The White Shores

I Had Never Known

Aragorn sat on his throne, the cold, hard metal pressed against the underneath of his legs. He hated the throne, hated it with every fiber of his being - but the people, the kingdom it represented was worth every second of this torture. He shifted, his muscles protesting. Perhaps not every minute.

"My king," Faramir bowed before Aragorn, but when he straightened, he was beaming, "Lady Arwen is here to see you."

"Out of her room?" Aragorn asked, hope alighting over his features.

"Yes, but you must understand, Your Majesty," Faramir said hesitantly, "She is still not well."

Aragorn's face settled back into its grim surveillance as his wife glided into the throne room. Her face, which had once held so much youth and joy, now stood in a weary pose. The dresses she wore were the same beautiful fabric of her elfin years, the same flowing color, but instead of gazing shyly yet infinitely wiser than any man, she looked tired and so, so sad. Aragorn dismissed Faramir with a wave of his hand, only bidding him to wish Eowyn a good day before rushing to her side. She had not left her room in three weeks - ever since their child had been a stillborn. He opened his mouth to comfort her, but before he could say anything, she spoke. Her tone, which had once been so loving and kind when directed towards Aragorn, was now distant.

"He died," she said, not meeting Aragorn's eyes. "I had never known death till my child."

"His soul will rest with my fathers," Aragorn said gently, "He will be loved."

"No," Arwen said, her teeth gritting, "No, his soul will not rest anywhere. He is not at peace, and I do not know how to stop it. I had never known death till my child."

"He is at peace," Aragorn continued, his voice soft, though his eyes held tears. "I can feel it in my bones. It is you, my love, who is not at peace."

"Do not call me love," the words were practically spit at him. "When you did not tell me how hard it would be to bear the cost of mortality. I had never known death till my child."

"Darling, our lives may be mortal, but that makes them ever the more precious," Aragorn tried to find soothing words in him, though his mind was swirling with hurt. "Our unknown child is safe with my ancestors, and our future ones will be safe with us."

"I am never taking that risk again," Arwen was crying, but her tears were silent as they traced paths down her cheeks. Aragorn longed to reach out and brush them from her face, but her eyes were as cold as ice. "No more children, Aragorn. No more queenship. No more mortality. I had never known death till-"

"Your child," Aragorn finished the sentence, his heart turning to lead in his chest. "He is not your child, Arwen. He is our child. Do you think I do not feel the sting of his loss as keenly?"

"You feel the loss of your heir," her voice felt like poison. "Not your child. Mortals do not feel death as I do. They see it as normal - inevitable, even."

"It is inevitable when you are mortal, Arwen," Aragorn could not feel anymore. His mind had stopped processing what was happening around him. Her face fell into the statue-like gaze once again, and Aragorn could feel any hope at all slipping away from him.

"Arwen-" he reached for her, but she pulled back.

"Then I shall not be mortal." Before Aragorn could tell her that she was, that there was no going back, she turned and walked purposefully away. Right before she stepped out of the throne room, she looked back at Aragorn, and there was nothing of the woman he loved when she said,

"I had never known death till my child."