A/N: Not mine. Okay well there was only going to be one more chapter after
this, but this one ended up being really really long. So I've broken it
down into two separate chapters, filled with all the lovely angst. As
always, many thanks to everyone for their feedback and support...special
thanks to the people who cried. It made my day. Excepts from "Return of the
King" are incorporated into the chapter because no one can do it better
than Tolkien. Enjoy!
------
A Bitter Parting
------
The sun dared not to show its face that day. The world around seemed lifeless ... dark, cold and covered in shades of gray.
And in the House of Kings in the Silent Street, beside the beds of Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin, lay lifeless the great King Elessar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the last of the Numenoreans.
------
"...Then going to the House of the Kings in the Silent Street, Aragorn laid him down on the long bed that had been prepared for him. There he said farewell to Eldarion, and gave into his hands the winged crown of Gondor and the sceptre of Anor; and then all left him save Arwen, and she stood alone by his bed. And for all her wisdom and lineage she could not forbear to plead with him to stay yet for a while. She was not yet weary of her days, and thus she tasted the bitterness of the mortality that she had taken upon her.
'Estel, Estel!' she cried, and with that even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep. Then a great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. And long there he lay, an image of the splendour of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world."
------
The death of her husband gripped Arwen in its icy fingers and would not let go. She fell into reclusion, hidden behind a wall of shadow that no one could break. It seemed that she knew nothing and felt nothing but darkness and death, and many feared they would lose their Queen so soon after the passing of the King.
Arwen stood motionless and did not notice the mourners who passed by. Dressed in black as dark as the deepest depths of the night sky, she stood at the foot of her husband's bed. The veil that covered her face, a shield against the cruelty of time, hung from her limp head. The wind danced about all those who gathered there, but she stood as still as the rock around her. The hours grew longer until at last she was alone.
"Mother," she heard a voice call to her through the clouded haze of her mind. She broke from her dreamlike trance and turned her head to behold the voice.
Eldarion stood at the bottom of the steps that beheld his father. Clothed in black and bearing the winged crown of Gondor, he was the one calling to her.
"Mother, it's time to get you home," he said gently and lifted his hand to her. She stared at the hand, not knowing whether she should take it. She looked at its owner, a man now, and King of Gondor...her son. In that moment, he resembled Aragorn so much that she could hardly stand. She gazed upon Eldarion through the material of her veil and it was hard for her to believe that the day had come when his father should die and he become king.
But as she looked into the gray eyes of his father, she found that they were not focused on her. She turned her head to follow his gaze and found that it lead to the figure standing next to her. His golden hair shone much too brightly in the gray of day, his blue eyes cast in reverence to the fallen king. He was no longer clothed in greens and browns, wearing black to match his heart. She was surprised to find that he was gripping her hand tightly, and she wondered how long they had been standing together.
Avoiding her stare which he knew was hidden beneath the shroud of black, he guided her gently and she allowed herself to be taken, to her awaiting son.
The King took hold of Arwen's hands and escorted her out of the House of Kings. But she could not help looking over her shoulder at he who was now kneeling before her dead husband.
------
The visitor was soon forgotten as Arwen fell into sickness. She was stricken with fever and chills, uttering words and phrases in her delusion. Eldarion caught on to her slurred elvish, but could never quite understand what they meant. Long he stayed by his mother's bed, desperate for some sign of hope and wondering what could be tormenting his dear mother's mind so. His father was no more, and he feared for Arwen. Sorrow grew in his heart as he looked upon her face. She was sleeping peacefully now, no longer incessantly tossing and murmuring with fever, though her skin was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.
"May the Valar bring you some peace," he whispered, his voice echoing in the silence.
------
The healers were surprised to see her sitting up in bed the next morning. Life seemed to come back into her face and eyes. The sun was filtering through the windows, the sound of a new morning resting upon the wind. They found her facing the sunlight, eyes shut, keenly feeling everything as if for the first time.
They fluttered about her in a mad rush, constantly asking her questions about her condition. Arwen was patient with them and kindly answered their questions, though her responses where short and often forced. Finally, Eldarion stood up from the chair, placed in the back of the room, and insisted she was fine. He ushered them all to leave and closed the door soundly.
Arwen gave him a half smile in her gratitude. Eldarion noticed that besides her healthy appearance, her eyes were still empty.
------
Eldarion spent most of the day thinking about the events he witnessed that lead to his mother's recovery. A miracle, he would have called it.
The stranger from before came calling late at night, wishing to see Arwen. He would have sent him away had it not been for something he saw in the pale light of the hall. As the visitor turned to leave, Eldarion caught a glimpse of pointed ears partly hidden by golden locks. Looking at him more closely, he saw a strong, tall body, youthful in appearance though something very old was hidden in his eyes. He stared in wonder. The stranger was an elf.
He long heard that his mother was the only elf in all the world. But was he watched, sitting thoughtfully upon a chair in the back of her room, he knew it was not so. The golden haired elf sat next to Arwen's bed, holding her hands and whispering things in Elvish that he could not hear. And as he watched them together he could see an ethereal light shine from their sullen forms, and he knew he was looking through a window into the past.
------
Later that afternoon, Eldarion came back to her chamber. She was sitting up against many fluffy pillows surrounded by bouquets of flowers sent by the people of Gondor. When he entered her room, Arwen could see that he still had not rested. Fatigue showed in his posture and weariness in his eyes.
"Who was he?" Eldarion asked her after a while.
"Who, my son?" she asked in confusion.
"The golden haired elf," he replied. She only looked at him with questioning eyes.
So he continued on, "He came here last night and caused quite a ruckus. He stayed beside you for a while...and seemed to be talking to you, perhaps chanting some words of healing. What they were I do no know but am truly grateful. He claimed to have known both you and father, but did not leave us his name."
He looked back at Arwen and found her visibly pale and gripping her sheets. Immediately, he rushed to her side. "Mother, are you well?"
She feebly nodded her head, "It cannot be..." she whispered. She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to force the answers to come to her brain.
"There is another thing...he also brought these," Eldarion pointed to a vase of flowers sitting in a corner of the room.
Niphredil.
Arwen saw the pale flowers and her heart skipped a beat. Eldarion went over and selected a flower to bring to her. She saw him stare at it intently, having never seen anything like it before in his life. He placed it in her open palm and almost immediately its soft fragrance brought on memories far too painful and all too joyful.
Eldarion looked upon his mother and the change brought to her. "Do you know him mother?"
Arwen was staring at the flower as she turned it around in her fingertips, remembering things that belonged to her alone, things that were best kept locked away.
"His name is Legolas," she finally answered, still intently gazing at the flower in her hand.
------
"...Then she said farewell to Eldarion, and to her daughters, and to all whom she had loved; and she went out from the city of Minas Tirith and passed away to the land of Lorien..."
------
Arwen had not dwelled there in many years and to pass the time she often roamed around the tress of Lorien, often remembering the time when Elves still dwelt among its branches. Clothed in her silken robes of black she walked on silently, mostly thinking of Aragorn...but on just a few occasions she let herself think about Legolas.
She was so confused by it all. She had thought he had sailed over the sea so many years ago ... how was it possible that he could come back after all this time? And if he didn't sail, then why would he have come to Gondor that lone rainy night? And that they should not have heard from him in all that time?
She had thought the sight of him in the House of Kings was a symptom of her delusion, but when Eldarion told her of his late night visit...and when she saw the Niphredil, she knew it was no hallucination on her part.
What did this mean to her now? How would his sudden arrival back into her life change it? Did it change anything at all? It been quiet some time since she somewhat recovered after his passing, but only after her long quiet suffering. And a broken heart is not easily fixed, nor is it quick to trust the one who broke it.
And so, if he was still dwelling in Middle Earth...where was he now?
Giving up on trying to find answers she did not have, Arwen turned to make her way back to Galadhrim. And turning around a bend in the path, she found the answer to all her questions.
Legolas, clothed once again in greens and browns, stood in the middle of the path as if he was expecting her. Perhaps he had. But he stood motionless before her, unsure of what to do now that he had revealed himself to her.
Arwen was not utterly surprised to see him. In fact, she had been expecting him. She crossed the distance between them and ever so slowly, circled around him as if she was sizing him up. Legolas thought it eerie, her dark figure seemed so out of place in the fair woods of Lorien. She seemed to belong neither to the living or the dead; she was just...there. As she circled him, a shiver ran down his back as he remembered the Nazgul in their dark garments and hidden faces.
Arwen finally stood before him and Legolas could see her veil move with the sound of her breathing. Her hands moved to the hem of her veil and after a moment of hesitation, she pulled it back. It revealed to Legolas the saddest eyes he had ever seen.
She was entirely focused on him and he felt very vulnerable under her stare. She lifted her hand up and with shaky fingers she reached to touch his cheek. Fingertips barely made contact with his fair face, as if she were afraid he would disappear under her touch. Her eyes searched his and in them she found remorse and kindness. Her fingers brushed over his lips tenderly and he heard her breath catch in her throat.
Arwen then saw light catch something around his neck. Her fingers went to it and she found the ring she gave him on a chain, worn much in the same fashion as their friend, Frodo, the ringbearer.
She gave a slight smile at this as she once again caught his gaze. No words were exchanged; understanding passing between the two elves as Legolas took her hand in his own and together they walked down the path.
------
Still not the end......
------
A Bitter Parting
------
The sun dared not to show its face that day. The world around seemed lifeless ... dark, cold and covered in shades of gray.
And in the House of Kings in the Silent Street, beside the beds of Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin, lay lifeless the great King Elessar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the last of the Numenoreans.
------
"...Then going to the House of the Kings in the Silent Street, Aragorn laid him down on the long bed that had been prepared for him. There he said farewell to Eldarion, and gave into his hands the winged crown of Gondor and the sceptre of Anor; and then all left him save Arwen, and she stood alone by his bed. And for all her wisdom and lineage she could not forbear to plead with him to stay yet for a while. She was not yet weary of her days, and thus she tasted the bitterness of the mortality that she had taken upon her.
'Estel, Estel!' she cried, and with that even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep. Then a great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. And long there he lay, an image of the splendour of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world."
------
The death of her husband gripped Arwen in its icy fingers and would not let go. She fell into reclusion, hidden behind a wall of shadow that no one could break. It seemed that she knew nothing and felt nothing but darkness and death, and many feared they would lose their Queen so soon after the passing of the King.
Arwen stood motionless and did not notice the mourners who passed by. Dressed in black as dark as the deepest depths of the night sky, she stood at the foot of her husband's bed. The veil that covered her face, a shield against the cruelty of time, hung from her limp head. The wind danced about all those who gathered there, but she stood as still as the rock around her. The hours grew longer until at last she was alone.
"Mother," she heard a voice call to her through the clouded haze of her mind. She broke from her dreamlike trance and turned her head to behold the voice.
Eldarion stood at the bottom of the steps that beheld his father. Clothed in black and bearing the winged crown of Gondor, he was the one calling to her.
"Mother, it's time to get you home," he said gently and lifted his hand to her. She stared at the hand, not knowing whether she should take it. She looked at its owner, a man now, and King of Gondor...her son. In that moment, he resembled Aragorn so much that she could hardly stand. She gazed upon Eldarion through the material of her veil and it was hard for her to believe that the day had come when his father should die and he become king.
But as she looked into the gray eyes of his father, she found that they were not focused on her. She turned her head to follow his gaze and found that it lead to the figure standing next to her. His golden hair shone much too brightly in the gray of day, his blue eyes cast in reverence to the fallen king. He was no longer clothed in greens and browns, wearing black to match his heart. She was surprised to find that he was gripping her hand tightly, and she wondered how long they had been standing together.
Avoiding her stare which he knew was hidden beneath the shroud of black, he guided her gently and she allowed herself to be taken, to her awaiting son.
The King took hold of Arwen's hands and escorted her out of the House of Kings. But she could not help looking over her shoulder at he who was now kneeling before her dead husband.
------
The visitor was soon forgotten as Arwen fell into sickness. She was stricken with fever and chills, uttering words and phrases in her delusion. Eldarion caught on to her slurred elvish, but could never quite understand what they meant. Long he stayed by his mother's bed, desperate for some sign of hope and wondering what could be tormenting his dear mother's mind so. His father was no more, and he feared for Arwen. Sorrow grew in his heart as he looked upon her face. She was sleeping peacefully now, no longer incessantly tossing and murmuring with fever, though her skin was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.
"May the Valar bring you some peace," he whispered, his voice echoing in the silence.
------
The healers were surprised to see her sitting up in bed the next morning. Life seemed to come back into her face and eyes. The sun was filtering through the windows, the sound of a new morning resting upon the wind. They found her facing the sunlight, eyes shut, keenly feeling everything as if for the first time.
They fluttered about her in a mad rush, constantly asking her questions about her condition. Arwen was patient with them and kindly answered their questions, though her responses where short and often forced. Finally, Eldarion stood up from the chair, placed in the back of the room, and insisted she was fine. He ushered them all to leave and closed the door soundly.
Arwen gave him a half smile in her gratitude. Eldarion noticed that besides her healthy appearance, her eyes were still empty.
------
Eldarion spent most of the day thinking about the events he witnessed that lead to his mother's recovery. A miracle, he would have called it.
The stranger from before came calling late at night, wishing to see Arwen. He would have sent him away had it not been for something he saw in the pale light of the hall. As the visitor turned to leave, Eldarion caught a glimpse of pointed ears partly hidden by golden locks. Looking at him more closely, he saw a strong, tall body, youthful in appearance though something very old was hidden in his eyes. He stared in wonder. The stranger was an elf.
He long heard that his mother was the only elf in all the world. But was he watched, sitting thoughtfully upon a chair in the back of her room, he knew it was not so. The golden haired elf sat next to Arwen's bed, holding her hands and whispering things in Elvish that he could not hear. And as he watched them together he could see an ethereal light shine from their sullen forms, and he knew he was looking through a window into the past.
------
Later that afternoon, Eldarion came back to her chamber. She was sitting up against many fluffy pillows surrounded by bouquets of flowers sent by the people of Gondor. When he entered her room, Arwen could see that he still had not rested. Fatigue showed in his posture and weariness in his eyes.
"Who was he?" Eldarion asked her after a while.
"Who, my son?" she asked in confusion.
"The golden haired elf," he replied. She only looked at him with questioning eyes.
So he continued on, "He came here last night and caused quite a ruckus. He stayed beside you for a while...and seemed to be talking to you, perhaps chanting some words of healing. What they were I do no know but am truly grateful. He claimed to have known both you and father, but did not leave us his name."
He looked back at Arwen and found her visibly pale and gripping her sheets. Immediately, he rushed to her side. "Mother, are you well?"
She feebly nodded her head, "It cannot be..." she whispered. She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to force the answers to come to her brain.
"There is another thing...he also brought these," Eldarion pointed to a vase of flowers sitting in a corner of the room.
Niphredil.
Arwen saw the pale flowers and her heart skipped a beat. Eldarion went over and selected a flower to bring to her. She saw him stare at it intently, having never seen anything like it before in his life. He placed it in her open palm and almost immediately its soft fragrance brought on memories far too painful and all too joyful.
Eldarion looked upon his mother and the change brought to her. "Do you know him mother?"
Arwen was staring at the flower as she turned it around in her fingertips, remembering things that belonged to her alone, things that were best kept locked away.
"His name is Legolas," she finally answered, still intently gazing at the flower in her hand.
------
"...Then she said farewell to Eldarion, and to her daughters, and to all whom she had loved; and she went out from the city of Minas Tirith and passed away to the land of Lorien..."
------
Arwen had not dwelled there in many years and to pass the time she often roamed around the tress of Lorien, often remembering the time when Elves still dwelt among its branches. Clothed in her silken robes of black she walked on silently, mostly thinking of Aragorn...but on just a few occasions she let herself think about Legolas.
She was so confused by it all. She had thought he had sailed over the sea so many years ago ... how was it possible that he could come back after all this time? And if he didn't sail, then why would he have come to Gondor that lone rainy night? And that they should not have heard from him in all that time?
She had thought the sight of him in the House of Kings was a symptom of her delusion, but when Eldarion told her of his late night visit...and when she saw the Niphredil, she knew it was no hallucination on her part.
What did this mean to her now? How would his sudden arrival back into her life change it? Did it change anything at all? It been quiet some time since she somewhat recovered after his passing, but only after her long quiet suffering. And a broken heart is not easily fixed, nor is it quick to trust the one who broke it.
And so, if he was still dwelling in Middle Earth...where was he now?
Giving up on trying to find answers she did not have, Arwen turned to make her way back to Galadhrim. And turning around a bend in the path, she found the answer to all her questions.
Legolas, clothed once again in greens and browns, stood in the middle of the path as if he was expecting her. Perhaps he had. But he stood motionless before her, unsure of what to do now that he had revealed himself to her.
Arwen was not utterly surprised to see him. In fact, she had been expecting him. She crossed the distance between them and ever so slowly, circled around him as if she was sizing him up. Legolas thought it eerie, her dark figure seemed so out of place in the fair woods of Lorien. She seemed to belong neither to the living or the dead; she was just...there. As she circled him, a shiver ran down his back as he remembered the Nazgul in their dark garments and hidden faces.
Arwen finally stood before him and Legolas could see her veil move with the sound of her breathing. Her hands moved to the hem of her veil and after a moment of hesitation, she pulled it back. It revealed to Legolas the saddest eyes he had ever seen.
She was entirely focused on him and he felt very vulnerable under her stare. She lifted her hand up and with shaky fingers she reached to touch his cheek. Fingertips barely made contact with his fair face, as if she were afraid he would disappear under her touch. Her eyes searched his and in them she found remorse and kindness. Her fingers brushed over his lips tenderly and he heard her breath catch in her throat.
Arwen then saw light catch something around his neck. Her fingers went to it and she found the ring she gave him on a chain, worn much in the same fashion as their friend, Frodo, the ringbearer.
She gave a slight smile at this as she once again caught his gaze. No words were exchanged; understanding passing between the two elves as Legolas took her hand in his own and together they walked down the path.
------
Still not the end......
