Bright rays of sunlight stretched themselves languorously over the land before curling up for the night behind a ridge of mountains in the West. Darkness descended upon the city like a blanket of snow upon the ground. Fog rolled in from the Dead Marshes making the air damp and dank. Clouds covered the bright pinpricks of stars in the sky creating a sea of dark grey that shifted with winds of change, and whispered with the threat of rain. Peeking out from behind a cloud the full moon cast slivers of shining moonlight over the old walls and buildings of the ancient city. Silence stretched thin, like not enough butter over too much bread, threatening to break at the slightest of sounds.

Within the seven-tiered city cattle lowed and stamped their feet in the hay with uneasiness. Wind whipped through the open stalls sending leaves and hanging goods rustling and lit lanterns guttering. Dim lights in the humble houses had gone out hours ago, and the watchmen had taken up post not long after. The inhabitants of the great realm slept unsoundly, for change was near. Some felt it in their bones, and others in their very own hearts.

A lone rider upon a great white steed materialised out of the mist galloping toward the city gate with a dark Elven cloak billowing out behind him. Entrance to the city was simple, for the reign of evil in the world had long since been diminished, and the people had nothing to fear. Nodding his appreciation, the hooded figure continued up toward the palace just as drops of rain began to fall.

Leaving his horse at the great double-door entrance, the rider turned to watch the wind and rain blow blossoms from the White Tree into the dark torrent of the night before he slipped inside unnoticed.

* * *

Arwen lay contentedly on a chaise before a crackling fire burning in the hearth. Lightening flashed outside illuminating the dark nooks and crannies of the room. The handmaid who should have been sitting on the chair in the corner had disappeared, most likely to find herself a better place to doze off.

A knock sounded on the door causing Arwen to stir. It wasn’t the hollow knock used by the guards nor was it an urgent knock foreboding danger. Instead, it was a soft knock heard only by the woman in the room. Her eyelids fluttered at the sound, and then they immediately sprang open. Nimbly she stood from the chaise taking a step backward as a quick shiver went up her spine from the cold floor. Pulling her blood red robe tighter around herself she watched the door fixedly. Her breathing calmed as each new intake of breath coincided with the methodical rhythm of her beating heart. Outside, the storm that had roared only seconds before seemed to become muffled and grow silent as time stretched by. There was a click of the latch, and the door swung open.

Arwen’s face transformed as it lit up with joy, and her eyes glistened with excitement. Instantly she was running for the unexpected visitor standing in the doorway like a young child would.

“Ada!” she cried throwing her arms around his neck.

Elrond let out a deep laugh that soared through the room like music.

“My child, I am so pleased to see you,” he said returning her tight embrace. His eyes twinkled like the stars of Varda in the Heavens.

Deep silence washed over the two as they gazed at one another as though they were memorising every line and curve of the other’s face. For a split second Elrond’s brow furrowed, but almost immediately his frown had been replaced by a radiant smile.

“Evenstar, you look as beautiful as ever,” Elrond said, “You remind me of your mother sometimes, for she too had your stunningly dark complexion.”

Realising Arwen was watching him intently Elrond looked away lost in his own thoughts as a troubled look overtook the smile upon his face. Taking his hands in hers Arwen turned Elrond to face her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked quietly concern etched on the contours of her face.

Sighing, Elrond looked back into his daughter’s eyes. Suddenly, he seemed so much older and tired as if the world were a burden her carried alone. Carefully Elrond took Arwen’s slender hands in his again and gripped them tighter than he meant to as if in fear of her slipping away.

“I’m leaving,” he said slowly and delicately, “My time here has ended.”

Now it was Arwen’s turn to look away. Prying her hands from her father’s grasp she crossed the room to stand in front of the window. Wrapping her arms about herself protectively Arwen watched each new raindrop splatter onto the window pane and slide down the glass just like the tears that rolled down her cheeks and splattered on to the floor.

Bitterness crept into her voice when she replied, “Must you go?”

“If I didn’t have to I wouldn’t,” Elrond said to Arwen’s turned back, “But the urge has become too great for me to ignore, for I am being called home.”

Cold silence greeted his reply, so Elrond tried again.

“And what of your mother?” he asked, “I have not seen her fair face for near half a millennium, and it is time that I heard her laugh as she once did in the halls of my house.”
Menacingly Arwen whipped around her dark eyes flashing coldly.

“And what of me?” she cried running to her father once again, “What of your only daughter? Am I truly to face this cold, mortal world without you? I am scared of death Ada.”

Hopeful eyes glazed with fresh tears gazed up at him expectantly, and Elrond closed his own to stop the tears that threatened to brim over. He pulled Arwen to him and stroked her hair as she cried into his shoulder. When her last tears were spent and her breathing had stopped it’s shuddering Arwen looked up at her father again. This time all that was left was a glint of sadness in her eyes.

“Undomiél, you have my love. Do not ever doubt that. Yet you have made your choice, and I have made mine. There will be no going back now. What is done is done,” Elrond said breaking the embrace between, “You will be a wonderful queen as long as you reign, and a loving wife the rest of your days. I am proud of you my daughter, but now I fear it is time for me to take my leave.”

Unclasping his Elven cloak Elrond draped it lovingly around Arwen’s shoulders.

“Ada?” his daughter said quietly fingering the cloaks soft threads.

“Yes Arwen?”

“When you looked into my future, what did you see?”

Elrond’s face softened, and he pondered thoughtfully for a moment before he made his reply, “I saw a boy who will look just like his father, and three beautiful girls who will look just like their mother.”

Arwen swayed slightly trying to take in the meaning of his words, and then unable to stand she sat down heavily on the chaise. Burying her face in her hands she let out a sob and closed her eyes to stop the flow of tears, but already they were beginning again. Elrond’s lips brushed her forehead quickly, and then he was gone into the night and across the sea.

Chapter One: The Passing of the King

Minas Tirith, 1541 of the Third Age, in the courtyard of the House of Kings:

"Eldarion!"

"Riniel, my darling."

"I came as soon as I heard," Riniel embraced the prince, "what has happened?"

Eldarion sighed and pulled away gently, "My father is...dying."

Riniel gasped, "Dying? But that cannot be! Are the Queen's Elven powers not enough to heal him?"

Slowly Eldarion shook his head, and pain filled his gray eyes. "It is not that simple, my dear. Father is not ill, mayhap he is not even dying, as we know it. My father, the King, is passing away. Very soon he will go to the halls of his forefathers."

The light of realization lit in Riniel's eyes, "Then...then he has chosen this? This is the hour he has foretold?"

"Indeed, though it grieves me to say it."

Eldarion took Riniel's hand and led her up the marble stairs of the House of Kings. When they reached the top, they were met by a young messenger. He bowed low and exclaimed;

" My lord Eldarion! The Queen requests your presence immediately."

Quickly Eldarion thanked the boy, and hurried down the dim hallway. Riniel followed, almost running to keep up with her husband's long strides. She stopped abruptly, though, when she reached the open door that Eldarion had disappeared into. She gazed out upon a large hall, her breath taken away by the grandeur and sadness of it all. The hall had ten tall, thin widows through which the evening's light filtered peacefully. The great kings of old lay, set in stone, around the room. Each slab had a likeness of the king formed upon the top, their faces peaceful with the look of eternal sleep. Great marble pillars rose to meet the arched ceiling, their sides inscribed with the stories and poems of the ancient monarchs.

In the very center of the hall was a new slab, clean and unmarked, and upon it lay the king, Estel, which means hope. A white sheet was beneath him, and flower petals had been scattered around the floor. On a seat of gold sat Arwen, the High Queen, holding the hand of her beloved. Beside her was Eldarion, the King's son, and behind them stood their three beautiful daughters. Fear gripped Riniel's heart as she stood watching the solemn scene. Had the king passed already?

Just then, Arwen looked up and spoke to Riniel,

"Please, come in, my daughter. You are most welcome here."

She reached out one white hand, and Riniel entered the room to stand by her side. The King lay peacefully, his gray-green eyes still kind as he turned his head to look at her. A smile came to Elessar's lips as he gazed upon his daughter-in-law. He beckoned for her to stand beside Eldarion. Riniel slipped her small hand into her husband's for support.

"Today is the last day I will spend with you, my son," the King's voice was still strong as he addressed Eldarion, "As your king, I give you the crown of Gondor, and the scepter of Arnor. I trust that you will rule well in my stead."

He beckoned to a servant, who brought the treasures to the prince.

Eldarion's eyes were teary as he accepted the royal gifts, "I will try my best to live up to the example you have set before me, my king."

Elessar smiled kindly, "Yet as your father, I give you what I have always given you, my love and my trust. May you strive ever to be the very best you can be. I love you, my son, never forget that."

Eldarion bent to kiss his father's forehead, "I will always love you, Father."

With a few tears King Elessar said goodbye to each of his daughters. Finally, Queen Arwen stood to say her last goodbyes. Respectfully, each of the family members and friends filed out of the great hall, solemn and resigned. It was several minutes before the Queen finally emerged. She looked pale, her fair skin ashen and cold. Her eldest daughter, Elenna, quickly came to console her mother, while the others silently wept. The King, Aragorn son of Arathorn, had passed away. Riniel cried upon her husband's shoulder, but he did not shed tears. The new king stood dumbly, the shock and grief written upon his handsome face.

Finally, Eldarion turned to address the small group of people, "My dear friends and family," he looked lovingly at his mother, "Today is both a day of sadness and joy."

Pausing, the young man fought to control his emotions. "My father was a remarkable man. Not only was he a king worthy of legend, but a wonderful husband, and the best father a child could ever want. While we grieve the loss of the King, may we never forget the great man who loved each one of us even more than we could imagine."

Riniel smiled as she brushed away the tears, memories flooding back. Trips to Rohan and Rivendell, banquets and parties. The King had been so kind to her, and so welcoming to this shy girl marrying his only son. Riniel sighed, how she would miss him. Yet she knew that it was her duty to support and encourage Eldarion, and the rest of his family. The age of men was still young, and the newest king of Gondor has many years ahead of him.

Riniel turned to leave, her hand resting lightly on her husband's arm. She vowed silently that she would always be there for him, as Arwen had been for her husband. As the sun set on the first day of Eldarion's rule, the new queen prepared herself for what was to come, knowing that their love would stand the test of time…

Chapter Two: The Evenstar Wanes

The last light of day was passively sinking over the horizon, and shadows enveloped all but the tallest towers of Minas Tirith. In the palace of the King, on the highest balcony, stood a lone figure. A woman, of that there was no doubt. Clothed all in black, she moved not but for the black veil that danced in the wind. The light material stuck to the wetness upon her pale cheeks, and her eyes gazed unseeing upon the distant sunset.

Not far away stood the Lady Riniel, wife of Eldarion son of Aragorn, and Queen of Gondor and Arnor. Silently she watched, as she had done many nights before. A woman of noble birth and royal marriage, she hesitated before no one. Yet tonight was different. This lady was different.

Mustering her courage, Riniel walked slowly across the stone floor, stopping just behind the black figure. She spoke softly, “My lady?”

For a moment there was no response. Then, she turned. In body she was Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven, wife of the late King Aragorn. Yet the light that was once captured in her gray eyes lived there no longer. Her face was ashen, and her lips held no smile. The look she gave Riniel broke her heart, for the young woman remembered brighter days. Days of laughter and of festivals and singing…Arwen seemed to be waiting for something. Riniel returned to the present, remembering her purpose.

“Lady Arwen, your son wishes to speak with you.”

“Is that all, my dear? What is on your mind?” The Elven lady was not easily fooled.

Riniel hesitated, then said, “I admit, I fear for you. The King Aragorn has passed many months ago, and still you do not eat or spend time with those who love you.” Arwen took her eyes off of Riniel’s face, glancing up at the glittering stars. Undaunted, Riniel continued, “I do not wish to belittle your pain or grief, but has the time of mourning not ended? Must you rob your children of their mother as well as their father?”

Arwen looked at the young queen once again, her eyes full of tears. Her voice was a whisper, “Do not ever think such of me, dear one. You are young, and life holds such promise for you still. What joy is their in my life? What hope can I cling to? No, there is no place for me here.”

Riniel touched her mother-in-law’s hand tenderly, her eyes pleading, “Oh, but there is. Your sons and daughters love you. They need you, more than anything right now. Please...”

She held up her hand, stopping her mid-sentence, “I will go to Eldarion, but I cannot promise more. In time, you will understand.” Arwen kissed the girl lightly on the cheek and departed. Riniel was left to wonder at her words.


* * * * *
~Several weeks later…
“Eldarion, how can you?” Riniel spat, pacing angrily, “She is your mother!”

The kingly man sat with his head in his hands. Looking up at her words, he spoke softly, “This is what she wants, Riniel. Who am I to deny my own mother her last wish?”

“You are the king, that’s what!” Riniel stopped pacing for a moment to stare at her husband, “As well as her only son.” She checked herself and took a deep breath, exhaling her anger slowly.

Eldarion beckoned her to sit next to him and she complied. “I understand why you feel this way, my darling,” he brushed a lock of brown hair from her forehead tenderly. “Mother wishes to go to the place of her people, perhaps to die. We both love her dearly, can’t you see that I hate her choice as much as you?”

Riniel nodded, her eyes avoiding his searching gaze, “I just…I don’t know. Maybe I felt this day was coming, yet I denied it. Her sorrow went so deep, and they say the Elves feel more keenly than men do.” She reached up and touched the Evenstar hanging from Eldarion’s neck, a symbol of his rich heritage. “Tell me again. The story of your parents, how they met.”

Eldarion watched his wife for a moment, knowing that the last months had been so difficult for her. “Very well. My father was a ranger from the North, the last of the Dunedain. My mother was the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and granddaughter of Galadriel, a ring bearer. Long years she had before his birth, so when they met under the boughs of Imladris, the love he felt for her was not returned immediately. Yet when they chanced to meet again, in the fair wood of Lorien, she looked upon him and saw a man worthy of her love.”

“And indeed, they fell in love and lived happily ever after.”

The couple turned quickly at the voice, and there before them stood Arwen Undomiel herself. They rose out of respect, but she smiled slightly and motioned for them to sit down. “It is a tale worthy of remembrance, no?” Arwen sat gracefully, and laid her small white hand upon her son’s strong tanned one,” We were destined to be together, and our joy was great for many years. Yet all that is gone now. Without Aragorn, I am incomplete, as you would be without Riniel and her without you. The old way of the Elves, Valinor, is closed to me. There is no ship that can bear me hence.”

She sighed, the sound escaping like a shudder, “So it is that I go to the place of my ancestors, forgotten by all who now live in this world. The boughs of Lothlorien will cover my sorrow, until the end of the days of Arda.”

The young king and queen glanced at each other, knowing that no words could convince her otherwise anymore. King Eldarion stood and laid a hand on his mother’s shoulder, “We will support you, Naneth. No matter how painful it will be to see you go…”


* * * * *
A pale sun rose through a cloudless sky, nearly mocking in it’s hopeful beauty. A procession, dressed in blacks and grays prepared to depart, ready to set out on a journey. Yet there was something amiss. Carriages sat idly, horses stomped their hooves impatiently, onlookers stood in silence. They were waiting for something, or someone.

Deep inside the halls of the Grand Palace, two veiled women spoke in whispers. They stood before a great oak door, closed to them and the rest of the world. The cloth that shrouded their features could not hide the worry in their voices. Suddenly, the door groaned upon it’s hinges and heaved open, startling the two ladies-in-waiting. Four people emerged: the King, the Queen, and the two royal healers. King Eldarion graciously thanked the healers, and sent them away. Turning to his wife, they exchanged smiles, both looking radiantly happy despite Riniel’s pale face.

“We should go now, Naneth will wish to be leaving.” Eldarion said softly. Riniel nodded and motioned to her two ladies-in-waiting. They fell into step behind the couple, noticing that their Queen leaned a little heavily upon her husband’s arm. Despite this, they said nothing, as was expected of them.

The small party made their way through the halls and passageways until they came upon the great front room with it‘s doors wide open, providing a grand view of Pelennor Fields and the brooding mountains beyond. Arwen was there waiting for them to arrive, and smiled kindly as her son and daughter-in-law approached.

“What news from the healers, my lord? Is Riniel gravely ill?” She addressed her son.

“Nay mother, it is far better than we had hoped. They say…” Eldarion paused and looked at his wife tenderly, and the ladies-in-waiting leaned a little closer so as not to miss his words. “They say that there will soon be an heir to the throne of Gondor.”

Arwen gasped softly, “How wonderful for you both, and for the kingdom! Indeed, your father would have been so proud…” She dropped her gaze, reminded that her joy at this news was only fleeting. “It heals my heart to know this. In fact, it makes it somewhat easier to leave. Gondor is secure, and you shall have a full, happy home soon enough. Though it pains me that I will never see my grandchild, I am pleased that I will leave with this knowledge.”

Riniel nodded, tearing, “This day is bittersweet for us all…Naneth.”

Arwen couldn’t help but smile at the young woman’s use of her Elvish title for the first time. She pulled her into a rare embrace, a tear coursing down her fair cheek. “I have never been more proud of you. You will always be my daughter...”

* * * * *
Goodbyes are always cruel, even for the most proud and noble of people. Knowing that the one you love dearly will never return makes it so hard to let go. Yet for those gathered on that cold morning on the steps of the palace, it was a destiny none foretold but all accepted. Time passed, as it tends to do, and on opposite ends of a world two events occurred that should never be forgotten. Beneath the ancient boughs of Lorien, an era ended. In a royal bedroom in Gondor, an era began.