Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) Title: Passing (#1482) Author: Liregon Chapters: 3 Archive: Tolkien Category: Lord of the Rings Description: The thoughts of Aragorn, Arwen and Eldarion as the former [aka Aragorn] passes away. Eldarion's Pov up! Published: 01 Jan 2005 Updated: 30 Jan 2005 Warnings: Type: Angst Characters: Aragorn; Arwen; Eldarion Chapter 1 - Aragorn's PoV Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Lotr characters [though I wish I did]. They are property of Tolkien. Note: this is from Appendix [A]: the tale of Aragorn and Arwen, but I changed some of it, and it does not include the dialogue. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -Passing -Aragorn's PoV- I slowly hobbled my way down towards Silent Street, with Arwen by my side, helping me as we walked slowly down the empty streets. She too knew not of my intentions, knew not that I was to leave this world that I have tarried in for far too long. Neither did she know that I had already passed the sceptre to Eldarion and had already bidden farewell to our children. My heart ached at the thought of keeping her in the dark, and not telling her till I wanted to. But this had to be done. My time on this world was up, and the thread dictating my life had almost come to an end. All that was needed was for me to draw my last breath. If I told her, I fear that would be enough to make me hold back a while longer. This day was supposed to be indeed a joyous occasion. The King of Gondor was celebrating his ten and two-hundredth birthday and almost all the people were celebrating my birthday, oblivious to what was to happen. But happiness and sorrow always come hand in hand. For today was the day the beloved Gondorian King was to leave the confines of this world. However, sad as it was, the people will only know of it on the morrow. As our feet turned onto Silent Street, I heard Arwen draw a sharp breath and stiffen. In the next few moments, she guessed my intentions, but it was not a surprise to me, given her Elven intuition. She turned towards me, and gave me a questioning look, and the light in her eyes were dimmed. Little did she know that when she went to accompany me on this walk that it would be our last together. I could do naught but bow my head down in sadness. Although she had given up immortality more than six score years ago, she was still easily the most beautiful creature on earth. My queen, my wife and my love. I desperately wanted to stay, if not for a while, to ease her pain, to explain to her why I had to leave. Even though we had been blessed a long and peaceful life with each other, it still wasn't enough. Nothing was enough where she was concerned. But I could not stay. Soon, the House of Kings stood in front of us as we rounded the corner. A foreboding sight to anyone. Upon entering it, there, in plain view, was the long bed ready and prepared for my arrival. I walked slowly to the bed, accompanied by Arwen, who was trying to keep her feelings well hidden, but I knew that she was silently breaking inside. When she finally lifted her head, her beautiful grey eyes were filled with tears that were yet to be shed. She silently pleaded with me to stay, for she was not yet weary of the days. As difficult as it was, I had to refuse, my soul feeling as if I had let her down. The first time I had ever done such a thing to her. I knew I was leaving her to a bitter fate; she had chosen to abide by the Doom of Men, and could no longer go to the Undying Lands, since no ship would bear her hence. I knew that she would sooner die of grief than of old age, for in spirit, she was still much Elven. My life was slowly seeping away as I beheld her for the last time. The memories of our time together, so long yet so short, rushed through my mind, the endless wonderful days we had together in the past, taking simple joy in the fact that we were in love and together; everything had just faded away at that. Never again would I see her again as I am seeing her now. Never again would I see the White City in all its glory, with the banner she have wrought for me so long ago flying proudly from the Tower of Ecthelion, seeing the mithril-wrought stars glittering in the sunlight. Never seeing the morning rays of the sun shining over the endless plains. Neither would I be there to watch Eldarion rule, to give him counsel, and to help him through his troubles. No, I would not live to see these things again. My vision was almost gone, blurry images were all I could see. Muffled sounds all I could discern. "Arwen vanimelda, namarie" I silently whispered to her with what strength I had left in my fragile body. A tear dropped into my palm. And another. She was crying, and I could do naught to ease her pain, to wipe away to tears. And I could only but hear, but only in a muffle, her heartbroken cries and the faint touch of her lips against my hand in a farewell kiss as I left the circles of the only world I had ever known... The darkness slowly cleared, but the fog was pressing all around me. Unrelenting, thick fog. As if driven by some unknown force, my legs drove me forward, and in the distance, high and mighty stood the Gates. Gates to the Halls of Mandos, wrought in an ancient design no book had ever had in its depths. The realisation that she would be here soon comforted me. For I would not be alone anymore, and we would be together, young and free. From all the troubles that had plagued us in our former lives. Together, for all eternity. With that, I started walking towards the Gates with renewed vigour. next chapter: arwen's pov -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Arwen vanimelda, namarie: Farewell beloved Arwen. Thanks to all who reviewed my past stories. Chapter 2 - Arwen's PoV Disclaimer: I still do not own any of the Lotr characters and they are still property of Tolkien. Note: this is from Appendix [A]: the tale of Aragorn and Arwen, but I changed some of it, and it does not include the dialogue. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Passing - -Arwen's PoV- I knew not how much time had passed, nor really cared. It could have been days and I would not have noticed. Neither did I feel his body turning cold, as the last of his inner heat left him, as his soul passed beyond the world. I did not feel my tears soaking and staining the immaculate white linen of the deathbed, or acknowledge the fact that my tears had since dried up. Neither did I see the new day arriving, with the waning moon slowly disappearing behind the horizon, and the waxing sun taking over in her shining glory. I did not feel the presence of my children joining me, weeping, together, in their grief. My body was numb, numb with pain, numb with grief and sorrow that I had never known before. He was gone. That was all my mind could comprehend through the silent screams of denial and confusion. He had gone beyond my reach. And I will never see him again in this lifetime. The grief that it churned up almost tore me apart from the inside. I knew I had to carry on. I had too. But I could not. Could not bear to leave his side, could not bear to go on and try to start life again. Could not bear to throw away this life I had led for more than six score years. No, I simply could not. Nothing could bring him back to me. Nothing. Not even my cries, or endless pleadings or tears, none of them. At the end, all that was left of him were bones, a body, and a stone effigy of him. Nothing more. Nothing else to mark the life of one who had made me learn to embrace life, to start knowing how to love, to remember the joy and the laughter, of one who touched my life. Before he had arrived, I was but a ghost. An empty shell roaming upon the earth, without soul nor aim. And now, I was back to being that. I faintly remembered being helped out of the House of Kings by Eldarion, against my will. He was weeping too, and tried his best to comfort me despite it. But there was no comfort around that could ever ease the pain of his passing. The world had too, changed along with his passing. No longer was it filled with color, with happiness and with joy, but instead, it was a depressing mess of black and white, devoid of emotions whatsoever. He had left her, and along with him, all semblance of happiness and laughter. The next few days passed with a blur. I could but barely remember what happened. Estel's funeral was held a day after he passed, and the whole city mourned. The long, solemn procession was grand -as befitting a King like him- and it wound from the seventh circle to the first circle of the city and back up again. I had refrained from joining the procession, but instead, was contented to stay in my room. The grief was still too near, and it was difficult to encounter so many Gondorians who wanted to know how the Queen was faring. There were many nights when I woke up, scared and alone, in our marriage bed. I had automatically reached out to my side for him, for some comfort, but it was always empty and cold. His presence had gone from the sheets, and he was not there anymore. I tried to fool myself countless times that he was gone for battle, and would soon return. But reality would also seep through and stay, shattering that fragile illusion I had made up to cease my sadness. The newly healed wound in my heart would open again, and the pain would start all over, enclosing me in its intensity. The memories would come forth, like a flooding river held in check for far too long, till I could no longer take it. I had to leave Minas Tirith. To renounce the city that had been the only home I ever knew all my married life with him. Everywhere -the streets, the sidewalks, the numerous shops- all held memories of him within their cold stone. I had to get away from the memories, memories that threaten to overwhelm and engulf me, that torture and torment my very sanity with every passing moment in the city. It was the midday when I left a letter in Eldarion's room and left the White City, but no one noticed my absence. My children were all busy with their own lives, and Eldarion had to govern the kingdom. No one would notice till the night, when I did not turn up for dinner, but by then I would be long gone. As I rode away on my steed, I looked back one last time at the City. It was splendid in its glory. The midday sun glimmered off the polished stone, and made Anduin sparkle like a thousand crystals. The mithril-wrought stars blinded under the light, and the banner -hung from the tower of Ecthelion that stood tall and proud against the sky- flapped in the open breeze. I would never go within its walls again. I turned my gaze back towards the road I was to take, to fading Lothlorien -once home to the elves that have long departed over the sea- where I will live out the rest of my fading life. Our time together had been brief; far too brief to enjoy much of it. Those years had been a dream, a wonderful dream that I wished would never end, that I never wanted to wake up from. All I had wanted was to stay in its sweet embrace forever; blissfully unaware of anything else. But with his passing the dream had been shattered and retreated, like it never was. The darkness had come over me again, thicker, and denser, for I had known life. And I had known love. Next: Eldarion's pov -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks to those who review the last chapter! Chapter 3 - Eldarion's PoV Disclaimer: I still do not own any of the Lotr characters and they are still property of Tolkien. Note: this is from Appendix [A]: the tale of Aragorn and Arwen, but I changed some of it, and it does not include the dialogue, and centered around Aragorn. A/N: sorry about the late update…. Severe writer’s block school reopened = bad. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Passing - -Eldarion’s PoV- It has been almost eight months to the date that Atar passed away, and five since Naneth left the City. But the pain of losing both parents in a space of three months still lingers on, and still, it does not show any sign of leaving. It feels weird to sit upon the throne I have often seen you on, whether as a child or as a young man, it seemed like you belonged on the throne, that you have been on it all your life. But to me, it seems foreign, like something I have never seen before. The winged crown rests heavily on my head; and the sceptre feels heavy in my grip, as though weighing me down, reminding me constantly of my duty to the Kingdom. I remember all too clearly the day you pronounced me as heir to the kingdom, and later, passing the sceptre and crown to me, believing me fit to be King of Gondor, and I had believed that too. The people look up to me as their King, but somehow I feel unworthy of their respect, as though I am unable to protect them, to shield them from all harm, and to help them in their needs. There were times I feel that I have failed them in my actions, and I am unable to be like you, Atar. You seem to have a way with every situation, with every problem that arises out of nothing. The people respect me and whatever decisions that I make; they trust me with their lives, yet I feel that I have failed to live up to their expectations of Gondor’s King. A few nights ago I suddenly woke up, drenched in sweat and gasping. Even if I knew the cause, I had forgotten it once I had opened my eyes. A sadness came over me, terrifying in its intensity, and it was the first time in months that I cried in earnest. All the grief, all the unhealed wounds bottled from those days reopened. And deep in my heart, I wished the Naneth and you were here again, and with her soothing voice lull me back to slumber. I wish you were still here Atar, to give counsel, and to guide me. I feel so lost without you around, and feel that I’m not a King of Men, but rather as a scared young boy, lost in a place where he is unable to find his way back, unsure of himself and anything he does. Though I wish I could forget it, the day of your death still haunt my thoughts. When you handed me the sceptre, little would I have known that you were to bid me farewell forever, and that I’ll never see you again. It was only till later, when both Naneth and you were missing from the gay celebrations; when we found her, in the House of Kings, sobbing hysterically over your body that we knew you were gone. Atar, with his last breath exhaled, lay there, and in him we saw the Kings of Old again in their splendor. Naneth was too distraught to speak, her gentle shoulders gently heaving with every sob and cry. And for the next few days, Naneth was looking as though in deep trance, aloof and dazed. The light in the eyes had been extinguished like a candle in the wind, and we somehow knew that we would never see it surface again. Sometimes I wish I had known a love as strong and unending as yours that it conquered everything. It transcended time and race. Sometimes we would stumble upon the both of you in embrace, unafraid to show your love to the world, unafraid of the prying eyes that lurk. I wish that someday, I would be able to have a love as dedicated and eternal as yours. The days have gone by slowly since your death and Naneth’s subsequent departure, but amazingly, the hours somehow melded into days, the days into weeks that became months. The people are back to their ways again. The mourning has passed, and it would seem as though you had not passed, Atar. Those would were but babes when you reigned have now gone. And few who live still remember the glory and majesty of the former Age, and of the Dark Times. They know not of the shadow, nor of the fear or chaos that happened not too long ago. For they had been born in a time of prosperity and wealth. The tale of the War of the Ring fades, and with each passing telling it is changed, till it was not what it started out as anymore. The various lords have pressured for my marriage again. And I know, if you were here, you would encourage me to do so that my own time. They have started introducing their daughters to me, in hope of them making being the Queen, in hope of being in the King’s favor. Their actions repulse me, to say the least. They simply do not understand the word ‘love’, and believe it just a marriage of two. Standing in the hallway, and looking at your portraits on the wall, I feel as though you were back here with me again, guiding me along, and comforting me in my sadness. The old grief starts seeping into my heart. The old ache. Atar, Naneth, please guide me home. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please Review! ------------------------------------------------------------------ Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sun Nov 15, 2026 1:02 am