A/N: Edited and formatted in a much more pleasing fashion. Also, any
spelling/grammar mistakes that I could find were fixed. If you find any
more, please let me know!
A King Has Died This Day.
----------------------------------
I stand before them, their black garments reflecting the blackness in my heart, my own black dress a constant reminder of the reason for it.
It does not rain, but my vision shimmers with a different water. I wish I could look away, away from their grief and into mine, where the only darkness is my own, where I can curl in my bed and forget the outer world.
I know not if this is the reason why mother refused to do this, I know it is why I accepted. "Life will go on" he used to say, and I believed, and I still do.
I stand, and I pause, for I know not how to say the words that the Council has written for me, here on the parchment in my hand. I look down at them, and I feel the bile rising in my throat.
They did not know him! They did not know the man!
These words were hollow, lies and masks, portraying a Great King, a man of war and of valor.
But that's not him... He was never Isildur, or Elros. Never had he thought himself to be as one of them, as a hero of ancient days. He was simply a Ranger of the North, called upon his duty by men greater than he. A simple man who had been trapped in a fate not his own.
But the people before me will not listen to this, they knew him as a crown and a sword, as wares coming down from the Anduin and in from the Sea, as festivals and parades and laws and justice.
They knew him as a King.
I stand and I swallow the memories, which rise suddenly, of hands holding me tight on stormy nights, and of an older man's laughter. Of shinning eyes and games of 'Hide the Crown'.
And then I jerk the paper in front of me and read. If I do this quickly, maybe I won't cry.
"My f-father was a great man.
In stature, he towered above the men of Gondor.
In likes he reminded us of heroes of old.
None surpassed his honor.
His sword had the heritage of t-true Kings of men.
He was our sunrise and sunset, the bringer of hope and light,
the harbinger of new times.
By his hand was the ancient pact between all peoples renewed.
By his love were the realms of men rejoined and rebuilt.
By his compassion were they ruled for ten scores of years and more.
'Twas this very night that we had lost this ray of sunshine,
the bells ring out across the land, for the King had..."
The page blurs before my eyes, and a lump is in my throat, but I wipe my tears angrily and continue,
"Had died.
Tar-Envinyatar, Elessar, Strider, Aragorn son of Arathron,
beloved husband and father, our wise and just liege,
we salut you in your last hour, upon your final passing into
the halls of Everafter.
The guard will now lower the flag to half-mast."
I stand erect, looking at the flag of Gondor descending, the image of the tree flying in the wind mirroring the one that he had planted, years ago.
I see the marshals saluting, and the faces of the hundreds gathered, etched with pain and loss. I envision the people in the city, listening to the bells, readying themselves for the sharpest of blows.
A king has died.
But for me, and for my brother and sisters, and for mother... We had lost so much more...
I stand and I cry, and I whisper to myself words that countless other daughters have whispered through the ages.
"Farewell, father... Farewell."
A King Has Died This Day.
----------------------------------
I stand before them, their black garments reflecting the blackness in my heart, my own black dress a constant reminder of the reason for it.
It does not rain, but my vision shimmers with a different water. I wish I could look away, away from their grief and into mine, where the only darkness is my own, where I can curl in my bed and forget the outer world.
I know not if this is the reason why mother refused to do this, I know it is why I accepted. "Life will go on" he used to say, and I believed, and I still do.
I stand, and I pause, for I know not how to say the words that the Council has written for me, here on the parchment in my hand. I look down at them, and I feel the bile rising in my throat.
They did not know him! They did not know the man!
These words were hollow, lies and masks, portraying a Great King, a man of war and of valor.
But that's not him... He was never Isildur, or Elros. Never had he thought himself to be as one of them, as a hero of ancient days. He was simply a Ranger of the North, called upon his duty by men greater than he. A simple man who had been trapped in a fate not his own.
But the people before me will not listen to this, they knew him as a crown and a sword, as wares coming down from the Anduin and in from the Sea, as festivals and parades and laws and justice.
They knew him as a King.
I stand and I swallow the memories, which rise suddenly, of hands holding me tight on stormy nights, and of an older man's laughter. Of shinning eyes and games of 'Hide the Crown'.
And then I jerk the paper in front of me and read. If I do this quickly, maybe I won't cry.
"My f-father was a great man.
In stature, he towered above the men of Gondor.
In likes he reminded us of heroes of old.
None surpassed his honor.
His sword had the heritage of t-true Kings of men.
He was our sunrise and sunset, the bringer of hope and light,
the harbinger of new times.
By his hand was the ancient pact between all peoples renewed.
By his love were the realms of men rejoined and rebuilt.
By his compassion were they ruled for ten scores of years and more.
'Twas this very night that we had lost this ray of sunshine,
the bells ring out across the land, for the King had..."
The page blurs before my eyes, and a lump is in my throat, but I wipe my tears angrily and continue,
"Had died.
Tar-Envinyatar, Elessar, Strider, Aragorn son of Arathron,
beloved husband and father, our wise and just liege,
we salut you in your last hour, upon your final passing into
the halls of Everafter.
The guard will now lower the flag to half-mast."
I stand erect, looking at the flag of Gondor descending, the image of the tree flying in the wind mirroring the one that he had planted, years ago.
I see the marshals saluting, and the faces of the hundreds gathered, etched with pain and loss. I envision the people in the city, listening to the bells, readying themselves for the sharpest of blows.
A king has died.
But for me, and for my brother and sisters, and for mother... We had lost so much more...
I stand and I cry, and I whisper to myself words that countless other daughters have whispered through the ages.
"Farewell, father... Farewell."