I had to write this because I've seen so many, and I wanted to do my own. I know that this isn't how it is in the book, but you'll have to deal with it, because this is the way I think it would have happened. So no, this isn't exactly canonical, but I had to do it anyway.
The streets of Minas Tirith were humming with activity. Merchants shouted their wares to any listening ear, street bards and storytellers spun their tales and sang praises of events long past, cutpurses and thieves plied their trades. But today, as dawn faded and bright daylight came, there was a chill in the air that sunlight did not touch.
Rumors flew like pigeons freed from a rooftop, spreading faster than the facts could catch up. The tales were many and varied, from, "The Elves have returned," to, "No, the Valar have come to live among us," or, "Never, it is the Dark Lord Sauron, cursed be his name, he has come again." All the veins of rumor were normal, if a bit more fervent than usual, but one breathed whisper presided over all the long-sung others. "King Elessar is dying."
Some said the old king was already dead, or something of the like, but mostly the rumor was considered fact. The defender and savior of Gondor and Arnor was fading into death-mist. But none could fathom what might be transpiring in the great palace above.
Lady Arwen's hands shook, her body trembled. Her beloved husband's face was pale, his hand seemed frail to her eyes, though she could never imagine Aragorn son of Arathorn, Estel, Captain of the Dunedain,the near-son of Elrond Peredhel,and King of Gondor for many years past, being frail or weak. Yet he was. She could feel his life-currents leaving him. As his vitality faded, she felt her own strength waning. So deep was she in despair that she was startled when sound broke the heavy silence. Her love's voice was not his own, and Arwen shuddered at the unfamiliar tone, so raspy and faint. "Eldarion, my son."
Arwen had nearly forgotten her precious son, for, though he carried her blood in his veins, Aragorn carried her heart and soul in his eyes. "Eldarion?"
The man's face was tearstained and pale. "Yes, father?" His voice shook uncontrollably, though it was plain how much he tried to hide it.
"My son, the crown of Gondor and the sceptre of Arnor are no logner mine. Take them now, sit upon the throne in the presence of the rulers of old, and defend honor for Gondor. The land is yours, my son. As has been my heart from the moment my eyes lit upon the face of you, my firstborn."
Eldarion shook his head fiercely. The man had become a little boy again, faced with his father's death. "I do not want it, father! I want you! And your heart belongs to mama, you've said so."
Aragorn gasped a laugh through colorless, trembling lips. "You- you are right, my son. But you are blood of her blood, and therefore my heart is yours. You must take the throne. The Halls of Mandos call, and who am I to deny the will of the Valar?" His voice, for all his strong words, was weakening by the moment. "Go, my son, with my blessing. Melin le."
Eldarion wept bitterly and bent to kiss his father's brow. A shaking hand raised from the deathbed to brush the a stubbly cheek, the face of a grown man and beloved son. "I love you, Ada." Eldarion touched his father's hand before rising wearily. He left with a final glance at his father, despair warring with determination to fulfill responsibility in his eyes.
Arwen felt so alone, even at the bedside of the man she had loved for more than a century. "Arwen, hervess nin..."
Arwen laid her head on Aragorn's faintly breathing chest, gripping his shoulders, never intending to let go. "Meleth nín, ai, Estel!Ceri-avon min ereb, ikotane ereb. Lle no-chwest na min, a cuil! Ben lle imu-gerentelunedross,sui aewned gwaew!"(My love, oh, Estel! Do not leave me alone, so alone. You are breath to me, and life! Without you I have no roof in the rain,asa bird in a wind!) Aragorn's hand twined itself in her hair, stroking the dark locks cascading down her back.
"Arwen, bainpen nedArda a rian nia golodhrim, melithon le anuir. (Arwen,beautifulone in Ardaand queen over elf-folk, I will love you forever.)Never would I leave you or cause you pain, if the choice were in my hands. When strength failed, when all hope burned to nothingness in the fires of death before my eyes, love for you caused my feet to stir, my lungs to breathe." His breathing suddenly faltered as if to show that it was no longer so, he gasped for air. Arwen's head shot up, her hands cupped an old face tinged with the pallor of death. He voice was even fainter now, any mortal would have labored to hear it, but he kept on. "But now everything has failed. All is gone.But you, you remain. I wish your face to be the last image to flicker before my vision as I pass to the Halls of Mandos."
Arwen bent her face to his, brushing a soft kiss to his paled lips. She gazed into his eyes a long moment before closign hers, unable to take teh sight of her precious Estel hovering on teh brink of nothingness. She breathed every word of every thought she had ever had of him, the regrets of teh fights they's had, the joy of triumphs shared. Every thought, every memory.
"Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"
"Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?"
"Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."
"If you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce."
Aragorn had gone still and silent, his shallow breathing less than a whisper to even Elven ears. Arwen's words rolled from her tongue like a river, halted only by the tears that streamed on her face. Suddenly she broke off with a strangled cry, "No!" She felt the life drain from her, felt her body feel instantly weak, her heart beat with less determination. Limbs like water, blood like ice, head like fire. He was gone. "No!" her voice faded from a wail to little more than moving lips as she cradled a lifeless shell in trembling arms.
By Eru's hand all things work for good.
"How? How does this turn good? How could you take him? Manen? Amman? Oh, Estel!" (How? Why?)
No answer came, no divine words revealing truth. Arwen rose unsteadily, staring through eyes as devoid of life as the great king's. The light of Lúthien was gone. Beren had flown, ahead of Tinúviel. Now Arwen, bearer of the gift once Lúthien's, would follow to Mandos' dwelling. Where we will dance through Ages uncounted, and time will touch us not.
But she had duties. She would linger, but always knowing that Elessar, king of Gondor, king of the heart of Arwen Undomiel, lone heir of Isildur and lone owner of the soul of the daughter of Elrond Peredhel, he waited for her in a land of paradises never imagined.
Wait, my beloved. Wait for me in that place. I follow. Wait.
What do you think? Please R&R, I thrive on opinions!