water; their shaped teased and twisted by the wind. On this spot, so many yeas ago now, he had stood with Halbarad, Legolas, and Gimli, mounted on Roheryn. A ray of sunlight, he remembered, had touched them as they stood there with Halbarad's standard snapping overhead, and in that moment, he had felt the crown of Gondor on his head, seen Arwen walking beside him in Minas Tirith as his wife and heard Sauron's screams of despair. In that second, he had given up his identities of Strider the Ranger, of Estel, Elrond's son and become Elessar of Gondor. Here, he had had his last taste of the wild joy of freedom and the ecstasy of battle and it was here, he knew where he had to give up what he had loved so much.
The breeze whistled strongly for a moment, an eerie sound across the plain and carrying the soft sound of an Elven tread. Lost in memories and regrets, Aragorn sunk to the grass and buried his head in his hands, his thoughts drifting back to the last days in Gondor.
Merry and Pippin - How much I miss them two, troublemakers though they were. Never shall I forget Merry's face that day when Pippin swapped his ale for all water and earth, and that poor Halfling drunk it. And was it only a week before Pippin died that Merry fed his hill pony so many oats that it threw Pippin when he mounted? If only I could see them once again, I believe that I could almost forgive them for stealing my pipe-weed.
Pippin had died only days before he had left Gondor, and with awful clarity, he could see recall couching alongside the hobbits bed, willing him to breath, to defeat the sickness and live, and he could remember himself calling out in grief even while attempting to comfort Merry. And in his heart, he had known even as he mounted Haleryn that Merry would not see him again.
And Arwen, my beloved Evenstar who I will love unto the Last Battle and the very End of Days. How I brought myself to part from her I do not know. I believe she knows what I am doing for she has known my heart since first we met and the look in her eyes was that of parting. Oh Arwen, if only you could ever know how much I love you and how much I hate myself for making you give up the life of the Eldar.
Again on the wind, he heard what sounded like an Elven tread and distracted from his grief and his fear of what was laying ahead of him, he glanced over the vast plain where he had come into his birthright. It was a clear night yet a cloud of mist shimmered near to him, and he shook his head; feeling clearly now the frustration of old age which meant he was unable to investigate the cloud.
Summoning his strength, he spoke aloud to himself, to Halbarad whose bones had bleached here and then enriched the earth, and to the memories, written in the wind, of all those that he had loved. His voice, for so long now shaky and weak was strong once more, telling of his joy in being alive, of being King of Gondor and of his great love for Arwen. 'To my ancestors long ago, you did give the gift of being able to depart in peace when so they may wish. If by my actions, you find me a worthy heir to the line of Elendil, then, Valar, it is soon indeed that I would wish to exercise your gift.' He bowed his head in a gesture of respect.
The mist seemed to cover him now, he realised, as though it had crept up when he was praying. It shimmered, seeming to be all shades at once, made of everything in Middle Earth and yet no more than an illusion. The Elven tread was very close, and a rough hand touched his shoulder.
'Well, Aragorn, it would seem that your time has come. Could you not have hurried more along the way, or were the inns of Gondor too inviting?' Halbarad spoke softly, mockingly. 'Are you ready to come with me now?'
'Yes.' Darkness flowed over the plain, the wreath or spirit of a man, and the body of the King.
A/N - I know Halbarad isn't an Elf, but being a Ranger and a close kinsman to Aragorn, there's quite a chance he had picked up Elvish characteristics.