At Sunset
Arwen
Evenstar sighed as she weighed her child in her arms, standing before a fountain in the Citadel of Gondor. Aragorn had bade her call him Eldarion, for a reason she did not understand, but had done as he willed; at night, she sometimes believed that she lived to serve her love. It is not such a bad fate, she would often end the night's troubling in, and would turn and curl against her husband's side in their bed. But now, as she paced around the fountain, holding her firstborn gingerly, she worried for him. On the day that she had given birth to Eldarion, he had been joyous, but before then and now after he seemed troubled, worried. The wieght of King in his reign could not have been such a heavy burden as it was to those in the past; little evil existed in this world to rightly have him worried. Yet lately he had seemed to her as if he bore a great problem, and every time she tried to ask him about it, tried to help him, he kissed her cheek and told her not to worry about it. Arwen sighed; she feared she could not help it. At night, he slept unquietly next to her, and in the day he paced across the throne room or disappeared to stand with the White Tree and contemplate about matters that she was not shown to. Eldarion stirred in her arms as she thought about this, and she realized that she had climbed onto the rim of the fountain and was now standing, fingering one of the carvings as fresh water ran over her fingers. One arm had been let loose of her child, causing him to cry out. She replaced it immediately and stepped down, sitting down gently and pretending to be happy for the boy. Sunset glossed over the hills and illuminated the city of Gondor.
Frodo
The garden at Bag End smelled fresh, as it always did, after rainfall. This was probably his favorite spot in the Shire, besides under the new tree. That tree was Sam's pride and joy, most likely the only thing that kept Sam rooted to Hobbiton. If not for the tree, Frodo feared Sam would have built a house in the woods just to be among all of the trees and plants. The smell of food drifted from an open window; Rose was cooking dinner. Frodo usually ate after Sam and Rose had, if just for the simple illusion that Sam had a family of his own without having to include his master in on marriage matters. The Hobbit sighed and gripped his shoulder; it was October, the 5th to be exact, and tomorrow he knew that he would stay in bed all day because of the memory of that hill in the Wild. Last year, Sam had been away and Frodo had managed to conceal his illness, but would have a bit of trouble this year. Sam would understand, of course, but Rose wouldn't, and certainly not their child Elanor. A beautfiul girl; she had almost been his namesake. But that child was yet to come. Faintly, he heard Rose calling for Sam, and Sam shouting back something; dinner, probably. Elanor gave a shriek which stung at the evening. Sam came around from behind the house, passing the garden, and smiled, asking if Frodo wanted to come in and eat with them. He shook his head and told Sam to go in, that Rose would be missing him. 'All right, Mr. Frodo,' Sam said, seemingly half unwillingly to Frodo, and it also struck him that Sam had a worried look on his face. He shook his head and pulled his book out from under a tangle of branches and opened it, facing the gold streaks that flew across the sky. Sunset really was the best time of day
Eowyn
It was always at sunset that Eowyn missed the halls of Meduseld the most. She would stand there on the steps of the Golden Hall and gaze out at the sky, always fathoming the other countries and where the sun was there. Here, in Ithilien, the golden rays of the sun bounced off of all of the green and hit the waterfall, turning the water into a falling cascade of shining, golden water. Sitting amongst the bushes on one of two small overhangs that outcropped the cliff, she smiled as the sun began to dip over the horizon. Usually Eomer would join her on the steps, and, when she was younger, Theoden took up the vacancy next to her. Now her uncle was dead, and Eomer was alone at Edoras, King of Rohan, yet amongst his people. She was a woman of Gondor now, Queen of Ithilien, or close to a queen. Faramir still called her that. Faramir...just thinking of her husband made her smile falter a bit. Often, when she lay in bed next to him, she would slip into dreams of King Elessar and awaken to question her loyalties to her husband. True, she loved him, but never fantisized about him the way she did about Elfstone. Valient, strong, a leader of Men...he was all that she had hoped to be for Rohan. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Faramir was about as different as she could ask of Aragorn. Soft, loving, gentle, lover of nature. He would beg her to take walks with him through the woods and would take her to tiny springs or a place where a bird's nest was. So sweet and kind he was like that, something she could never imagine and never had wanted until she found him. Even now she tugged the mantle of stars around her shoulders as the October chill settled in through the gauzey lace of her dress. Vaugely, she wondered where Wingfoot was now...Wingfoot, what Eomer had called him. The men that she had so loved were gone-yet one that she still held affections for remained.
Aragorn
As of late, the duties of his job had seemed to grow heavy upon him as he realized the sixth of October was nearing. As this date approached, he remembered in full the Quest, all pains and happiness that it had caused, but most of all he remembered his friends, and that all were far from his reach. Sitting by the White Tree one afternoon, he wished terribly that he could just gather them all up and set them down in his city and see them again. But at night, as he lay next to Evenstar in their bed, he knew that he had his true love with him, as well as his son. Those two people seemed to take up the greater capacity of his heart, but in his mind he knew that he wanted to see his friends one last time before the ships of Valinor came and what Arwen had sacrificed, and given to another, would come. Peering somberly out of one of the great windows of his throne room, he saw his wife with his child, roaming around a fountain, lazy and slow, thinking about what he knew to be his own problems. Sighing, he strode quickly across the room, waved for his guards to stay at their posts, wound his way down to the fountain. 'Arwen,' His voice was as soft and as carefree as he could make it. The Elf spun around, smiling. 'My love.' She came to him and set his child in his arms so that she could fling her own around him. 'Sunsets in the city are so beautiful. They remind me of you,' He said, smiling back at her. He seated himself on the edge of the fountain, and she followed, gracefully sitting next to him. br 'I was worrying for you. Tell me what has you so troubled.' Her tone soft, like a wind. 'I fear I won't see Frodo again before the sails are raised for Valinor.' Eyes downcast, voice choking. He looked at his son. Hobbits had always reminded him of children, and so he had told Eomer on the plains of Rohan. 'That is his fate, as is yours to stay with your people.' The wind rustled over him, and he looked up at his wife. 'I know.' She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they were both quiet, staring with mixed emotions as the blood-red ball settled behind the hills.
Sam
He belched contentedly, and Rose scolded him as he did so. He murmured an apology to his wife, handing her his dinner plate as he stood to go out. Elanor mimicked his belch, and Rose pretended to be mad at her daughter, and did not try to hide her smile. Sam kissed Elanor's head of small ringlets and called to Rose to leave some stew on the stove for Frodo as he pulled open the round, green door of Bag End. Rain had fallen just the night before, which was what probably had lured his master to sit out there in the garden reading all day. He had little troubled or intruded on his solitude, having been busy and protective of him all the same. But now, at sunset, he figured that he could enter in on Frodo's privacy and watch the 'sunfall', as Elanor called it. He was in the same position that Sam had left him in, perched on a stone with his nose in his book, glancing up occasionally to watch the pink and gold streaks lengthen and drop on the sky. Sam opened the small gate and sat down about a foot away from him, staring at the sky. 'Hello Sam,' Frodo said cheerfully, looking over at the gardener. 'Evening, Frodo,' Sam replied, trying to hide the hint of worry he knew was stitched into his voice. 'Its a nice one.' 'The ones in the Shire usually are.' Frodo's smile disappeared slowly as he said this, because he knew that he would not be seeing much more of them. 'Rose left you some dinner on the stove. Why don't you go have a bite?' 'In a minute.' He closed his book on his thumb and was looking around slowly at the garden. 'Sam, why do you constantly have that same look around me?' 'What look?' Sam tried to act innocent. 'That look like I'm about to jump into the Sea.' 'Oh...' He feared that he had turned red at the ears. 'You've just been so quiet lately. Thought you were sick.' 'No, that doesn't come until tomorrow...' Frodo muttered, then, louder, 'It must be more than that.' 'Don't seem too happy lately.' 'Just have been thinking is all. Is all...' He sighed, and went for the still open gate, when Sam caught his arm. Turning his head, 'Yes, Sam?'
'Do y'think Elanor will have yellow er brown hair?' Frodo laughed and sat back down next to him. In spite all of his unhappiness, Sam could always make him laugh.
Faramir
Faramir gazed up and down the main passage of Heneth Anun, and then around by their bedroom, and then, the extra passages. As he looked in one fo the very back ones, guilt coursed through him as he remembered who had been breifly housed there, and how foolish and rude he had been to them. A blindfold still lay on the ground; not many people went into these chambers. Shaking his head, he went back to the front of the cave and poked his head out of the opening. The loud rush of water filled his entire head, nearly blowing him over the side. He managed to turn sideways at one of the overhangs. Eowyn sat there, the person he had been looking for. The mantle of silver stars that he had given to her in the Houses of Healing was about her shoulders, and she stared longingly at the sunset in the direction of Rohan. The October chill washed over him. Pulling his cloak tighter round his shoulders, he stepped out onto the overhang and took a seat behind her, slightly to the left. 'Dear lady, why do you insist on sitting out here each night to watch the sunset, even in the chill such as this?' He asked, brushing a loose strand of golden hair out of her eyes. 'It has always been a custom of mine, ever since I was a little girl in Rohan,' She replied, turning towards her husband. 'You always seem so solemn out here. Is there nothing I can do?' His eyes were deep and innocent looking; Eowyn turned away from him and back to the sky. His eyes were complete opposites of Aragorn's: dark, hardened with war and sorrow, and, now, with love. 'There is nothing to repair homesickness with.' A lie. How could she tell him that as she sat alone, she thought about little more than Aragorn?
'Alas, how I know it! I feel it too, sometimes. Perhaps we should take a trip to Rohan in the near future,' He sighed. A pause; neither of them said anything. At last, Faramir broke the silence, fearing that she was straying off into a world without him. If he had asked her this, she could not have lied. 'The sunset pales in comparison to you.' Hot tears fell down her cheeks. At night, when she dreamed of nothing more than Aragorn, and now, when she wished she was at his side, her husband broke through and said something that made her love him so much. Leaning back, her head against his shoulder, he put his arms around her. He shielded her from everything, and she loved him, loved him more than she let even herself know.
All characters, settings, and other random things Copyright Tolkien Enterprises
Story itself Copyright Ellyrianna
Arwen
Evenstar sighed as she weighed her child in her arms, standing before a fountain in the Citadel of Gondor. Aragorn had bade her call him Eldarion, for a reason she did not understand, but had done as he willed; at night, she sometimes believed that she lived to serve her love. It is not such a bad fate, she would often end the night's troubling in, and would turn and curl against her husband's side in their bed. But now, as she paced around the fountain, holding her firstborn gingerly, she worried for him. On the day that she had given birth to Eldarion, he had been joyous, but before then and now after he seemed troubled, worried. The wieght of King in his reign could not have been such a heavy burden as it was to those in the past; little evil existed in this world to rightly have him worried. Yet lately he had seemed to her as if he bore a great problem, and every time she tried to ask him about it, tried to help him, he kissed her cheek and told her not to worry about it. Arwen sighed; she feared she could not help it. At night, he slept unquietly next to her, and in the day he paced across the throne room or disappeared to stand with the White Tree and contemplate about matters that she was not shown to. Eldarion stirred in her arms as she thought about this, and she realized that she had climbed onto the rim of the fountain and was now standing, fingering one of the carvings as fresh water ran over her fingers. One arm had been let loose of her child, causing him to cry out. She replaced it immediately and stepped down, sitting down gently and pretending to be happy for the boy. Sunset glossed over the hills and illuminated the city of Gondor.
Frodo
The garden at Bag End smelled fresh, as it always did, after rainfall. This was probably his favorite spot in the Shire, besides under the new tree. That tree was Sam's pride and joy, most likely the only thing that kept Sam rooted to Hobbiton. If not for the tree, Frodo feared Sam would have built a house in the woods just to be among all of the trees and plants. The smell of food drifted from an open window; Rose was cooking dinner. Frodo usually ate after Sam and Rose had, if just for the simple illusion that Sam had a family of his own without having to include his master in on marriage matters. The Hobbit sighed and gripped his shoulder; it was October, the 5th to be exact, and tomorrow he knew that he would stay in bed all day because of the memory of that hill in the Wild. Last year, Sam had been away and Frodo had managed to conceal his illness, but would have a bit of trouble this year. Sam would understand, of course, but Rose wouldn't, and certainly not their child Elanor. A beautfiul girl; she had almost been his namesake. But that child was yet to come. Faintly, he heard Rose calling for Sam, and Sam shouting back something; dinner, probably. Elanor gave a shriek which stung at the evening. Sam came around from behind the house, passing the garden, and smiled, asking if Frodo wanted to come in and eat with them. He shook his head and told Sam to go in, that Rose would be missing him. 'All right, Mr. Frodo,' Sam said, seemingly half unwillingly to Frodo, and it also struck him that Sam had a worried look on his face. He shook his head and pulled his book out from under a tangle of branches and opened it, facing the gold streaks that flew across the sky. Sunset really was the best time of day
Eowyn
It was always at sunset that Eowyn missed the halls of Meduseld the most. She would stand there on the steps of the Golden Hall and gaze out at the sky, always fathoming the other countries and where the sun was there. Here, in Ithilien, the golden rays of the sun bounced off of all of the green and hit the waterfall, turning the water into a falling cascade of shining, golden water. Sitting amongst the bushes on one of two small overhangs that outcropped the cliff, she smiled as the sun began to dip over the horizon. Usually Eomer would join her on the steps, and, when she was younger, Theoden took up the vacancy next to her. Now her uncle was dead, and Eomer was alone at Edoras, King of Rohan, yet amongst his people. She was a woman of Gondor now, Queen of Ithilien, or close to a queen. Faramir still called her that. Faramir...just thinking of her husband made her smile falter a bit. Often, when she lay in bed next to him, she would slip into dreams of King Elessar and awaken to question her loyalties to her husband. True, she loved him, but never fantisized about him the way she did about Elfstone. Valient, strong, a leader of Men...he was all that she had hoped to be for Rohan. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Faramir was about as different as she could ask of Aragorn. Soft, loving, gentle, lover of nature. He would beg her to take walks with him through the woods and would take her to tiny springs or a place where a bird's nest was. So sweet and kind he was like that, something she could never imagine and never had wanted until she found him. Even now she tugged the mantle of stars around her shoulders as the October chill settled in through the gauzey lace of her dress. Vaugely, she wondered where Wingfoot was now...Wingfoot, what Eomer had called him. The men that she had so loved were gone-yet one that she still held affections for remained.
Aragorn
As of late, the duties of his job had seemed to grow heavy upon him as he realized the sixth of October was nearing. As this date approached, he remembered in full the Quest, all pains and happiness that it had caused, but most of all he remembered his friends, and that all were far from his reach. Sitting by the White Tree one afternoon, he wished terribly that he could just gather them all up and set them down in his city and see them again. But at night, as he lay next to Evenstar in their bed, he knew that he had his true love with him, as well as his son. Those two people seemed to take up the greater capacity of his heart, but in his mind he knew that he wanted to see his friends one last time before the ships of Valinor came and what Arwen had sacrificed, and given to another, would come. Peering somberly out of one of the great windows of his throne room, he saw his wife with his child, roaming around a fountain, lazy and slow, thinking about what he knew to be his own problems. Sighing, he strode quickly across the room, waved for his guards to stay at their posts, wound his way down to the fountain. 'Arwen,' His voice was as soft and as carefree as he could make it. The Elf spun around, smiling. 'My love.' She came to him and set his child in his arms so that she could fling her own around him. 'Sunsets in the city are so beautiful. They remind me of you,' He said, smiling back at her. He seated himself on the edge of the fountain, and she followed, gracefully sitting next to him. br 'I was worrying for you. Tell me what has you so troubled.' Her tone soft, like a wind. 'I fear I won't see Frodo again before the sails are raised for Valinor.' Eyes downcast, voice choking. He looked at his son. Hobbits had always reminded him of children, and so he had told Eomer on the plains of Rohan. 'That is his fate, as is yours to stay with your people.' The wind rustled over him, and he looked up at his wife. 'I know.' She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they were both quiet, staring with mixed emotions as the blood-red ball settled behind the hills.
Sam
He belched contentedly, and Rose scolded him as he did so. He murmured an apology to his wife, handing her his dinner plate as he stood to go out. Elanor mimicked his belch, and Rose pretended to be mad at her daughter, and did not try to hide her smile. Sam kissed Elanor's head of small ringlets and called to Rose to leave some stew on the stove for Frodo as he pulled open the round, green door of Bag End. Rain had fallen just the night before, which was what probably had lured his master to sit out there in the garden reading all day. He had little troubled or intruded on his solitude, having been busy and protective of him all the same. But now, at sunset, he figured that he could enter in on Frodo's privacy and watch the 'sunfall', as Elanor called it. He was in the same position that Sam had left him in, perched on a stone with his nose in his book, glancing up occasionally to watch the pink and gold streaks lengthen and drop on the sky. Sam opened the small gate and sat down about a foot away from him, staring at the sky. 'Hello Sam,' Frodo said cheerfully, looking over at the gardener. 'Evening, Frodo,' Sam replied, trying to hide the hint of worry he knew was stitched into his voice. 'Its a nice one.' 'The ones in the Shire usually are.' Frodo's smile disappeared slowly as he said this, because he knew that he would not be seeing much more of them. 'Rose left you some dinner on the stove. Why don't you go have a bite?' 'In a minute.' He closed his book on his thumb and was looking around slowly at the garden. 'Sam, why do you constantly have that same look around me?' 'What look?' Sam tried to act innocent. 'That look like I'm about to jump into the Sea.' 'Oh...' He feared that he had turned red at the ears. 'You've just been so quiet lately. Thought you were sick.' 'No, that doesn't come until tomorrow...' Frodo muttered, then, louder, 'It must be more than that.' 'Don't seem too happy lately.' 'Just have been thinking is all. Is all...' He sighed, and went for the still open gate, when Sam caught his arm. Turning his head, 'Yes, Sam?'
'Do y'think Elanor will have yellow er brown hair?' Frodo laughed and sat back down next to him. In spite all of his unhappiness, Sam could always make him laugh.
Faramir
Faramir gazed up and down the main passage of Heneth Anun, and then around by their bedroom, and then, the extra passages. As he looked in one fo the very back ones, guilt coursed through him as he remembered who had been breifly housed there, and how foolish and rude he had been to them. A blindfold still lay on the ground; not many people went into these chambers. Shaking his head, he went back to the front of the cave and poked his head out of the opening. The loud rush of water filled his entire head, nearly blowing him over the side. He managed to turn sideways at one of the overhangs. Eowyn sat there, the person he had been looking for. The mantle of silver stars that he had given to her in the Houses of Healing was about her shoulders, and she stared longingly at the sunset in the direction of Rohan. The October chill washed over him. Pulling his cloak tighter round his shoulders, he stepped out onto the overhang and took a seat behind her, slightly to the left. 'Dear lady, why do you insist on sitting out here each night to watch the sunset, even in the chill such as this?' He asked, brushing a loose strand of golden hair out of her eyes. 'It has always been a custom of mine, ever since I was a little girl in Rohan,' She replied, turning towards her husband. 'You always seem so solemn out here. Is there nothing I can do?' His eyes were deep and innocent looking; Eowyn turned away from him and back to the sky. His eyes were complete opposites of Aragorn's: dark, hardened with war and sorrow, and, now, with love. 'There is nothing to repair homesickness with.' A lie. How could she tell him that as she sat alone, she thought about little more than Aragorn?
'Alas, how I know it! I feel it too, sometimes. Perhaps we should take a trip to Rohan in the near future,' He sighed. A pause; neither of them said anything. At last, Faramir broke the silence, fearing that she was straying off into a world without him. If he had asked her this, she could not have lied. 'The sunset pales in comparison to you.' Hot tears fell down her cheeks. At night, when she dreamed of nothing more than Aragorn, and now, when she wished she was at his side, her husband broke through and said something that made her love him so much. Leaning back, her head against his shoulder, he put his arms around her. He shielded her from everything, and she loved him, loved him more than she let even herself know.
All characters, settings, and other random things Copyright Tolkien Enterprises
Story itself Copyright Ellyrianna