The King of Gondor lay peacefully atop the large, rectangular stone pallet, arms crossed across his chest gently, eyes shut as if sleeping. This would have been believable, however, if not for the long line of mixed races filing by and looking upon their King with tear-stained faces.

Neither sword thrust nor concealed venom could fell the great man. Nay, no matter how hard he tried, old age overcame his valiant heart and spirit, and dragged him into darkness, still struggling.

Arwen Evenstar stood by her husband's head, weeping silently. The mourners were silent; as was custom, but there might've been a party for all the noise that could be heard.

It seemed as if all the land he tread upon was crying for Gondor's loss. The trees bent and cracked in the wailing wind. The grass whistled in agony, and mountains rumbled in anger.

When at last the line of faithful subjects from Gondor, Rohan and other countries had finished, Aragorn's friends were permitted to come forth.

One by one, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn and a few others gathered round his body in awe—for even in death, the King was a fearsome and stunning sight.

Narsil, the Sword Broken and Reforged Again lay at his side, in the scabbard that he had drawn against Sauron. His winged crown was still upon his head. It would be removed at burial, for the Heir of Gondor to wear.

Everyone gazed silently and solemnly at their beloved friend, who had in the mishap of everything, came out on top; still shining.

The nine companions wore a mask of grief unlike any other; for they alone knew Aragorn as a soldier on the battlefield and in the days of old, had grown closer to him than any other.

Silently, Legolas Greenleaf stretched out a slender, long-fingered had and laid it upon the brow of his companion. Slowly, as if in a trance-like state, he ran his hand down the side of Aragorn's face, gently caressing it, then moved down to clasp his hands. Legolas' entire frame shook with sadness as he held those cold, pale, hands. At last, he could bear it no more, and collapsed to his knees openly weeping, Aragorn's hand still clutched in his grip.

Arwen choked back her own sobs as she came around to the grieving elf. Like a child she held him to her, and he unto her like a mother.

The four Hobbits were weeping, holding onto one another as if they were afraid of losing someone else. The loved Aragorn of Gondor greatly and their respect for him was unmatched. For Frodo, it was probably one of the worst moments of his long Hobbit life—save Bilbo's passing.

The grievous silence was more than Gimli could bear.

"Auch!" he spoke through tears of his own. "I cannot stand this funeral silence any more! We have grieved for this man long enough! Aragorn would not want us spilling our eyes out at his funeral as if he were a man who did nothing!"

Galadriel looked up from her husband's chest. "Gimli is right." Arwen looked shocked. "Aragorn was a man who did many things for Middle-Earth that he did not have to. We should rejoice! For he has gone to do more gallant acts in other realms. We will never forget him, though our tears may stop."

Samwise Gamgee look round. "The Lady is right, cruel as it may seem. Crying won't bring him back, no matter how much we believe."

At great lengths, a look of understanding passed amongst the friends, and they let Aragorn go—to forever live in their hearts. One by one they walked out of the wood as silent as they came, feeling their spirits raise.

But two would not let Aragorn go.

Legolas and Arwen knelt in a mother-child embrace, still weeping, as they were the ones who loved him most.

~Owari~

At the bottom of every silent hill,

There is a quieter pit.

And in that quieter pit,

Lies peace, tranquility, and sorrow.

Not to be forgotten,

He is within,

The King of Gondor lives!