I see. For a short while yet, I see…and watch these stone walls, these faded tapestries, these wooden chairs…I see her. I have always seen her, I know, yet my mind begins to wander, slipping down strange corridors, swirling in a dance I do not know–I bring it back lest it wander too far beforetime. My breath flows in and out, ever slower. Tears leave shining paths upon her smooth cheeks as she touches my face, her hands cool against my skin, long fingers brushing my whitened hair…Arwen, meleth nín.

We have talked through the night, my farewells long since spoken, and now the room lies shrouded in a heavy silence broken only by morning birds and the rustling of her dark dress as she pushes aside a heavy curtain, allowing dawn’s golden light to float softly down upon my bed of stone. I would not leave in darkness. She returns swiftly to my side, more graceful than night, and I remember…She speaks once more. Long since she has seen that I do what I must and knows I will not be dissuaded, delayed, or deterred. But once more she tries, nay, entreats, her voice a lone melody echoing in this silent street. I take one more breath. Ah! How my heart yearns to answer her pleas, to rise up off this cold bed with all the vigor of youth no longer possessed. I remember a time…But no, that time has passed, a long summer faded into winter’s chill.

I fear not this new path, traveled by so many before me, and no concern do I have for those I have ruled for so long; Eldarion will serve them now. For her, though…It is not fear that tests my resolve but simple love; the pool in our garden never changes her reflection as it has mine these many, many years–but for me, it never would. I answer her with words and they do not seem enough, hollow and empty as the chamber in which I lie. My blood, that of lost Numenor, is a gift, a precious one to allow me the wisdom to know my time in this world is complete. For her, though, the last light of the Elves, all my long years have seemed but a falling star, a shining moment the more beautiful for its transience.

“I will speak no comfort to you,” I say, my withering hands holding hers, no more aged then they were so long ago. Indeed, nothing could I now say to soften this pain, which she alone must bear. She, who pledged her very life to me that summer long past when…I remind her of the West, a journey she would have taken long since, but for me. It is not the first mention of that voyage long completed by all her kin. Yet, in my heart I know she must abide the same Doom as I, loath though she is. This time, unlike others before, there is no hesitation in her reply and her voice rings clear, though streaked through with darkest sorrow. I wish to hold her. Instead, I breathe, a soft movement barely felt as I hold a slipping, swirling mind fast to an unseen anchor–no, not unseen, for I see her, hear her, and drink in her words like miruvor.

“For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of the One to Men, it is bitter to receive,” she finishes, but no fear do I hear through grief’s veil. I smile faintly at her strength, for not so accustomed as Men is the Evenstar to thoughts of death.

“In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory.” I know it is time. I summon the last of my strength and touch her face, her hair, and in one last whisper say “Farewell.” Only one more breath remains to me. My eyes slip closed and I am adrift in a darkened sea. I breathe in and I remember…The scent of grass fills my head with sweet intoxication; a fading sunset still casts light enough for me to wander the woods of my home and sing roughly the song of two lovers. A reddening sun leaves behind a sky painted peach and the blue of calmest thought. The birches I walk among gleam like silver pillars in a king’s hall and in a sudden breeze, I–Oh, I dare not close my eyes for fear this sudden vision will vanish with the sun! Her hair seems as the night sky, sprinkled with stars that have left their high abode for one yet more heavenly. It seems that never have I seen the colors blue or silver, for on this fair Lady they show themselves true. We exchange our names, I feeling as clumsy as when first I drew a sword and she full with the grace of elvenkind. She laughs! Ah, but that she had made these lands ring so sweetly before this blessed evening, yet I tremble to think that I have been reduced in her sight. Abashed, I raise my eyes to hers, deep as a hundred pools, clearer than any, and I am lost.

I wander the earth holding her semblance in my heart, feeling my love for her strengthen along with my mind and body, and rejoicing in both. In many quests do I take part, many friends do I meet and save and watch die…Yet, in the fullness of time, I come to the Golden Wood and behold Galadriel, a wise Lady and fair–though I must confess I compare her to Undomiel and find the latter the fairer. The Lady of the Wood is gracious and garbs me in garments of the Elven style, much finer then I consider my due; but oh, this very evening I meet once again with she who has lit upon my every dream, and find reality now the more wondrous for years spent in separation. What happy chance that I find myself in her presence once more! Through this wood we wander, the trees heavy with golden blooms, and she growing lovelier with each dew-spangled morning and sweet-smelling night.

I must leave on the morrow. But now is the evening of Midsummer, the moon a silver lamp casting a cool beam onto the pale nihpredil and the elanor like golden jewels strewn beneath our feet. We stand alone upon the hill called Cerin Amroth and this very hour my every hope is fulfilled–Arwen Undomiel becomes my betrothed. I swear that never again will I pass these flowers without thought of this night. Yet morning comes too soon and once more I take leave of my heart.

More years…Remembered well by all in Middle Earth and the final battles in the war I have fought all of my life. And then, nearly two score years after that night upon Cerin Amroth, I take the Evenstar to wife. Once more it is Midsummer, but now we stand upon a hill of stone and every eye in the White City looks to us and praises their new Queen. The bright noon sun casts no shadow upon the dais where we sit, her hand in mine, the stone gleaming as bright as silver birches…So many summers follow as our children grow in strength and wisdom and I begin to feel the inexorable crippling of age. The shadows which a midday sun but hide creep ever closer to us and now their darkness lays a chill finger upon me. All has led to this silent room of stone, these final farewells; I have known this moment would come. I am content. My one breath leaves and I bring her hand to my lips with a last, gentle kiss…

“Estel, Estel!” she cries. Blackness deeper than I have ever known swells over me, a crashing wave with the power of the ages behind it, and as thought recedes in a swift tide, I cling to her last words. Hope.