Grey Ships and Silver Thread

[e.Blackstar]

Okay, I'm not usually a fanfic person, but here goes.
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Part I: The Towers of Gondor
The grey ships were long gone by the time Aragorn son of Arathorn's kingdom had blossomed to fullness. The Elves had passed over the Sea to Valinor, and Arwen Undomiel could not bear to stand on the parapets of the Citadel of Gondor any longer and smell the salt air and feel the moist breezes and watch the glinting water of the river as it flowed down, down to the Sea, rushing for home as Arwen could never rush home again. This was her home now, this high impregnable tower and this massive city, and these were her people, the Men who guarded the walls and paid homage to her husband and called her 'Queen'.

She pushed her long hair behind her ear and tucked a few stray strands up underneath the diamond net that Aragorn had given her upon the birth of their son. Turning from the wall with a sigh, Arwen smoothed her skirts and climbed down the stairs to the entrance to Rath Dinen. The Closed Door was in fact open, and she could see the shape of Aragorn silhouetted against a flickering torch. He stood in front of the effigies of his parents, added into the House of Kings just after his coronation. The face of Gilraen was soft as she gazed down on her son, and Arathorn seemed aloof and yet somehow solid. Aragorn reached slowly up to where the winged crown rested on his head, and lowered it to the marble slab that would be his own resting place. He clasped his head in his hands and knelt as if praying; to whom, Arwen knew not.

She was about to withdraw from the doorway and go back to her chamber to wait for him when she felt a tug on her skirts. Looking down, she gazed into soulful brown eyes and ruffled the hair that curled under her fingers, and smiled brightly at her son. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she leaned down and picked Eldarion up, his chubby three-year old hands clutching at her dress and sleeves and his pale face creasing in a grin at his mother.
"Dadda." He pointed to where Aragorn knelt, and before Arwen could hush him, her husband turned and saw them standing there. He stood, all traces of sadness vanishing as he looked over his son and wife. Picking up the crown from where it lay, he put it over his son's dark curls and stood back to survey the effect. The crown clanged on the floor as Eldarion pushed it up out of his eyes and off his head with a giggle. Arwen cringed as one wingtip bent slightly, but she did not comment as Aragorn merely picked it up and ushered them out, closing the door and nodding to the porter.

 

[e.Blackstar]

Part II: Counting Stitches
The flag she'd made for him was flying from the Citadel's roof; he'd insisted on using it instead of one of the banners made, however lovingly, by common hands. Arwen remembered the nights sitting up long after her father had gone to bed, the rough cloth scraping over her fingers as she embroidered the Tree on it and crowned its branches with gems. Only Elrohir had known of it; he'd come upon her finishing it on the night before he and Elladan left with the Rangers for Rohan. He'd come to say goodbye, and she did not have time to stow the cloth away or dry the tears from her eyes before he'd opened her door and seen her. Elrond had never known of it; not until the day he'd come with her to Minas Tirith to give her to her King and seen it flying aloft over the City. Then he was too filled with pride and grief to notice, and he had never been back. There was no coming back from over the Sea...

Arwen wiped her eyes and turned her attention back to her current embroidery. The small hooded cloak for her son that she'd made was black, and she was sewing a small white tree on it, in the manner of the Guards' capes. A white marble that Eldarion had had a habit of playing with was set in silver for the brooch; it reminded her of the gem that she had given Frodo. Frodo...He was over the Sea as well, with his uncle and her grandparents and her father and all her dear friends. She dropped the cloak from her cold hands and clasped them in her lap to keep them from trembling. She was happy now, she told herself, with her husband and her child and a kingdom to rule, and she would be happy until Aragorn died. Which, she assured herself, would be a long time from now. A very long time.

Part III: The Madness of Arwen Evenstar
Eldarion was at that delightful stage in which he wanted to cling to his father, and Arwen let him. She'd borne him and raised him thus far, and though she loved him dearly, she loved too the glorious feeling of no one tugging at her skirts and no one demanding food or a blanket or a drink of water, or anything remotely of that nature. However, as the days passed by and Aragorn could always be seen with his son in tow, the solitude weighed on Arwen Evenstar. She would lie alone on her luxurious bed, and feel the lofty ceiling press in tight to smother her, and feel the velvet trappings and bed curtains and blankets turn to coarse burlap, and feel the great stone that sat upon her breast that would not be lifted. She took walks around the City, and sat in on Council meetings, and visited the market, and even took a day's ride to Ithilien to visit Eowyn and Farimer, but nothing would remove the great load that she bore.

One day as she awoke with the window open and the sun glaring down into her chamber, she threw off the blankets, ran to the window, and yanked the curtains shut and enclosed the room in shadow. She lit lamps by which to read, but she could not stand the harsh sunlight, and in time, even a lamp was too much. She sat in the dark for hours at a time, and came out but once in three whole days. She ate nothing, and refused to speak. On the fourth morning, however, she dressed in her favorite gown and put on her silver circlet and opened the curtains and came out and played with Eldarion and helped Aragorn rule, and all was forgotten, dismissed as temporary illness.

Yet again in a few days she would not leave her room; she kept the door locked, and the windows closed so that no light and no smell of water and no sound of people came in. She permitted no one inside but Eldarion, and when he would not come for fear of the dark, she swept out of her rooms and snatched him from where he was walking at his father's side and carried him back with her. She shut the door again, and would not allow him to be taken away, crying, "He is my son! No one can have him, he is mine! I will not lose him!" Indeed, she kept him with her for weeks after she finally came out, but it was no secret that Aragorn assigned extra guards to her to watch for signs. She knew this, and did not seem to mind, but whenever she began to talk of lights and noise and her eyes drifted away from her son and off into the distance, towards the west, she would be taken to see the gardens or taken for a ride or some other pleasant distraction, and so it was that Eldarion son of Aragorn grew up to a lad of twelve, with guards all about to watch for his mother's madness.

 

[e.Blackstar]

Part IV: Minstrels
The city was gathered in the Courtyard of the White Tree; Arwen stood with her daughters to one side of the great doors, watching the press of people as everyone tried to get a glimpse of the crown Prince and his escorts, the Lord and Lady of Ithilian. Aragorn waited at the top of the dais, a small iron-bound chest in his hands, and his face lit up as his son peeled off from his wardens and mounted the stairs. As the prince turned to survey the crowd, the masses knelt as one. Eldarion looked nonplussed for a second, before remembering himself and gesturing for them to rise.

Aragorn bowed and placed the chest at Eldarion's feet, unlocking it and throwing back the lid. Now it was the Prince who knelt as his father swept a white cape over his shoulders and fastened it with a black pearl brooch. When the king motioned to his son and allowed him to stand once again, Arwen had to wipe tears from her brown eyes. Her son stole a glance at her, and she read everything in her eyes. He looked back as his father drew a glistening blade and held it aloft so that it caught the sun and sent flashes across the crowd.

The minstrels were brought out after the ceremony was ended, and Eldarion was talking at one of the lower tables with Bergil and his pregnant wife Anwe. Faramir had engaged Aragorn in conversation and Eowyn sat beside Riánna the Fair, wife of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Arwen stabbed at her food, staring at the floral arrangement in front of her and smiling wanly at everyone who walked past. She heard the strings of a lute being plucked and shifted her gaze to where the minstrels were gathered near the foot of the dais. One stood from his perch on the edge of a chair and cleared his throat to sing with his fellow, the lute player.

The lay was a long one, one Arwen did not know and did not want to, and she sat as still as she possibly could, trying not to blink. The guests were enjoying the lovely music and she so did not want to ruin her son's party. Her hands clenched around her skirt, bunching the fine cloth into her palms. Her teeth ground as she tried to force her jaws into submission, the scraping of bone loud in her head. She would not; not here. There was a time for her grief, but it was not now and not here. Never here, in front of her husband and her son and under this sun in this courtyard so open yet shut away from the west; her eyes strayed to the sea and as the light danced over the waves, she felt that she could do no more. There was a friendly precipice just a few scant paces away; so far it looked in the glaring sun with the minstrel's song of the ages echoing large in her head. Her hands released her skirts and smoothed them automatically, and she had half-risen unnoticed until Aragorn noticed her and stood to assist her. She moved her lips and felt something in her throat; she tasted bile and fell against the table. Blackness encroached on her vision, and all she could see was her hand, with the ring on it; that one hateful ring. The minstrels, oblivious, played on, and with her heart beating thud thud thud Arwen turned to her husband, hearing nothing but the music and her heart; the music about the Elves and her father and the sea and home, the last homely house, and Home, the West with her family and her birthright and all that she held dear. She forgot about her son for a moment and all that was about her but for Aragorn, and a sound, a horrible anguished cry, ripped from her throat. She flew at the man, this man who had taken away everything and bought her soul with a ring. Her hands sought his face and found his eyes; a fingernail gouged down Aragorn's cheek, leaving a red line with blood already beading along it. She grasped at his shoulders, trying in vain to pull herself back up as she slid down to the floor, striking her head and feeling nothing until she saw her own blood pooled beside her; Eldarion knelt beside her and she pulled him close, hearing nothing but the Sea and forlornly in the background, the voice of a single minstrel raised in song. Her head rocked back and a long breath escaped her bleeding lips before she let the shadows claim her.

 

[e.Blackstar]

So yeah...that's all I have so far. What think y'all?

 

[Hammersmith]

1. I trust you've read enough into the Appendices to know of the little that Tolkien himself wrote on the subject of Fourth Age Gondor, Arwen, Aragorn, etc?

2. THANK YOU! From the depths of my heart, for knowing how to spell "lute"!!! You cannot imagine how many times I have seen it written "loot" or "lote" or such nonsense!

3. A point of interest - you seem to be dipping in and out of two distinctive styles; you tend to write most of it as a distant narrative in the same vein as the Silmarillion, as though you were a scribe taking down a history. This is broken by sudden reflections on the characters' thoughts and actions, the inclusion of small notes of interest and a much more character driven style. I'm not sure if the two styles complement each other, but it's no biggie.

4. Arwen, mad! At one side of the scale, you'll have everyone infuriated for describing such a "minor" character in such detail and with such commitment, yet on the other side of things, all the Arwen haters are seeing their nemesis torn down to size, removed from the ethereal and made weak! I'm joking, of course, but it's fascinating what you're doing nonetheless, and quite daring to intrude on the carefully sculpted bliss that Tolkien left in Gondor.

5. Altogether an intriguing and exciting project - if a little short for so many subjects addressed, with the reader hurried through a bit too fast. Very fun indeed. I always saw Aragorn's son as a very potential anticlimax, a tragic figure who would be tested even more so than his father. It will be interesting to see what you have in store for these poor schmucks!

 

[e.Blackstar]

To Hammersmith:

1) Yes. I shall, when I get to that point in the narrative, make the story coincide with Tolkien's appendix.

2) Um..you're welcome? Everyone ought to know how to spell 'lute'. *sigh* some people.

3) Oh. Okay.

4) Heh...I was trying to think of a 'beyond the book' sort of story for LotR-you know, something that involves familiar characters but in a different time scheme. I figured, well, most married couples have issues with each other, their new marriage, etc, so I thought I'd seize upon the 'fairy tale ending' and make some strife.

5) Thank you!

 

[Hobbit-GalRosie]

It's really awesome, I feel utterly depressed right now, poor Arwen...I don't think the story really fits with Tolkien, but that's okay sometimes, you need to look at things in a differnet light to understand them in the first one.

But one thing I'd like to mention that might be useful to you if you didn't all ready remember, in Appendix A there is this one fleeting line in The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen after Aragorn died and she was going back to Lorien it said something like she left everything she had loved, the people etc, her son, and, surprisingly, her daughters, which is one of those things I always wished like heck Tolkien would have expanded on, but I don't think he ever did. So, at any rate, if this goes on much farther than the time when Eldarion is age twelve you should really work in at least two more child-births. Sorry if this is just nit-picky, I just thought you might like to know.

 

[e.Blackstar]

Wait...how much younger than Eldarion were the daughters? And does anyone know their names?

Because I remember the daughters (see begining of Part IV) but I know little to nothing about them. There is nothing in the Appendices.

 

[Hobbit-GalRosie]

Oh, I'm so sorry. I think I totally misread that sentence, and didn't realize you had all ready mentioned the daughters. I don't think they are in fact ever mentioned except as far as that they exist, so now my post is utterly meaningless, isn't it? At least I can't remember any other mention, and I have read all of LotR twice, and the Sil and UT and HoMe once, all within the last two years, so if it was ever mentioned it's either somewhere really obscure, or I didn't see it/don't remember. You'd think they'd at least be mentioned in a time-table somewhere, or something like that, I'll look into it as soon as I get a chance, but as I get most of my books from a library instead of buying them that will likely prove a complicated process.

Does anyone else have some quote? Anywhere else Tolkien mentioned them?

 

[eledhel11]

Hiya, e.Blackstar. Okay, so this is kinda pointless, 'cause I already read your story and told 'ya what I thought. (For those of you who don't know me, I am, among many other things, e.Blackstar's friend.) But, I just wanted to say that I really like it. Besides the nit picky things that have mostly already been pointed out, I think its good. And to Hobbit-gal Rosie: I have only read about Arwen & Aragorn's daughters in two places, the one you mentioned and a family tree that simply says Eldarion and daughters. You're right, they should be talked about more!!!!!! Its one of the few things I don't like about LotR, few girls are in it, and fewer still are main characters. Oh, well, I suppose that's what fan fiction is for: to fill in the gaps Tolkien left.

 

[Hobbit-GalRosie]

Ah, thank you eledhel11, you are so right! Sometimes the best parts of stories like LotR are the things you're left to imagine on your own, but you know they really occured in some way or other because the world is so complete and consistent...but it's just too bad that Arwen's daughters aren't explained any better. I always thought it would be nice if her image kept popping up in her descendents every few generations, you know, since she was said to be the likeness of Luthien I wondered if those genes might be particularly strong. Maybe even now there are descendants of Arwen Evenstar walking among us, and they are those that are to our minds most fair, and we feel that it might be that we catch a glimpse in them of some far-off land or distant time, but then it is gone, if it ever was, and we are left with only memory...sorry, I have this bad habit of waxing poetic sometimes. I'll shut up now.

 

[Halasían]

I'm not sure where I picked this up, but I thought that there was mention of many daughters and Eldarion was last born? Little is said of it.

On your write blackstar... I liked it alot! Some say that Tolkien never meant for the kingdom reunited to have such darkness come. And except for the ending that seems to hint that she dies (She out lived Aragorn), its quite an interesting story!

 

[e.Blackstar]

Um..silvanis, just so you know, it ain't done yet. I probably shouldn't have left it hanging like that...I just don't have anything more finished yet.

 

[e.Blackstar]

*maria very carefully revives the thread*

Well, I havent been working on this whole deal for a long time, but I just started again on Part V ("There is now no ship that will bear me yet..." and should have it posted in a few days. If you even care...

 

[Hobbit-GalRosie]

I care! I care! I will carefully read and consider any and all parts of the story that has been so cruelly interupted...or well, I'll probably only see it 5 days after you post it, with how little time I've had for TTF latetly, but that doesn't mean I care less! More story! More morbid depressing beautiful goodness! Now! *pouts*

Dang it, you're the only person I can think of off-hand that can do that sort of thing without it seeming either cheesy or like a random outlet for childish rage (speak for yourself, Rosie). *stomps hairy little feet* I don't care if I'm being childish! It's a purty storyyyyyy!!!!

 

[e.Blackstar]

Oooh, someone cares!

 

[Starbrow]

Uh, e., you know it's been more than a "few" days, don't you. Your fans are waiting.

 

[e.Blackstar]

Yeah, I know. But with school starting and stuff a few weeks ago everything just got buried. I'll post it as soon as I can.

 

[e.Blackstar]

..I'd totally forgotten about this.


We'll see what I can do.