Aragorn sat on a bench, overlooking Rivendell. He sighed; who knew who long it would be before he was back?
Gandalf had entrusted him with a highly important mission, and, although he hadn’t mentioned it, Aragorn had the feeling it would be dangerous too. Anything Gandalf wanted you to do usually involved danger. But this one would involve travelling to Bree to collect a hobbit: Frodo Baggins, who had inexplicably gotten hold of the One Ring.
Aragorn watched in silent awe as the sun began her descent into the West. The baby blue sky was streaked with shades of gold, orange and pink. It was almost perfect. Almost…
He pivoted round, smiling uneasily. “Hello, Evenstar.” He didn’t want to tell her he was leaving; he had only just returned. Although she never complained about their frequent partings, Aragorn knew how much Arwen wanted to beg him to stay.
“You are leaving,” she said pointedly, folding her arms across her chest.
“You know?” Aragorn exclaimed in surprise. Then, he sighed. “Of course you know. Nothing stays secret in Rivendell for long.” Except our relationship, He thought with a smile. Nearly seventy years, and Elrond didn’t even suspect.
Arwen seated herself beside him, and slid her silken hand into his calloused grasp. “I overheard you, Father and Mithrandir discussing it today.”
“How did you manage that?” He cocked an eyebrow questioningly.
“I had my ear against the door of Father’s study!” She laughed; but her eyes betrayed her. He could see the worry, the fear glowing in those eyes of sapphire that he loved so. Pulling her close, he tilted her chin and brushed his lips over hers. So soft and silken, a kiss from Arwen was like Valinor personified.
Valinor. As he tightened his grip on her waist, he thought of what she had once told him: “Ever since our first meeting, my heart has belonged to you. When the time comes, I will bind myself to, Aragorn son of Arathorn. For you, I will forsake the immortal life of my people, choosing to live as your mortal wife instead of journeying to the Undying Lands with my father.”
No matter how much he loved her, Aragorn could not stand to be her death. Arwen was so beautiful, so wonderful, so special… She deserved so much more than to be the wife of a Ranger, and to die.
“When do you leave?” she murmured, nestling against his chest.
“Tonight.” He rose. “I have to be in Bree by sunset five days hence.” Bending to capture her lips in a farewell kiss, his arms involuntarily clutched at her hips, just to feel the comfort of knowing she was near.
“Estel,” she whispered. “Amin mela lle.”
“Lith eithel, meleth-nîn,” he replied softly. “Namarie.”
Arwen watched as he descended the marble staircase, closing her eyes until the sound of his footsteps could no longer be heard.
“Elbereth, watch over him,” she whispered in prayer, as a lone tear meandered down her cheek. No matter how often they parted, no matter how long it was for, she always cried. If only he knew how he desperately she wanted to be by his side always.
“Take care, Estel.” She blew a kiss to the scurrying figure in the courtyard below. He turned, and smiled affectionately at her, before leaping on his lack stallion, and riding off into the dusk.
Amin mela lee = I love you
Lith eithel, meleth-nin = as well, my love
Namarie = Goodbye