AUTHOR'S NOTE-WARNING: This is indeed the final chapter of Eternity. PLEASE READ THIS! I urge you all to consider whether or not you want to read this ch. before going on. It was almost too much for me to write, yet I felt I had to do it or the end would not be right. It made me cry to read the last part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen appendix, and this is much more in-depth (I cried as I wrote this ch.). YOU'VE BEEN WARNED! If you really want, you can scroll down to the very bottom where the last two paragraphs are cheerier than the main part. First I would like to thank each and every one of you that read my story and brightened my day with your lovely responses:
Lindahoyland, Eldarwen Elanesse, Natulcien, Valia-Elf, viviana, luv24+alias, Nerwen Aldarion, Tinuviel Undomiel, Bubble-Sheep, Sauron, ArwenElfstone, Satan's Advocate, Lia, fearlessfreak, kaylz, One of Those Girls, Eldamari, Moi, AnimeSiren, PrincessIce, Mouth of Sauron
Many and much thanks! You guys are so wonderful and encouraging! I truly hope to post another story very soon, AND PLEASE SUBMIT A REVIEW SINCE THIS IS THE VERY LAST CHAPTER AND I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO KNOW HOW IT WAS FROM ALL OF YOU EVEN IF YOU DID NOT REVIEW BEFORE. Anar kuluva tielyanna!
All seasons change, children mature, time never stands still even in the most extraordinary of moments, and all Men have an appointed day to pass beyond the circles of this world. Kingdoms and reigning houses pass in the eternal existence of time like blossoms on a tree. Time flows past like the undulating wind: never steady to one's point of view.
Yet there are some things that last throughout the ages of the world like the stars that shine radiantly in the heavens. One of these is love. It cannot be aged by time, nor eroded by its weathering storms. Love is eternal, and so the world must hold onto it lest it slip through their fingers and drift away with the wind.
Aragorn Elessar, renowned throughout Middle-earth and watched from afar by the Valar in the West, woke from a deep, troubled sleep. He sat up in bed and took a moment to gather himself before rising. Arwen lay still and did not stir when he moved.
He wandered out of their bed chambers and into the broad corridors of the White Tower. There was an ethereal air to the Tower when night fell. All was silent but for the slight ruffling of the tapestries stirring in the gentle breeze slipping in through some of the windows. Only silver moonlight lighted the way for there were no lamps in that area, and it seemed to shatter and coalesce as his feet crossed its path.
Aragorn finally paused at a small balcony overlooking an open hall. There were two imposing figures on either side of him, the one on the left holding an open book and the other on the right bearing a long rod in his hand. The statues outside in plain view often held lances or swords in their grasps, yet within the halls of Minas Tirith they bore objects of Gondor's less threatening pursuits. These two represented knowledge and discipline.
When he looked down from his high place, he caught sight of a shadowed figure sitting on the marble steps leading down into the hall. Aragorn retreated from the balustrade and moved silently down to meet him.
"You wake also, my son?"
Eldarion looked up and nodded. The shimmering moonlight glanced upon his finely chiselled features: he was no longer a boy nor a young man. He was fully matured now and bore the carven face of a man who had grown in body, heart, and mind over many years; yet he was still as fetching as he had been in his youth. He and Vanimeldë dwelt in the Tower of Ecthelion with their son as close kin of the King of Gondor and Arnor.
"I did not feel sleep come to me," said Eldarion with the rich timbre of his voice lifting into the silence. "What of you?"
"I had strange, dark dreams." Aragorn slowly and carefully sat beside his son.
"Dark? But how…?"
"The Shadow is not fully rooted out, Eldarion. Do not let your guard down even now in these days of peace. The Shadow will always be with us until the end comes. But even so, it was not of that darkness that I speak. I did not see anything clearly, yet there were visions…"
"Of what?" Eldarion prompted when Aragorn fell silent for a long stretch of time.
"I saw tears falling into the water at the roots of Nimloth—though no face did I glimpse—and all of her blossoms closing fast and falling to the ground. I saw also the niphredil on the slopes of Cerin Amroth and in the grass of Lothlórien shining like white, glimmering stars among the verdant green…until they began to whither and disappear from the earth."
"Those are dark visions indeed, and I cannot make out what they would mean."
"Nor can I. Perhaps they were only dreams…"
"We can hope, my father."
"Eldarion," said Aragorn softly, "will you change anything here when you are crowned King of Gondor?"
There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he answered. "There is nothing that I can think of for you have seamlessly constructed the foundations of our lands and kingdoms. The governing is flawless, the treatment is chaste, and the growth of prosperity of the cities in Gondor, Arnor, and the other lands under our influence continues to increase. There are hardly any reports of disturbance in the North, South, West, or East. You are loved immensely by all the people and folks of Middle-earth, and respected more than any other man. What is there to change?"
Aragorn thought for a moment and nodded. "Perhaps that is so."
"Yet…there is one thing I may do differently."
"And what is that?"
"I wish to minister to the young who never lived in the difficult and dark times of Middle-earth so that they will know what sacrifices were made to create this peace that we have and why it is so important to maintain it. Then, possibly, we will not see any of this rebellious spirit arising in some of the youth who do not understand what it means for all Men to stand as one against the Shadow. I dealt with such trouble directly, so it has remained in my heart ever since to take it in hand."
Faint hints of a smile arose upon Aragorn's face, and he placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "You give me much hope, Eldarion. I am and always have been ever proud of what you have accomplished…and what you will accomplish." However, his joy dissipated as he realised what was happening and why he had asked his son such a question. He knew that Eldarion's time to take his place upon the Throne of Gondor was fast approaching. He knew that his own time was now drawing thin…
Arwen watched Aragorn as he gazed down upon his bright sword Andúril. It lay in its silver sheath wrought with glittering gems and runes of fortification on a plinth made especially for the blade where he had always kept it in their bed chambers. His fingers gently caressed its hilt and ran down most its length. She glanced up at his face and saw a look of distant reverie.
"Estel, is something the matter?" she asked softly once he lifted away his hand.
He looked up into her silvery-grey eyes, and she was amazed to see sorrow in his piercing gaze. She searched his eyes intently but could find nothing more.
"No, 'tis nothing. I was just…remembering." A wistful smile washed away the sadness within the depths of his gaze, and he left Andúril in its place. "Do not worry."
How can I not when you seem so far away and full of woe? she thought. It was not the first instance she had noticed something different in his demeanour. "I shall try, my love."
He drew closer and grasped her hands in his, firmly and tenderly. "Undómiel…we have seen so many dark times and endured so many troubles; and we have loved for more than a lifetime. I do not think I could ever have loved you more than I do now."
She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek. "You were always like the Star of Eärendil burning brilliantly in the heavens to light my path." Her hand fell to her side. "And our children….They could not have been greater or more beautiful in heart and appearance."
Aragorn said nothing. He merely let himself fall into the Evenstar's mellow, beautiful eyes, drawing her to him in a spiritual embrace as internal tears flowed down his cheeks.
Arwen first began to fear that something was truly the matter a whole fortnight later. She was idly creating a wreath of flowers in one of the lush courtyards of Minas Tirith when she felt a sudden lurch in her stomach. She set the flowers aside and lifted a hand to her brow. It had felt as though a portion of her being had been torn from her without warning. She suddenly felt an emotion that she had not felt in over a hundred years: terror.
Arwen hurried out of the courtyard and went straight to where Aragorn was for it had been of him that the feeling had come. When she saw him, he seemed well in outward appearance, yet Arwen could feel that he was not completely himself even from a distance. When their eyes met…her heart plummeted.
"My lord," she said coming to him with gradual steps. "Days have passed, the blossoms of Nimloth flourish, and yet you are no longer with us."
She reached for him with trembling hands. He took them and drew her to sit beside him. So great a silence passed between them that neither believed the other would dare to shatter the stillness that had fallen upon them as though the weaving of time had paused to listen and the sun to look down upon them.
"At last, Lady Evenstar, fairest in this world, and most beloved, my world is fading. Lo! we have gathered, and we have spent, and now the time of payment draws near."
"Would you then, lord, before your time leave your people that live by your word?" she said. Her voice was hardly a whisper.
"Not before my time," he answered. "For if I will not go now, then I must soon go perforce. And Eldarion our son is a man full-ripe for kingship."
No more words could be spoken upon their lips. Arwen understood, and so they arose from that fair place to tread the long, lingering journey down into the Silent Street. Shadows mirrored their hollow steps in Rath Dínen as they walked together beneath the balustrades and the ancient images of kings long past.
Arwen had known this day would come, but she could not have prepared for the sting of its bitterness. She gazed ahead into the darkness that awaited them in the House of the Stewards where lay embalmed the kings of old. Never did her step falter even when she felt her soul would tear asunder.
A long bed had been prepared for the King of the Westernesse. Arwen turned away from it and looked upon the one who had been a part of her soul and spirit for long ages of the world. How could she live upon the earth once he departed?
By now all within the city knew of the approach of their beloved King's passing, and Eldarion arrived with Silmarien and Tinúviel following behind at a distance. His face was ashen and strained as he stepped into the gloom of the chamber of Stewards. Father greeted son, though no warmth could be felt by the hands that had once wielded wisdom, power, and grace. Eldarion stepped aside as his younger sisters approached to bid their father a final farewell. Though they were grieved, they still bestowed tender smiles upon their father as they both took up his hand to lay a gentle kiss upon it before leaving together.
Aragorn took the Sceptre of Annúminas from his right hand and laid it in the hand of his son. Then he took the Winged Crown of Gondor from his brow and placed it atop Eldarion's. Arwen watched as the kingship was passed to her dear son in dreadful silence that spoke more than any words.
"My son, the burden is now yours," Aragorn murmured as he grasped Eldarion's head in his hands. "Carry it well, and use all that you have learnt in the long years of your life and from mine also."
"I will rule with all of the love and wisdom that has been gifted to me, my dear father. I will not fail your beloved memory." Eldarion fought back tears as he embraced his father one last time, and Aragorn looked upon him as King of Gondor and Arnor with a fulfilled gleam in his eye. "Farewell," Eldarion whispered as he stepped back and departed.
He found that his sisters were waiting for him as they wept quietly. They did not speak, but stayed near one another as they travelled down the Silent Street that could never have been more aptly named.
Arwen was now alone with her beloved lord. He laid down upon his bed of passing, and the Evenstar held his hand tightly in hers as though clasping him so would forgo the moment she dreaded above all else. His smile was wan and heart-rending as he turned his head to gaze upon her.
"Lady Undómiel, the hour is indeed hard, yet it was made even in that day when we met under the white birches in the garden of Elrond where none now walk. And on the hill of Cerin Amroth when we forsook both the Shadow and the Twilight this doom we accepted. Take counsel with yourself, beloved, and ask whether you would indeed have me wait until I wither and fall from my high seat unmanned and witless. Nay, lady, I am the last of the Númenóreans and the latest King of the Elder Days; and to me has been given not only a span thrice that of Men of Middle-earth, but also the grace to go at my will, and give back the gift. Now, therefore, I will sleep. I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of this world. The uttermost choice is before you: to repent and go to the Havens and bear away into the West the memory of our days together that shall there be evergreen but never more than memory; or else to abide the Doom of Men."
"Nay, dear lord," she said, "that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I nill: the loss and the silence. But I say to you, King of the Númenóreans, not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them, but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Elder say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive."
"So it seems," he said. "But let us not be overthrown at the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring. In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound forever to the circles of this world, and beyond them is more than memory. Farewell!"
"Estel, Estel!" she cried, and with that even as he took her hand and kissed it, he fell into sleep. Then a great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder; for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. And long there he lay, an image of the splendour of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.
Arwen's warm breath caressed her beloved's lifeless cheek. The warm fingers that had grasped her hand were now limp and cold. She lay the hand upon his breast and stared in burgeoning anguish at the immortal countenance of King Elessar Telcontar. The light of her eyes faded, her trembling hands stilled, and her soul was no longer bright and whole.
At the moment of King Elessar's death, ripples of grief spread in an instant throughout Middle-earth. In Minas Tirith the bells tolled in mournful, resonating cries as the people wept and were silent in honour of their Elfstone whom all had so dearly loved. In fair Edoras men stirred from their duties and looked to the West as a nameless sorrow pierced their hearts, and a chill wind ruffled in the rolling plains of emerald grass. In the dark woods of Fangorn Forest the ancient trees awoke from fitful sleep and reverberated with moaning. In the forsaken realm of the Elves Lothlórien the niphredil upon Cerin Amroth shuddered though no wind blew over the hallowed hill, and the bright waters quieted. In the mountainous land of Erebor the tumult of hammer and anvil of the Dwarves was silenced, and they fell grim of heart. In the abandoned valley of Imladris the birches of Elrond's gardens swayed sombrely, and it seemed as though distant crystal voices from the past drifted in the air in a glorious lament. In the verdant Shire, where the Hobbits dwelt in tranquillity and prosperity, many hung their heads or took a moment in silence. All of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth felt the deafening blow as their greatest king departed with his last breath.
Yet none felt the blow as mortally as Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her people. All who looked upon her afterwards saw not the bright maiden who had graced the City of Kings, but a shell of one who had been.
Seven days were spent in silence in honour of King Elessar Telcontar whose memory would ever remain dear and exalted in their hearts. Children for many ages to come would hear his tale and respect him with words of praise for no other king had done so much for his people whom he loved. Gondor and Arnor had never been at a greater height of glory and might, nor its people so prosperous or content.
Minas Tirith rejoiced in its newfound King who they had already come to adore in his youth, yet Arwen could find little joy in the placing of her son upon the Throne of Gondor and Arnor. Only a fortnight had passed since her beloved's passing when she knew she must go.
She summoned her daughters and her son to her before her mournful departure.
"Silmarien, Tinúviel…my love shall always be with you as is your father's. Namárië, my fair and beloved daughters." She embraced each of them and turned to Eldarion, King of the Westernesse. "And my son…"
Eldarion knelt and kissed the palm of her hand. "My heart despairs at your going, but I shall be at peace at last."
"Namárië, Eldarion: most beloved of Minas Tirith." She took his head in her pale hands and pressed her lips to his brow. He thought he glimpsed a flash of the light that once gilded her grey eyes as she looked into his. But she turned away, and he and his sisters left her.
No company escorted Arwen Evenstar, Queen of Gondor, from the city. She alone rode upon a white steed out of the mighty realm without provision or guide but for the stars and sun above her fair head. She did not pause to rest for no longer did she need sleep, food, or drink. Mortal wants no longer plagued her.
Days passed before she approached the empty realm of fair Lothlórien from the South. The golden leaves and blossoms of the mallorn drifted about her as she rode into the depths of the Golden Wood. The air was fresh and clear as it had been in the days of the Galadhrim. She dismounted soon after and bid her horse return to Minas Tirith for she would be in utter solitude.
The lands were quiet and beautiful, the breeze a warm stroke upon the skin. Birds sang sweetly in the golden boughs of the ancient trees as they recalled the Fair Folk who had walked among them long years ago. Lothlórien was abandoned by all but one.
The Evenstar's steps wove among the gold elanor and the white niphredil as she made her way to the hill of Cerin Amroth. The brilliant flowers were washed in her beauty and grace, yet Arwen walked unshod upon the flower-scattered slopes with her eyes dull as the grey of a distant storm. There she looked out upon the land one last moment in time, remembering the day she had stood in the same place with Aragorn as they plighted their troth and revealed their eternal love. She closed her eyes and laid herself down gently in the grass and fell into sleep. The niphredil slowly began to wither and the elanor also as the twilight of the earth fell over Middle-earth and the stars rose into the heavens with unconquered brilliance.
"In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound forever to the circles of this world, and beyond them is more than memory."
The Doom of Men is decided and known to all in Middle-earth and Valinor, yet where men go is not seen by any but the One who sits above Ea and watches over his Children. Just as Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel met beyond the world, so as two others who sacrificed their lives to one another meet for love is eternal and cannot be broken by time or even death. Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Undómiel were not long parted as they were joined in the undying lands of Men where those who have passed return in the glorious presence of Ilúvatar. They would walk together in those unspoiled, unseen lands, bask in each other's arms, and never depart from the other unto eternity.
In loving memory of those who have departed Middle-earth, gone beyond the circles of this world, and left their memories for us till the ends of time; Aragorn II, Elessar Telcontar, Hope of Men, King of the West, Envinyatar, and Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her People, Queen of Gondor, Daughter of Elrond, Lady of Rivendell. Without them, all hope would have faded at last. May their noble blood and bittersweet tale live on throughout the ages. Namárië.