Eternity

Aragorn lay on his deathbed. For the first time in sixty years, his brow was not furrowed, because the burden of his crown had been removed. His wife, Arwen Undomiel, and one of his closest friends. Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, sat at his bedside. They were alone in the Hall of Kings. Aragorn had bid his children farewell, and had given his son and heir Eldarion the title of King. He was finished. Anything that needed attention had been taken care of.

Slowly, he looked up into Arwen's face. She looked anguished, her eyes bright with tears, her hair mussed from her long vigil. They'd been there two days, the three companions. She was tired, but refused to leave until it was over. Her left hand was clasped tightly about Aragorn's, her right hand in Legolas'. They were both tense, knowing what would come, and wishing that it wouldn't.

Arwen knew of death. She and Aragorn had discussed it, talked about it until she'd understood. Because Elves had no fear or knowledge of death. And now that it was on their threshold, now she truly understood. Death was an end. An end to waking up in the mornings and falling asleep at night, and end to setting suns, an end to gazing at the moon and watching rolling waves. An end to love, laughter, tears, hugs, thoughts, to every memory that could be. And after death, memories were all that would be left. And Arwen knew that.

Legolas, on the other hand, knew nothing of death. Being immortal, and remaining immortal, unlike Arwen, he had retained his youthful beauty. The Evenstar had aged, and would die herself eventually. She couldn't go to Valinor, because she was mortal, and they were not welcome there. So where would she go...to live out her life...and die? Almost all the Elves were gone, and those that remained did not live in the old Elf-havens. She herself was unsure.

Aragorn did not fear death, because he saw it not as an end, but a beginning. No one knew what lay on the other side, and he was looking forward to finding out. It would be a new adventure. And besides, he was tired. He'd lived much longer than any man should, and he was ready to rest. So though he knew those who loved him would grieve, he also knew death was inevitable.

Tears had begun to roll down Arwen's cheeks. It was nearing the end. She could sense it somehow. Perhaps it was the way Aragorn's eyes were dimming, perhaps the thin smile of reassurance on his lips. Legolas' hand tightened in hers as a small sob escaped her.

Then, Aragorn opened his mouth to speak. "Arwen, my love, it is over."

Arwen shook her head furiously. "You still have time, Estel! Why would you forsake your people, your son and daughters, before your time? Why would you forsake me?"

"Would you rather me stay until I wither and fall, a sad remnant of myself?" Aragorn asked. "Besides, I've no control over this. What will be, will be."

"What shall I do without you?" she asked, running her fingers through his graying hair.

"You could travel to the Undying Lands like the rest of your kin," Aragorn said.

"No," Arwen replied, shaking her head again. "The time for that is over. I've known my fate since the moment I gave myself to you."

"Well, we shall not let this trial conquer us," he laughed weakly. "We, who defeated the Dark One! Am I right, Legolas?" He took Legolas' hand, and squeezed Arwen's tighter. "We shall feel sorrow, but not despair! We know that we must break from the circles of this world, and that there is more than memory beyond. Farewell, Arwen, Legolas. My time has come."

"No!" Arwen cried. Aragorn smiled and kissed her hand. He closed his eyes. Soon, his hands went limp in theirs. "Estel!" Arwen cried, her voice breaking.

"I'm sorry, Lady," Legolas said. He suddenly felt a vast emptiness. Aragorn was dead. How? Aragorn was always so strong. Sadly, he pulled Arwen into a tight embrace. She wept into his shoulder. Estel was gone. He'd left, far beyond any reach at all. Life was short, but death was eternal. Eternity. What a short word for something so long. The realization made her cry harder. Legolas, to his surprise, felt wetness on his own cheeks. And so the two friends wept together at the loss of Aragorn, the greatest King of Gondor.

The greatest of men.