The Cairn Stone
A tale of sorrow and death in the lives of the Enchanted.
The silver laced leaves fell silently from the bower of the woods above them, spiralling down in a seemingly archaic dance of the spirits. All around the clearing the silver trees glistined wetly, but not so; they they were dry as bone, but held an inner light. It was neither night nor day, as in the land of the elves time did not pass, but simply glided slowly by. The forest however was alight as if under a pregnant moon, washed in silver and carressed by pale fingers. The clearing itself was covered in a carpet of leaves, the cracked stone in the middle; a flat surface on top.
Lain on a red velvet throw embroidered with a poem of passing in the language of the elves, A man. His hair was touched with age, swept aside to reveal a strong face lined heavily with the years. His eyes, two black pools, chips of agate, twinkled brightly like crystal. Above this all lay a coronet, wrought finely to hold within it's folds a dark green stone, the crown of Gondor. He was swathed in a green and black robe, and in his palsied hands he clutched the sword of the Heir, Anduril.
The light of the enchanted woods painted him with a pale glow, and the figure at his side garbed in black. Arwen, daughter of Elrond, knelt by her king, a veil of deep dusk on her dark head. Her smooth flawless hands lay atop those of her love, Aragorn, untouched by the perils of time and age, which had no meaning for one of the immortal Elves. Tears flowed freely down her porcelin face, leaving trails like tiny rivers from her deep blue eyes. Her long black hair fell down her back, melding seamlessly with that of her gown. Arwen, Evenstar of her people, mourned her dying husband.
Aragorn, eyes bright, raised one gauntleted hand and placed it against her cheek. His rough palm scratched at her pale skin, and Arwen closed her jeweled eyes, clasping the hand tightly against her.
"Arwen, A si i-Dhuath u-orthor. The shadow does not hold sway over me yet, my love." Aragorn's voice was like reeds rustling in the wind, and he smiled faintly as he watched his bride, unchanged since the day he first met her.
Arwen glanced up at him then, her eyes full with unshed tears. She reached out with a shaking hand, her golden wedding ring shimmering in the faint light and caressed his hair gently.
"U or le a u or nin. Not over you, not over me. Aragorn, it is near. I can feel it in my soul, crouched over your shoulder, waiting to claim you. Fir, death."
Aragorn grasped her hand in his and held it for a moment, rough on smooth.
"I wish to return this to you, It is yours." He said quietly, gently opening her palm.
Cradled against her hand lay the pendant she had given to him all those years ago, a crystal star that glowed like living fire. It twinkled at her, and she looked up at him.
"Keep it Aragorn, it is still a gift." She said quietly, moving to press it back into his hand.
He smiled and whispered "Take it. why bury your heart with me in a tomb?"
Arwen stood and gently lifted his head, slipping the pendant around his neck. It rested upon the gold embroidered tunic he wore, and Aragorn could only close his eyes with weariness.
"My time to leave on the ships to Arinor are passed my love. When I renounced the fate of my kind in the undying lands, and vowed to love you in life and death I meant it with all my heart." Arwen said, her eyes wide and unfaltering on her husbands aged face. "I remained with you, a mortal, and shall live out the rest of my infinite life on Middle Earth. I chose you, Elvenstar."
Aragorn sighed and reached for her hand again.
"My father warned me this day would come, and I knew it. The rest of my life is more fearsome to me than death. A life without you, is no life at all." She said, a silvered leaf flittering down slowly to rest on her hand. She was tiny and frail, her posture bent in sorrow. She shook with silent tears, then laid her dark head upon his shoulder.
"I remember the first time we met, In the house of my father. I did not think I would love you forever at that moment. You were young then, Estel is what they called you. Do you remember?" Her red lips whispered near his ear.
Aragorn, eyes closed as if in sleep, stroked her long black hair.
"I do."
"I waited for you, when you left with the Fellowship. I felt as if I would never see you again, as if I would die the moment I received word of your passing. Life would be too hard, as it still will be. My father wished me to escape with him, leave Middle Earth and the race of Men behind. 'There is no hope,' He had said to me. 'He is a mortal, he will die, Undomiel. Will you wander Middle Earth long after the fall of men, elves and Dwarves? When the world has changed beyond your perception, will you remain? A wraith that walks the earth alone crying, a ghost?' And to that I could not answer. My heart cried 'yes!', but in my mind I knew it folly."
Arwen could hear Aragorn's breathing grow deep as he slipped off into slumber, and she continued whispering her soothing story into his ear.
"I considered leaving with my father, across the sea to the beautiful lands of my people, the Arinor. But then I knew I would never see you again, and I would still remain alone without you, forever. So I remained, and my father did leave. Slowly my people have vanished, leaving for the west. I do fear I am the last of my kind here, Queen of Gondor, the last Elf of Middle Earth."
Tears had sprung into her eyes again, and she closed them tightly, shaking them away. This time she cried for herself, for all her father said had come true. She would live forever, and as civilization fell, and Nature once again reclaimed the Earth, purging it to prepare for rebirth; Arwen would remain, unscathed and alone.
She took in her husbands cragged face like a cool sip of water and banished all doubt from her heart. The coming time would be lonely, and hard, but she did not regret her decision. Her life with Aragorn had been perfect, and now at his passing she could relish every moment left with him; and she did.
Arwen told story after story, keeping vigil at his side, as he slept and his life slowly drained away. Finally, many days later, she felt his chest rise with breath, and fall slowly, never to rise again. Her beloved Aragorn, King of Gondor had slipped from Middle Earth, his soul joining those he knew in heaven. Arwen, eyes filled with tears that clouded her vision, kissed him lovingly on the lips and forehead. She followed his body as it was brought through the streets, and all manner of people came to see his immortal Queen in mourning. And when they laid him to rest, in a casket of dark stone, she stood solemnly at it's side. Black dress billowing in the wind, and a long dark veil covering her tear streaked face, she mourned her lost love. As the coffin was closed shut, and the crowds dispersed, Arwen stood unmoving at Aragorn's side. Finally, when all tears had been shed, and her spirit felt as dry and brittle as the parched leaves of a deep, stifled summer, she left her husband's grave.
"Namarie, my love. goodbye." And turning her back on Gondor she escaped her sorrows and found refuge in the golden woods of Lorien. Abandoned by her people years before, she began her long life alone with the enchanted trees, and the ghost of her husband Aragorn, following her every step.
The End
A tale of sorrow and death in the lives of the Enchanted.
The silver laced leaves fell silently from the bower of the woods above them, spiralling down in a seemingly archaic dance of the spirits. All around the clearing the silver trees glistined wetly, but not so; they they were dry as bone, but held an inner light. It was neither night nor day, as in the land of the elves time did not pass, but simply glided slowly by. The forest however was alight as if under a pregnant moon, washed in silver and carressed by pale fingers. The clearing itself was covered in a carpet of leaves, the cracked stone in the middle; a flat surface on top.
Lain on a red velvet throw embroidered with a poem of passing in the language of the elves, A man. His hair was touched with age, swept aside to reveal a strong face lined heavily with the years. His eyes, two black pools, chips of agate, twinkled brightly like crystal. Above this all lay a coronet, wrought finely to hold within it's folds a dark green stone, the crown of Gondor. He was swathed in a green and black robe, and in his palsied hands he clutched the sword of the Heir, Anduril.
The light of the enchanted woods painted him with a pale glow, and the figure at his side garbed in black. Arwen, daughter of Elrond, knelt by her king, a veil of deep dusk on her dark head. Her smooth flawless hands lay atop those of her love, Aragorn, untouched by the perils of time and age, which had no meaning for one of the immortal Elves. Tears flowed freely down her porcelin face, leaving trails like tiny rivers from her deep blue eyes. Her long black hair fell down her back, melding seamlessly with that of her gown. Arwen, Evenstar of her people, mourned her dying husband.
Aragorn, eyes bright, raised one gauntleted hand and placed it against her cheek. His rough palm scratched at her pale skin, and Arwen closed her jeweled eyes, clasping the hand tightly against her.
"Arwen, A si i-Dhuath u-orthor. The shadow does not hold sway over me yet, my love." Aragorn's voice was like reeds rustling in the wind, and he smiled faintly as he watched his bride, unchanged since the day he first met her.
Arwen glanced up at him then, her eyes full with unshed tears. She reached out with a shaking hand, her golden wedding ring shimmering in the faint light and caressed his hair gently.
"U or le a u or nin. Not over you, not over me. Aragorn, it is near. I can feel it in my soul, crouched over your shoulder, waiting to claim you. Fir, death."
Aragorn grasped her hand in his and held it for a moment, rough on smooth.
"I wish to return this to you, It is yours." He said quietly, gently opening her palm.
Cradled against her hand lay the pendant she had given to him all those years ago, a crystal star that glowed like living fire. It twinkled at her, and she looked up at him.
"Keep it Aragorn, it is still a gift." She said quietly, moving to press it back into his hand.
He smiled and whispered "Take it. why bury your heart with me in a tomb?"
Arwen stood and gently lifted his head, slipping the pendant around his neck. It rested upon the gold embroidered tunic he wore, and Aragorn could only close his eyes with weariness.
"My time to leave on the ships to Arinor are passed my love. When I renounced the fate of my kind in the undying lands, and vowed to love you in life and death I meant it with all my heart." Arwen said, her eyes wide and unfaltering on her husbands aged face. "I remained with you, a mortal, and shall live out the rest of my infinite life on Middle Earth. I chose you, Elvenstar."
Aragorn sighed and reached for her hand again.
"My father warned me this day would come, and I knew it. The rest of my life is more fearsome to me than death. A life without you, is no life at all." She said, a silvered leaf flittering down slowly to rest on her hand. She was tiny and frail, her posture bent in sorrow. She shook with silent tears, then laid her dark head upon his shoulder.
"I remember the first time we met, In the house of my father. I did not think I would love you forever at that moment. You were young then, Estel is what they called you. Do you remember?" Her red lips whispered near his ear.
Aragorn, eyes closed as if in sleep, stroked her long black hair.
"I do."
"I waited for you, when you left with the Fellowship. I felt as if I would never see you again, as if I would die the moment I received word of your passing. Life would be too hard, as it still will be. My father wished me to escape with him, leave Middle Earth and the race of Men behind. 'There is no hope,' He had said to me. 'He is a mortal, he will die, Undomiel. Will you wander Middle Earth long after the fall of men, elves and Dwarves? When the world has changed beyond your perception, will you remain? A wraith that walks the earth alone crying, a ghost?' And to that I could not answer. My heart cried 'yes!', but in my mind I knew it folly."
Arwen could hear Aragorn's breathing grow deep as he slipped off into slumber, and she continued whispering her soothing story into his ear.
"I considered leaving with my father, across the sea to the beautiful lands of my people, the Arinor. But then I knew I would never see you again, and I would still remain alone without you, forever. So I remained, and my father did leave. Slowly my people have vanished, leaving for the west. I do fear I am the last of my kind here, Queen of Gondor, the last Elf of Middle Earth."
Tears had sprung into her eyes again, and she closed them tightly, shaking them away. This time she cried for herself, for all her father said had come true. She would live forever, and as civilization fell, and Nature once again reclaimed the Earth, purging it to prepare for rebirth; Arwen would remain, unscathed and alone.
She took in her husbands cragged face like a cool sip of water and banished all doubt from her heart. The coming time would be lonely, and hard, but she did not regret her decision. Her life with Aragorn had been perfect, and now at his passing she could relish every moment left with him; and she did.
Arwen told story after story, keeping vigil at his side, as he slept and his life slowly drained away. Finally, many days later, she felt his chest rise with breath, and fall slowly, never to rise again. Her beloved Aragorn, King of Gondor had slipped from Middle Earth, his soul joining those he knew in heaven. Arwen, eyes filled with tears that clouded her vision, kissed him lovingly on the lips and forehead. She followed his body as it was brought through the streets, and all manner of people came to see his immortal Queen in mourning. And when they laid him to rest, in a casket of dark stone, she stood solemnly at it's side. Black dress billowing in the wind, and a long dark veil covering her tear streaked face, she mourned her lost love. As the coffin was closed shut, and the crowds dispersed, Arwen stood unmoving at Aragorn's side. Finally, when all tears had been shed, and her spirit felt as dry and brittle as the parched leaves of a deep, stifled summer, she left her husband's grave.
"Namarie, my love. goodbye." And turning her back on Gondor she escaped her sorrows and found refuge in the golden woods of Lorien. Abandoned by her people years before, she began her long life alone with the enchanted trees, and the ghost of her husband Aragorn, following her every step.
The End