This one, too, might one day be revised. I'm not sure. Erasing the lyrics is making me sad.
I Don't Love You Anymore
"If you love her, you won't marry her."
Aragorn, King Elessar, walked down one of the pristine marble hallways of his new home, head held high, face impassive as if carved from stone, eyes expressionless and unseeing though they scanned the hall before him.
"If you love her, let her remain with her people. Do not subject her to the doom of yours."
The beauty around him was undiminished from the last he had seen of it; the paintings as expressive, the statues as lovely in their gilded detail, the columns as stately in their strength, carven so majestically in a time long past remembrance, though there were some who yet remained that could remember when it was naught but empty land, unclaimed by the world of men. It was still beautful, his home, but it went by unmarked, unappreciated, for it was forever overshadowed by the one who held his heart.
"Do not suffer her to the pain and death that will be the only reward of your love."
It was the reward for his actions, his bravery in the fight against Sauron, yet no creation by mortal men could ever hope to rival the beauty of the one who held his heart, could ever hope to rival her grace and elegance, her smile, so vibrant, the light in her eyes, so true. Nothing could ever be worthy of competing for his attention over that of his love.
It pained him more than he could ever express, had he the time and the words, to know his love, allowing her to love him, would doom her to a lifetime of pain, of being forced to remain when his life passed on. It was not a choice he made lightly, not one he could ease with gentle words. He would give anything for her to not suffer that pain, that loss. She deserved more, deserved everything. He could not give it to her.
"Do you love her?"
His footsteps were steady and unyielding, echoing hollowly in the stone hallway he traversed, his steps heavier than ever they had been, weighed down by grief, by time that had passed in the knowledge that he could not tell the one he loved that he loved her. The sound matched the beat of his heart, ever going on, never stopping, taking him somewhere he did not wish to go. He had been there before.
A corner appeared. He turned. A door stood at the end of the hall, solid, carved in intricate design. He approached them with the same implacable step that still echoed in his mind and pushed them without thought, without hesitation. They opened to a room he did not see even as he knew it well and crossed the floor to emerge on his balcony, an expansive rise that view north, west, and south. Here, finally, he stopped, resting his hands against the smooth white railing, and leaned into that touch, needing the strength of immovable stone.
"Hurt her to save her."
He had. Valar help him, he had.
He had watched as the joy, brilliant luminescence to rival the sun, faded from her eyes, watched as confusion took its place and soon mingled with pain. He had watched, the only thing he could do, his emotions locked tightly away so she could not see the pain in his own eyes and know if she but persisted, she would win. He had watched, but he turned away before realization dawned, before he could see her heart break through her eyes. Then for the last, he pushed her away.
She did not try again. He had won, yet the victory was not his.
His heart broke, and all he could do was ignore it while he continued on, laughing and full-filling his obligations so she would not see, push it aside and pretend it did not exist so that he could believe, if only for a little while, that what he claimed was true . . . and ignore the words of friends who knew him too well to think everything was fine, no matter how flawless his mask, how thoroughly he convinced himself that he did not lie.
The wind blew, pulling at the cloak that flowed behind him, yet the heavy material would not be moved. He was king, the Shadow defeated, Suaron cast down for the final time, his people safe. . . . It was done, he was done, but the rewards he had worked for were gone, soured in the achieving by his own choice.
His eyes closed, shutting out the beauty he beheld as he leaned heavily on the white banister before him, the only thing holding him up. She had gone, returned with her father to Rivendell, returned to cross over the sea with the rest of her kin, long ago. Her presence was gone and could not touch him, but he could not stop lest word get back to his love and ruin all.
The remaining members of the fellowship had left shortly after her; the hobbits to their Shire, Legolas and Gimli on their promised journey through Fangorn Forest and the Glittering Caves at Helm's Deep, and Gandalf off to wherever he had always gone, still a Pilgrim at heart though he be white or gray.
His eyes opened, the dull silver taking in the beauty once more. Yes, they had gone, and he was alone in a land he had never wanted to call his own, among a people he did not want to rule, but had never been able to escape. It was not how it was supposed to be, and yet he had made his choice, made it as he stood in front of those gates and saw her approach, felt the full weight of his doom and his responsibilities, so long denied.
"There will be no choice before Arwen Undomiel, unless you, Aragorn, place it there. You do not yet know what you ask of me."
Knowing came too late. The last ship was just about to set sail. Soon, and she and the rest of her kin would be gone forever, and he could stop pretending for it would be done, ever and after unchangable. Then he would be free, and the pain would be gone. He hoped he could pretend he did not love her that long.
The Undying Lands would be ever green. His love, a memory.