1.1 Chapter 3
Tapestries of gold and burgundy decorated the walls. Banners of old were suspended from the ceiling. Curtains of the softest silk hung over the windows and above the bed on which the men reverently laid their uncrowned King.
Arwen was beside him in an instant, hand gripping her beloved's in fear, fingers trembling and tears falling like rain down her cheeks.
Elrond sat at Aragorn's side, working as quickly as he could, treating Aragorn's wounds with skilled hands. He struggled to hide the fear that he would not have the ability, this time, to pull from the fires of death another who had been stung by a Morgul blade.
Elrond tore at Aragorn's leather tunic, taking a small knife hidden in his cloak and ripping the material, when shaking fingers wouldn't work fast enough. He winced when the fabric parted revealing the blood-stained mail beneath. The Elven Lord quickly divested the wounded man of the heavy metal and cringed when Aragorn's back made contact once again with the bed.
Elrond rolled Aragorn carefully onto his side, flinching when his eyes met the angry-looking wound that pierced the man's back. The wound was badly torn, the skin jagged as if cut with a serrated blade. Thanks to the brute force with which the Nazgul had thrust its sword through the protective mail that covered his torso, there was no clean entry wound. The poisoned blade had also broken when it impacted with the mail, causing a much more damaging injury.
Aragorn coughed, eyes rolling into the back of his head before squeezing shut in pain so unbearable he could give it no voice. Fever raged through his blood. Already pale skin burned but was cold and clammy to the touch. His life was fading and there was little Elrond could do to stop it. Dark hair clung to his sweat-soaked face and what little strength remained, flowed as quickly from his body as the crimson blood from between his parched lips.
"Where is Celeborn!" Arwen cried through her sobs. "You sent him to get herbs. If he returns in time…"
"Arwen." Elrond turned a sad gaze toward his whimpering daughter. His eyes flicked to his twin sons, who had just rushed loudly through the door.
"Oh no." Elladan's eyes fell to the blood stained bed-covers and to his father's hands, covered in their brother's blood.
"No. No." Elrohir's words echoed those of his brother's as he stepped beside his sister and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. He shook his head in denial of the scene spread so graphically before his eyes. Arwen barely acknowledged his touch.
"What can we do?" Elladan began to move toward his father but was pinned in place by the hopelessly sad look in Elrond's eyes.
"I have done all I can. You could do no better."
"No, there must be - "Elladan continued, eyes narrowing and fists clenching in anger.
Imrahil and Legolas returned with basins filled with water and set them down on a nearby table. Arwen immediately took a cloth and dipped it into the liquid. Squeezing the excess water from the cloth, she carefully placed it across Aragorn's forehead, in a desperate attempt to bring down his fever.
"It is not so simple." Elrond's said sadly. "There are shards embedded in his skin. They must be removed." Arwen's eyes shot toward her father. "They are buried deep. If I try to remove them, I may kill him in the process."
"He will die if you do not try." She whispered, sliding a hand along Aragorn's face to cup a whiskered cheek.
Celeborn arrived with Galadriel, their faces etched with worry and concern. Celeborn removed a myriad of herbs from the pouch he carried and set them onto a nearby table, within Elrond's reach.
Elrond worked carefully, using his skill as a Master healer to remove the shards embedded too close to Aragorn's heart for comfort. Aragorn whimpered at each slight movement, too tired and weak to cry out in pain.
Elrond crumbled athelas into a boiling basin of water in an attempt to draw the lingering stench of death from the room. The fresh fragrant smell of the plant did much to lift the spirits of those who stood in silence, watching the Elven Lord of Rivendell work frantically to save the life of his foster-son. But, it did little to help the man for whom it was crushed and swirled into the basin of steaming water.
Gandalf stood beside Galadriel, his face an unreadable mask. Inside, his heart was tearing, breaking in two as the elves struggled to save the life of a dear friend. His spells were of no use for he had tried every one he knew.
Legolas and Gimli stood to the back of the room, out of the way, watching silently, their faces a mask of concern and fear. Imrahil had dismissed the guards who had carried Aragorn into the chamber, positioning them outside the doors to turn away all who came to see the fallen King. The three knew there was nothing they could do that was not already being done, so instead simply stood in silence, praying to whatever goddess they knew, to save the injured man lying near death on the bed before them.
Arwen's brothers exchanged a silent look with their father before they both stepped closer to their sister. They had never seen their father look so grim, Galadriel and Celeborn stare so blankly, Gandalf appear so speechless. They had never seen their sister reduced to such violent tears.
They knew their father's work was folly. They knew, that even with Elrond's great knowledge, this doom that had fallen had already taken its planned course. Arwen would need them in the hours and days to come. She would need their strength. Even as that strength waned with the dying breath of their friend and brother.
Arwen absently brushed at Aragorn's face, delicate hand cupping his cheek. His eyes were clouded and he stared blankly at her. Once in a while he would wince as the pain from her father's ministrations registered in his numbed body. He was pale, his skin sallow and clammy. Death had come to take him away, but would not grant him a peaceful exit from this world.
"I won't let you go without a fight, Estel," Arwen cried, her voice a mere whisper.
The tortured sound broke the hearts of her brothers, and they each rubbed her back in a gesture that had once comforted her as a child. It gave her no respite now. They could not bear to look at the man they considered a brother, could not look at the tremendous pain reflected in his eyes as he looked, with love and adoration, on their sister.
"What can I do!" She looked at everyone in the room, one by one, her fiery tear-filled gaze pinning each person where they stood. "I won't stand by and do nothing. I won't stand by and watch him die before my eyes."
"There is little else that we can do," Elrond said softly, looking up at his daughter from across the bed. His hands were covered in blood and for the first time, Arwen noticed that they were shaking. Her lip trembled as shock at seeing her father so helpless slowly registered in her mind.
Arwen turned tear-filled eyes on Galadriel, who stood behind her father, watching silently. Galadriel was not looking at her, was not looking at Elrond, or Aragorn. Her eyes were open and unmoving, unseeing, unfocused. When Arwen moved to speak, a strangled cry came from Aragorn's parched lips, drawing her attention.
In fevered delirium, he shook his head, eyes crossing as they lost their focus. Every breath was drawn with great effort, each one more hoarse than the last. His face was drenched with sweat, his hair plastered to his head and neck. Arwen could see the suffering in his eyes, could see the pain that he, in his stubbornness, would never admit to feeling.
Arwen shook her head furiously, "Don't give up! Don't give in. Please! Estel, be strong!"
He couldn't speak. Words hurt too much to voice. He could hear her cries but could not answer them. The pain was deep, biting, eating away at his body and his spirit. Chills wracked his body as his fever worsened. He fought to stay conscious but with each passing minute could feel his life slipping away. He knew what Arwen refused to admit. He was dying. He could choose to let his life slip away or fight through the painful haze only to be stopped short as the poison from the Morgul blade made him into one of Sauron's slaves. He couldn't, wouldn't allow that to happen.
Elrond secured what bandages he could to the wound and rolled the man onto his back. With eyes that bespoke the grief in his heart, Elrond took Aragorn's free hand and sat beside him on the bed. He knew what Aragorn wanted him to do, could see it in the dying man's eyes. Elrond looked at his daughter with eyes wet with unshed tears. "Arwen. His wounds are too severe for even my hand. We must take comfort that the poison of the Nazgul will not reach his heart before his life ends."
Arwen shook her head violently. She refused to hear any more of her father's words, refused to accept that this was how their tortured love story would end. They had waited too long, endured too much loneliness and separation, to be parted now. Fate could not take him from her. It could not be so cruel.
"Arwen, I will follow him to the grave if my blade is needed to end his life." Elrond's voice faltered and for the first time, a single, solitary tear slipped down his cheek. "I will not let the Nazgul poison take him. You must let him go. The longer you delay, the stronger the chance the poison will reach his heart and pull him into the shadow world."
Suddenly, the ground rocked the foundations of the White Tower, throwing everyone off their feet. Imrahil hit the floor with an annoyed grunt and Gimli was thrown into the wall with a loud crash. Gandalf steadied himself with a few whispered spells and the elves, always light on their feet, were rendered off balance but remained standing.
"Mordor," Gandalf moved quickly to the window and stared at the fiery mountain as it exploded into tiny fragments of hardened magma and rock. For the first time in years, light penetrated the shadow lands and illuminated them with a freedom that had been long forgotten. "They've done it. They've destroyed the ring."
Excited cheers erupted from the battlefield below as every eye in the city and outside of it turned to watch the spectacular display before their very eyes. Within the White Tower, eyes closed in relief as one weight was lifted off very tired shoulders.
When Arwen looked down at her love, she could see a small smile of recognition register on his features. With great effort, he raised his hand and cupped her cheek. She burrowed into the simple gesture, memorizing the feel of his touch, the trembling of his hand as his strength wavered. She covered his fingers with her own and squeezed tightly.
With a deep, struggled breath, he whispered, "It is over."
It took a few seconds for her to register that the meaning of his words had been two-fold. The War of the Ring was over and with that valiant struggle went his life.
His hand went limp in her grasp and his eyes slowly closed. From parched lips fell his last words, whispered for her ears only, "Amin mela lle."
"No!" Arwen cried. Tears fell from her eyes in huge drops and she threw herself across his chest, sobbing into his neck.
Elrond took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes wet with tears that slipped unhindered now down his cheeks. Galadriel bowed her head in an effort to keep sadness from overtaking her normally strong and stoic form. If she looked at the elven tears that fell so painfully for her fallen kin, she would be unable to contain her own. When Celeborn draped a comforting arm across her shoulders, she turned and slowly leaned her forehead against his chest, sobbing quietly, a lone tear escaping from tightly closed eyelids.
Gandalf pursed his lips angrily, unwilling to believe all they had fought for was over, everything that had been won, had truly been lost. They'd nurtured and protected the last of Isildur's heirs and now, in the hour of Sauron's unforeseen defeat, so died such a noble and honorable line.
Arwen's brothers stood unmoving behind their sobbing sister, unable to believe their eyes. This couldn't have happened. He couldn't be dead. Aragorn had grown up with the twins, and they loved him as much as their sister. He'd had fallen in love with Arwen before their very eyes. He'd grown into a noble and honorable man, fit for leadership among his people. They had never cried in all of their long years, save when their mother crossed over the Sea, until now. They fell to their knees and bowed their heads, tears dripping freely from their eyes.
Legolas clutched Gimli's shoulder and the Dwarf knew better than to utter a word to his friend. He dared not look at the elf's face, for surely he would see the tears marring a bright path down pale cheeks.
In all the histories, Gimli had never heard of the passing of one life bringing tears to the eyes of so many elves.
Imrahil leaned against the nearest wall, sighing heavily. He hadn't known Aragorn for long, but the man knew he must have been great, to bring so many of the Wise One's to tears.
Arwen pressed trembling lips to Aragorn's cheek. Her heartbreaking plea's sent tremors of grief through all that bore witness to the words. Arwen laced her fingers through the lifeless ones of her betrothed and clung to them as if they were her lifeline. She didn't see her father slide to his knees beside the bed, the grief too much for the Elven Lord to bear.
Silence hung in the air for minutes uncounted. The only sound came from Arwen as she wept into Aragorn's chest, shoulders trembling with the powerful sobs that wracked her body.
When she finally spoke, the determination, fear, and heartbreak in her voice sent chills down the spines of everyone present. "I will not live in this world, or another, without
him by my side."
Legolas gasped sharply, drawing the concerned gaze of Imrahil and Gimli. They stared at him in confusion before turning their attention to the horrified look on Galadriel's face. She stepped forward quickly before Celeborn's shaking hand on her shoulder prevented any further movement.
Gandalf simply stood in silence, his head bowed in understanding and despair. The twins remained unmoving also, knowing that this choice their sister made could not be reversed. The grief and despair was almost more than they could bear.
Elrond gained his feet in an instant, his eyes widened in a horror the twins had never before seen.
Arwen drew her legs onto the bed and lay down next to her betrothed, her head resting heavily on his chest. She laced her fingers even tighter through Aragorn's and squeezed the cold fingers. When she closed her eyes, she exhaled a deep and final breath, her shoulders melting into the cushions and her body into the lifeless embrace of the only man she ever truly loved. With a final, whispered goodbye, she made the last decision of her long life.
Elrond's horrified, gut-wrenching scream echoed off the marble walls, sending chills of fear down the spines of every man, dwarf and elf.
--------------------------
So this has turned into a longer story than I thought. There will be at least one more chapter.
Tapestries of gold and burgundy decorated the walls. Banners of old were suspended from the ceiling. Curtains of the softest silk hung over the windows and above the bed on which the men reverently laid their uncrowned King.
Arwen was beside him in an instant, hand gripping her beloved's in fear, fingers trembling and tears falling like rain down her cheeks.
Elrond sat at Aragorn's side, working as quickly as he could, treating Aragorn's wounds with skilled hands. He struggled to hide the fear that he would not have the ability, this time, to pull from the fires of death another who had been stung by a Morgul blade.
Elrond tore at Aragorn's leather tunic, taking a small knife hidden in his cloak and ripping the material, when shaking fingers wouldn't work fast enough. He winced when the fabric parted revealing the blood-stained mail beneath. The Elven Lord quickly divested the wounded man of the heavy metal and cringed when Aragorn's back made contact once again with the bed.
Elrond rolled Aragorn carefully onto his side, flinching when his eyes met the angry-looking wound that pierced the man's back. The wound was badly torn, the skin jagged as if cut with a serrated blade. Thanks to the brute force with which the Nazgul had thrust its sword through the protective mail that covered his torso, there was no clean entry wound. The poisoned blade had also broken when it impacted with the mail, causing a much more damaging injury.
Aragorn coughed, eyes rolling into the back of his head before squeezing shut in pain so unbearable he could give it no voice. Fever raged through his blood. Already pale skin burned but was cold and clammy to the touch. His life was fading and there was little Elrond could do to stop it. Dark hair clung to his sweat-soaked face and what little strength remained, flowed as quickly from his body as the crimson blood from between his parched lips.
"Where is Celeborn!" Arwen cried through her sobs. "You sent him to get herbs. If he returns in time…"
"Arwen." Elrond turned a sad gaze toward his whimpering daughter. His eyes flicked to his twin sons, who had just rushed loudly through the door.
"Oh no." Elladan's eyes fell to the blood stained bed-covers and to his father's hands, covered in their brother's blood.
"No. No." Elrohir's words echoed those of his brother's as he stepped beside his sister and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. He shook his head in denial of the scene spread so graphically before his eyes. Arwen barely acknowledged his touch.
"What can we do?" Elladan began to move toward his father but was pinned in place by the hopelessly sad look in Elrond's eyes.
"I have done all I can. You could do no better."
"No, there must be - "Elladan continued, eyes narrowing and fists clenching in anger.
Imrahil and Legolas returned with basins filled with water and set them down on a nearby table. Arwen immediately took a cloth and dipped it into the liquid. Squeezing the excess water from the cloth, she carefully placed it across Aragorn's forehead, in a desperate attempt to bring down his fever.
"It is not so simple." Elrond's said sadly. "There are shards embedded in his skin. They must be removed." Arwen's eyes shot toward her father. "They are buried deep. If I try to remove them, I may kill him in the process."
"He will die if you do not try." She whispered, sliding a hand along Aragorn's face to cup a whiskered cheek.
Celeborn arrived with Galadriel, their faces etched with worry and concern. Celeborn removed a myriad of herbs from the pouch he carried and set them onto a nearby table, within Elrond's reach.
Elrond worked carefully, using his skill as a Master healer to remove the shards embedded too close to Aragorn's heart for comfort. Aragorn whimpered at each slight movement, too tired and weak to cry out in pain.
Elrond crumbled athelas into a boiling basin of water in an attempt to draw the lingering stench of death from the room. The fresh fragrant smell of the plant did much to lift the spirits of those who stood in silence, watching the Elven Lord of Rivendell work frantically to save the life of his foster-son. But, it did little to help the man for whom it was crushed and swirled into the basin of steaming water.
Gandalf stood beside Galadriel, his face an unreadable mask. Inside, his heart was tearing, breaking in two as the elves struggled to save the life of a dear friend. His spells were of no use for he had tried every one he knew.
Legolas and Gimli stood to the back of the room, out of the way, watching silently, their faces a mask of concern and fear. Imrahil had dismissed the guards who had carried Aragorn into the chamber, positioning them outside the doors to turn away all who came to see the fallen King. The three knew there was nothing they could do that was not already being done, so instead simply stood in silence, praying to whatever goddess they knew, to save the injured man lying near death on the bed before them.
Arwen's brothers exchanged a silent look with their father before they both stepped closer to their sister. They had never seen their father look so grim, Galadriel and Celeborn stare so blankly, Gandalf appear so speechless. They had never seen their sister reduced to such violent tears.
They knew their father's work was folly. They knew, that even with Elrond's great knowledge, this doom that had fallen had already taken its planned course. Arwen would need them in the hours and days to come. She would need their strength. Even as that strength waned with the dying breath of their friend and brother.
Arwen absently brushed at Aragorn's face, delicate hand cupping his cheek. His eyes were clouded and he stared blankly at her. Once in a while he would wince as the pain from her father's ministrations registered in his numbed body. He was pale, his skin sallow and clammy. Death had come to take him away, but would not grant him a peaceful exit from this world.
"I won't let you go without a fight, Estel," Arwen cried, her voice a mere whisper.
The tortured sound broke the hearts of her brothers, and they each rubbed her back in a gesture that had once comforted her as a child. It gave her no respite now. They could not bear to look at the man they considered a brother, could not look at the tremendous pain reflected in his eyes as he looked, with love and adoration, on their sister.
"What can I do!" She looked at everyone in the room, one by one, her fiery tear-filled gaze pinning each person where they stood. "I won't stand by and do nothing. I won't stand by and watch him die before my eyes."
"There is little else that we can do," Elrond said softly, looking up at his daughter from across the bed. His hands were covered in blood and for the first time, Arwen noticed that they were shaking. Her lip trembled as shock at seeing her father so helpless slowly registered in her mind.
Arwen turned tear-filled eyes on Galadriel, who stood behind her father, watching silently. Galadriel was not looking at her, was not looking at Elrond, or Aragorn. Her eyes were open and unmoving, unseeing, unfocused. When Arwen moved to speak, a strangled cry came from Aragorn's parched lips, drawing her attention.
In fevered delirium, he shook his head, eyes crossing as they lost their focus. Every breath was drawn with great effort, each one more hoarse than the last. His face was drenched with sweat, his hair plastered to his head and neck. Arwen could see the suffering in his eyes, could see the pain that he, in his stubbornness, would never admit to feeling.
Arwen shook her head furiously, "Don't give up! Don't give in. Please! Estel, be strong!"
He couldn't speak. Words hurt too much to voice. He could hear her cries but could not answer them. The pain was deep, biting, eating away at his body and his spirit. Chills wracked his body as his fever worsened. He fought to stay conscious but with each passing minute could feel his life slipping away. He knew what Arwen refused to admit. He was dying. He could choose to let his life slip away or fight through the painful haze only to be stopped short as the poison from the Morgul blade made him into one of Sauron's slaves. He couldn't, wouldn't allow that to happen.
Elrond secured what bandages he could to the wound and rolled the man onto his back. With eyes that bespoke the grief in his heart, Elrond took Aragorn's free hand and sat beside him on the bed. He knew what Aragorn wanted him to do, could see it in the dying man's eyes. Elrond looked at his daughter with eyes wet with unshed tears. "Arwen. His wounds are too severe for even my hand. We must take comfort that the poison of the Nazgul will not reach his heart before his life ends."
Arwen shook her head violently. She refused to hear any more of her father's words, refused to accept that this was how their tortured love story would end. They had waited too long, endured too much loneliness and separation, to be parted now. Fate could not take him from her. It could not be so cruel.
"Arwen, I will follow him to the grave if my blade is needed to end his life." Elrond's voice faltered and for the first time, a single, solitary tear slipped down his cheek. "I will not let the Nazgul poison take him. You must let him go. The longer you delay, the stronger the chance the poison will reach his heart and pull him into the shadow world."
Suddenly, the ground rocked the foundations of the White Tower, throwing everyone off their feet. Imrahil hit the floor with an annoyed grunt and Gimli was thrown into the wall with a loud crash. Gandalf steadied himself with a few whispered spells and the elves, always light on their feet, were rendered off balance but remained standing.
"Mordor," Gandalf moved quickly to the window and stared at the fiery mountain as it exploded into tiny fragments of hardened magma and rock. For the first time in years, light penetrated the shadow lands and illuminated them with a freedom that had been long forgotten. "They've done it. They've destroyed the ring."
Excited cheers erupted from the battlefield below as every eye in the city and outside of it turned to watch the spectacular display before their very eyes. Within the White Tower, eyes closed in relief as one weight was lifted off very tired shoulders.
When Arwen looked down at her love, she could see a small smile of recognition register on his features. With great effort, he raised his hand and cupped her cheek. She burrowed into the simple gesture, memorizing the feel of his touch, the trembling of his hand as his strength wavered. She covered his fingers with her own and squeezed tightly.
With a deep, struggled breath, he whispered, "It is over."
It took a few seconds for her to register that the meaning of his words had been two-fold. The War of the Ring was over and with that valiant struggle went his life.
His hand went limp in her grasp and his eyes slowly closed. From parched lips fell his last words, whispered for her ears only, "Amin mela lle."
"No!" Arwen cried. Tears fell from her eyes in huge drops and she threw herself across his chest, sobbing into his neck.
Elrond took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes wet with tears that slipped unhindered now down his cheeks. Galadriel bowed her head in an effort to keep sadness from overtaking her normally strong and stoic form. If she looked at the elven tears that fell so painfully for her fallen kin, she would be unable to contain her own. When Celeborn draped a comforting arm across her shoulders, she turned and slowly leaned her forehead against his chest, sobbing quietly, a lone tear escaping from tightly closed eyelids.
Gandalf pursed his lips angrily, unwilling to believe all they had fought for was over, everything that had been won, had truly been lost. They'd nurtured and protected the last of Isildur's heirs and now, in the hour of Sauron's unforeseen defeat, so died such a noble and honorable line.
Arwen's brothers stood unmoving behind their sobbing sister, unable to believe their eyes. This couldn't have happened. He couldn't be dead. Aragorn had grown up with the twins, and they loved him as much as their sister. He'd had fallen in love with Arwen before their very eyes. He'd grown into a noble and honorable man, fit for leadership among his people. They had never cried in all of their long years, save when their mother crossed over the Sea, until now. They fell to their knees and bowed their heads, tears dripping freely from their eyes.
Legolas clutched Gimli's shoulder and the Dwarf knew better than to utter a word to his friend. He dared not look at the elf's face, for surely he would see the tears marring a bright path down pale cheeks.
In all the histories, Gimli had never heard of the passing of one life bringing tears to the eyes of so many elves.
Imrahil leaned against the nearest wall, sighing heavily. He hadn't known Aragorn for long, but the man knew he must have been great, to bring so many of the Wise One's to tears.
Arwen pressed trembling lips to Aragorn's cheek. Her heartbreaking plea's sent tremors of grief through all that bore witness to the words. Arwen laced her fingers through the lifeless ones of her betrothed and clung to them as if they were her lifeline. She didn't see her father slide to his knees beside the bed, the grief too much for the Elven Lord to bear.
Silence hung in the air for minutes uncounted. The only sound came from Arwen as she wept into Aragorn's chest, shoulders trembling with the powerful sobs that wracked her body.
When she finally spoke, the determination, fear, and heartbreak in her voice sent chills down the spines of everyone present. "I will not live in this world, or another, without
him by my side."
Legolas gasped sharply, drawing the concerned gaze of Imrahil and Gimli. They stared at him in confusion before turning their attention to the horrified look on Galadriel's face. She stepped forward quickly before Celeborn's shaking hand on her shoulder prevented any further movement.
Gandalf simply stood in silence, his head bowed in understanding and despair. The twins remained unmoving also, knowing that this choice their sister made could not be reversed. The grief and despair was almost more than they could bear.
Elrond gained his feet in an instant, his eyes widened in a horror the twins had never before seen.
Arwen drew her legs onto the bed and lay down next to her betrothed, her head resting heavily on his chest. She laced her fingers even tighter through Aragorn's and squeezed the cold fingers. When she closed her eyes, she exhaled a deep and final breath, her shoulders melting into the cushions and her body into the lifeless embrace of the only man she ever truly loved. With a final, whispered goodbye, she made the last decision of her long life.
Elrond's horrified, gut-wrenching scream echoed off the marble walls, sending chills of fear down the spines of every man, dwarf and elf.
--------------------------
So this has turned into a longer story than I thought. There will be at least one more chapter.