Lament
By Colorain
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, or the concepts for their species or the ideas people have on their longevity. They belong to whoever has the distinct pleasure of holding Tolkien's copyright. Who that is, I don't know. Umm, and yeah. I don't know how Aragorn died or anything, so this is written assuming something. I think you'll figure it out.
Warning! Colorain wrote something slashy. If you don't like it, go away. Because you know what? It's nice slash, it's my first attempt at slash, and I happen to like the pairing!
Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children.
And while I know the saying doesn't hold completely true in these circumstances, the pain is still the same.
That I could have done nothing to stop it does not console me. That there are things beyond my—beyond anyone's control to stop or slow is of no comfort. I knew it had to happen, love. I knew I had to see it, but I never wanted to.
I feel like I have let you down. When others speak of love, they talk of the stupid things they have done for it. Followed someone to the ends of the earth and back. Let them go for the sake of their own happiness. Willing to die for them. Die for them.
I should have died in your place. It would have been fair. I have lived my life, I have seen all that I wish to see. I have loved. And I have lost.
And it is the losing that hurts the most.
You hated me seeing you grow old, even as I remained young. How my skin was smooth even as yours grew depths unknown. How your eyes grew cloudy even as mine were clear. You were ashamed, though I still loved you.
I loved you. And it is from my own stupidity, from my own pain that I could not bear to see you die.
I ought to have been there. I might have eased your passage into the next world. You would have been happy, seeing me one last time. We never truly got to say goodbye.
Truth be told, it would be proof that I had lost you. And as long as I stay away, it is as if you still live on. Not just in my heart, not just in my soul, but in flesh and blood.
And at night, I dream of you. I hate to see the morning sun, for it means I am giving you up for another day. My dreams are my most vivid memories, and I clasp them close to my heart.
In another three thousand years, I wonder if I will forget you. What will the name of Aragorn mean to me when I myself am old? Will it break down the walls of my mind, and I will remember you? Remember your face, your voice, your body as I do so completely now?
Or will it be nothing but a song on the breeze? Will I catch the last strains and labor to place it? I will fail, knowing and also not knowing you.
But my greatest fear is that the name of Aragorn will mean nothing to me. That you will have fled so completely from my mind that none recalls you. And while it seems perhaps a blessing to some, I would live out my days in constant fear of the one where you would be gone.
Sleep well, my beloved Aragorn. If you shall wait for me, I will come.
