Disclaimer: This work was written entirely from a love and with respect for the works of J.R..

Many thanks to Cairistiona for the beta and to Estelcontar for her support and encouragement.

This is the final chapter of 'Aspects of Aragorn'. Thanks to all who have been reading and my special gratitude to everyone who has left reviews. I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

This chapter was published in the Tolkien Society's 'Amon Hen' volume 222.

A Worthy Memorial

Minas Tirith IV Age

Barahir put down his quill and carefully blotted the last words on the final page of the manuscript. He sat back in his chair and waited a moment for the ink to dry. The work had been a long labour, requiring much painstaking research, but it was at last complete. The pages would yet be properly bound and the lettering of the title would definitely be improved once the gilders had done their part, but it was still hugely satisfying to finally hold the finished item in his hands.

All that was needed now was the approval of the King.

He had been greatly honoured when his Majesty had asked him to write the piece, though at the outset it had seemed a most daunting undertaking. But once he began researching his subject, he had come to realise what a rare privilege he had been granted. The matter, though, was very close to the King's heart and he dearly hoped he would not be disappointed by his efforts.

He was due to attend an audience with his sovereign that very afternoon. There was no other particularly pressing business requiring their attention; he was only delivering a routine report on the archives, so this would certainly be an appropriate moment to present his work. His Majesty had enquired after its progress when last they met and Barahir had assured him it would not be long before it was completed. A few minor details had required some further perusing in the archives, but the ever reliable Thain's Book had provided the answers he sought. There really was no need to delay seeking the King's endorsement.

Barahir meticulously checked the pages were all arranged in the correct order before carefully placing them in a folder which he secured by tying together the ribbons attached to the hard outer covers. Tucking the folder under his arm, he immediately left his comfortable little house on the Sixth Level, and made his way to the Citadel. It was nearly mid-day, but he gave no thought to pausing for lunch. Buoyed by the joy of accomplishment yet simultaneously apprehensive of the reception his work might receive, he had no stomach for food.

It was only a short walk to the King's residence. He had become a regular visitor there these last few months so he was familiar enough with the protocol involved. Usually he was welcomed by his elder brother, the Steward, but he was not in attendance at this time, being busy with his own affairs at Emyn Arnen. Instead, he was greeted by the King's secretary who ushered him through to an ante room where he was evidently required to await his Majesty's pleasure.

It was a comfortable room but, as the minutes slowly ticked by, it soon became apparent to Barahir that he had arrived far too early.

'Eager fool,' he chided himself.

He tugged at the too tight collar of his tunic. It was a warm June day and he was rapidly becoming uncomfortably hot in his stiff formal attire, in spite of the room being kept pleasantly cool by the smooth white marble which lined the floor and walls. In truth, he had a tendency to be rather nervous in the company of the King and the longer he had to wait, the more he could feel his anxiety rising. He was, after all, only a humble man of letters, not a politician like his brother. Books and scrolls were his usual companions, the simple, uncomplicated tools by which he plied his trade.

He forced himself to sit quietly and cease his agitated pacing. He was considering leaving and returning again at the due time when suddenly the door opened, and to his surprise, the King himself came forward to greet him. He was dressed casually in loose fitting robes, and yet, such was the nobility of his fair face and deep the wisdom in his grey eyes, no matter what his attire, the King never appeared anything less than the mighty and powerful lord that Barahir knew him to be.

"Barahir, how good of you to come," said the King, smiling. "I do hope you're here on the matter we've been discussing. Let us go outside into the garden; it is far too glorious a day to remain indoors."

The King was effortlessly regal in his manner and yet every bit as approachable as his great father was reputed to have been. His welcoming smile always immediately put Barahir at his ease and once he got into his stride with their meetings, he never could remember why he became so nervous beforehand. He followed the King through doors that seemed to miraculously open as they approached, and they eventually emerged from the Citadel into the Fountain Gardens.

It was an enchanting place, having been designed and nurtured by the Elves in the early days of the Fourth Age when the Firstborn were still regular visitors to the city. Orange blossoms and roses lined the arched walkways, their soft fragrances blending harmoniously with the warm summer air. King and servant meandered slowly, their gentle pace in tune with the peaceful ambience of the place, but no matter which direction a visitor strolled, all paths eventually converged on the great White Tree that towered above everything else that grew there. Barahir had seen the Tree many times in his life but, every time he beheld it anew, its magnificence never failed to take his breath away. Proud and erect it stood beside the fountain, the living symbol of the United Realms which continued to flourish and prosper under the sure and just rule of their King. Its mighty trunk stretched far into the clear sky, and its countless white leaves shimmered silver in the bright sunshine, showering the water of the fountain with a myriad of glittering jewels.

"So, Barahir, is it finished?" asked the King as he and the historian took their seats on the edge of the fountain.

"I believe it is, my lord," said Barahir, unable to conceal the tremor in his voice as he handed the folder to the King. "I have researched the contents thoroughly and am as confident as I can be of their accuracy, but of course, I defer to your Majesty in this."

"I don't doubt the validity of your work," replied the King, "and I'm greatly looking forward to reading it."

But the King did not open the folder, nor did he make any further comment about the manuscript. Instead, they spent a few minutes talking briefly of other matters concerning the archives. Everything was clearly well in hand there; the Great King during his long reign had seen to it that order was brought to all the records and documents in the Realm and so the work of the historians was not as arduous as it had been in the past.

Yet Barahir could not help but notice that the King often glanced down at the folder in his hands and it was quite apparent to him that his sovereign's mind was elsewhere. He could only guess that the King was actually more eager to read the work of his scribe than he appeared. And indeed not many minutes had passed before he brought the audience to an end. Barahir rose and bowed politely before leaving. He was not looking forward to the next few days in the slightest as he anxiously waited to learn if his efforts had brought satisfaction.

~oo0oo~

After Barahir had gone, Eldarion remained seated by the fountain for a long time. He wanted to be alone when he read the work and he knew none in his household, not even his family, would disturb him while he sought solitude beside the White Tree. He stared at the folder lying on his lap. For a number of years now he had greatly desired that this work be written. Yet suddenly he was reluctant to proceed. There was a part of him that longed only to plunge in and devour every word, so that he might once again feel close to the mother and father whom he had loved so much but who were now no longer with him. Yet he was cautious, apprehensive even. He was quite sure that some of the passages awaiting him within the pages of this document would prove very painful to read.

In his lifetime, the late King had often talked of his earlier years. He had told him something of his endless travels and the many hardships he had endured in the long years when he had struggled against seemingly insurmountable odds to defeat the Shadow in the East. It had all been so vastly different from Eldarion's own life and very difficult to imagine for a man who had grown up in the safety of the Citadel, who had never even raised a weapon in anger. His father, on the other hand, had, of necessity, lived by the sword. Yet, in spite of his father's many tales, the lives of his parents remained a wonder to him. That his mother had accepted a mortal life to wed his father he still found a truly inspirational tale of love and sacrifice. And, as he began to feel his own mortality approaching, he still marvelled at the hope and trust with which his father had succeeded in returning the Gift at the end of his days.

During the long years of the Great King's reign, much had been written about his life. He was the greatest hero of the Age, beloved by his people. Songs were still sung celebrating his achievements and the history books were full of accounts of his great deeds. But the new King had sought something more than this as an epitaph by which future generations might remember his father. He desired something that touched upon the inner core of the man, something that would evoke the very essence of this truly remarkable Dúnadan for those who came after; those for whom the Great King would be nothing more than merely another figure from the past to be studied and dissected in the school room. He wanted words that would make his father live and breathe again in the minds of those who would read of his deeds in the long Ages yet to come so that all might discover for themselves the beating of his great heart. Then they might better know his courage and the strength of his will that drove him on when others would have long despaired; they might judge for themselves the clarity of his wisdom and their own hearts might be touched by his boundless compassion and selflessness. And at the very heart of his father's extraordinary life, they might then fully understand the depth of his love for his mother and how, because of that love, he accomplished all that he did and played to the full his part in restoring Middle-earth to the fair and peaceful place it had become.

The writing of such a work was no simple task, though Eldarion had every confidence that Barahir would pen a worthy memorial. Yet still his hands trembled slightly as he slowly untied the ribbons and opened the folder. He carefully removed the manuscript and, turning to the first page, he began to read.

'Arador was the grandfather of the King….'

~oo0oo~

A request from the author:

I am compiling my own 'worthy memorial' to Tolkien's ranger-king which will appear in the form of a new website later in the year. My aim is to produce a comprehensive, in-depth study of the character which explores a range of topics, including Aragorn's evolution and place in Tolkien's legendarium. The emphasis is firmly upon Tolkien's creation, although contemporary interpretations are not neglected. Unlike Barahir, I'm not attempting this alone and among those kindly contributing written pieces already are Ted Nasmith, Jef Murray and Ruth Lacon. I would though love to hear from anyone who might be interested in being a part of this project. To find out more, please contact me at: