The Death of the King – the effects of a beloved’s passing

by Mar 19, 2006Stories

The man watched the elf in silence as she danced about the clearing, her gown billowing and puffing as she moved with fluid grace.
Crouched in the shadows, he knew that she saw him with her eyes that were so accustomed to peering over great distances, yet she did not run. She danced on and on.
She danced only for him and he knew it.
Her slender feet made no noise as she glided in a leaping circle and seemed to float inches off the ground. Still dancing, only for him. Just for him.
He finally stood when his cramping muscles could take no more stress. Still she danced as he slowly walked into the grove of trees.
His parched throat tried to draw the courage to speak.
The elf slowed her steps and ceased her cantering.
His lips formed two words.
She ran toward him, her arms outstretched to envelope him in an embrace.
Then he was gone, and she was standing in the trees alone.
So alone.
She sank to the mossy turf and wept for her lost Beren, her one and only love.


Arwen wept by the stone casket that held the body of her husband, whom she had loved more than anything, even her own eternal life.
Her father had forewarned her of this bitter passing even before the Last Ships had sailed for the Undying Lands.
She still did not regret her desicion to stay with the mortals, a desicion that left she herself a mortal, even if she would live still hundreds of years more than even the oldest of humans.
This passing was still heart-wrenching and brutal. Aragorn was the most noble of kings, a true leader of stout heart and sound body.
But even the greatest of humans can’t escape the grasping hand of death.


Eyowen stood with her husband at the king’s funeral. Faramir grasped her hands and stood with tears streaming down his battle-worn face, expressing his grief for the passing of his dear friend.
Aragorn and Faramir had fought many a battle alongside each other. Eyowen had once loved the rugged soldier, when he was still the mysterious Ranger from the North.
Eyowen opened her mouth and sang a song that she conjured at that very moment. The tale was heart-breakingly beautiful, a song that brought tears to the eyes of all present. She sang for the king, their Beren, and weeping Arwen, their Luthien. She sang of hope, peace, and joy. Of white shores and grey ships that ferry loved ones home. She sang of love.


To Tolkien and his wife, on whose tombstones are engraved the words “Beren” and “Luthien”. May they rest in peace.


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