The Last Journey
by Evermind
The King leant heavily upon the white parapet in the gardens of
healing, his grey head bowed upon his aged hands. The night was still
and clear. Stars were in the sky and the crescent moon dipped low on
the horizon, shinning with a soft radience above the hills of Emyn
Arnen. From here Aragorn could see the starlight glinting upon the
white towers of Dol Elenna, and he almost imagined that he could make
out the banner Elboron the Prince of Ithillien, the crescent moon and
the silver flower of Athelas that were the emblems of the stewards of
Gondor. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. he had dreamed
tonight.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In his dream, it had seemed that the King had found himself standing
beside the shores of a wide, still sea. As he had gazed into the grey
curtain of mist, he thought that he could make out the holy isle far
away. Then suddenly, the mists had rolled back, and he had seen sailing
towards him a grey boat with a high prow that carried four queens
towards him across the silent sea. As the ship drew closer, he could
see the figures in it clearly, tall and straight, beautiful and
terrible, but what they were, elven or mortal or Valar themselves he
could not tell.
Then it seemed to Aragorn that the queens stepped from the boat, and
silently they paced towards him, their silver shod feet leaving no
ripples upon the surface of the water. The foremost queen was clad in a
grey robe with soft brown hair arrayed about her shoulders and eyes
grey as his own. She spoke no word to him, but silently she took from
his hand the sceptre of Annuminas, and looking upon her, he saw that
she bore the face of his mother Gilraen.
Then from the shadows behind him stepped Eldarion his son. His dark
hair was wet with mist, and tears were in his grey eyes. Eldarion stood
before Gilraen, the grandmother he had never known, and into his hand
she placed the golden sceptre.
And Aragorn put out his hand to stay her, but as is oft the way with
dreams, the image fled from him, and hastened on fleeting beyond his
control, and he saw before him the second queen. Aragorn was then as
one struck dumb, for he knew her also, but she was not now as he had
seen her die, silver haired and worn by the passage of years, but the
girl whom he had loved of old, swift and slender, golden haired with
shinning eyes and clad in a blue cloak hemmed with silver stars. Eowyn
it was, and yet not so, for she spoke not, but standing close before
him she unclasped the elfstone and slid the eagle brooch from his
cloak. She cradled it for a moment in her hand, and her slim white
fingers carressed the clear green gem. Then from his other side stepped
forward one who seemed to be the mirror image of Eowyn, clad all in
white, her grey eyes solemn as she took the elfstone from her mother's
hand. Little Haleth, who had been more like a daughter to him than his
own had ever been. And as Eowyn set Haleth and Eldarion hand in hand,
Aragorn felt a powerful ache is his breast. He saw the tears in their
eyes as they looked him full in the face, his shinning warrior
daughter, his brave and golden son. Aragorn felt the tears rise in his
own throat threatening to choke him, and yet he was unable to weep.
He would have called out to them then, begging them to stay, but again
his voice was soundless, his will unable to hold them there. And the
King watched as the third queen stepped before him, and he knew her
also, raven haired and cloaked in black, weeping as she came. Slender
she was as an elf maiden, yet laden with the sadness of mortal men. And
he watched the bright tears that fell like rain from the eyes of Arwen
his beloved. Then she took from his head the high winged crown of
kings, and set it upon the dark head of Eldarion her son.
At last there stepped onto the silent shore the last queen, high and
regal, beautiful and terrible, her deep eyes held wisdom and power
beyond the imagining of Kings. Old she was, who had been old ere the
sun was wrought or the moon sailed, and yet she appeared to him as he
had ever known her; great mentor, counsellor, queen. Galadriel the
fair. A robe of palest blue she wore, and her hair was golden, and she
alone looked him full in the eyes as she knelt before him and took from
about his waist the sword Anduril in the jewelled scabbard that she
herself had wrought. Then drawing the bright blade from it's sheath,
she passed the hilt to Eldarion.
"Throw it into the lake." her voice whispered. Eldarion looked up at
her, his eyes confused and frightened, but as he looked on her, his
will seemed to strengthen until at last, with all the force he
possesed, the young prince hurled the gleaming blade aloft. Slowly,
twisting and shimmering, it fell through the air, and clove it's way
point first into the deep water of the lake. A single ripple spread
outwards, and the lake was still again.
Aragorn stared with sudden comprehension into the face of Galadriel.
Her deep voice held quiet assurance. "We shall not meet again Elessar,
for the fates of our kindredss are apart. Namarie." Almost Aragorn
wept, his pained eyes were fixed upon her face. But Eowyn and Gilraen
coming took him in their arms and led him towards the swan ship, and
together the three stepped onto the grey boat. Looking back, Aragorn
could see those he had forsaken, Arwen weeping, and his son, arrayed as
a king, and the quiet strength of little Haleth who clasped Eldarion's
hand in her own. He watched them a moment more, three shadow figures
quietly weeping upon the shores of the silent sea. Of Galadriel there
was no sign. Slowly, filled with a blessed sadness, the King turned
from the the shadowed world, and saw before his weary gaze the light of
Valinor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
To his shame, Aragorn found himself weeping. It was time to do now what
the dream had shown him. To pass on the crown to his son. Eldarion
would be a good and wise ruler, and Haleth would be a strong queen. He
smiled then as he thought of them, of his son, and of Eowyn's daughter
who could have been his own. And strangely, the King was almost happy.
He would see them all again. Gilraen, his father, Boromir, Faramir,
Eomer, the ringbearers. He would see Eowyn again. Gandalf? Would he
ever again meet that wisest and truest of friends? He did not know the
answer, but he sensed that Galadriel was right. They would not meet
again. Nor would he ever again see Elrond, nor Celeborn, Glorfindel or
Gildor Inglorion. The fates of the Eldar were apart from men. Never
will those two sundered races meet until the final end of days, when
the King at last shall come again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And in after days, when courage had failed, and the glory of Gondor of
old was but a distant memory, men told a tale of their greatest leader,
who arose in darkness and brought to them hope and victory. They spoke
of the child who had been fostered by a great lord, who had in his long
life more love and more sorrow than any mortal has ever known. They
spoke too of the great sword he wielded, and it's jewelled sheath
wrought for him by an elven queen. They spoke of the great loremaster
whom some have named a wizard, who set the great King upon his throne.
They spoke of victories, and alliances, of bold knights and glorious
wars. But most of all they tell the tale of that greatest of men,
forever silent as stone in his cold tomb beneath the mountain. And they
spoke his name with love, the unhappy race who knew no light nor joy of
their own, and they named him Arthur, the once and future King.
