Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is not mine, and I'm making no money off of this. So there.
Waning Star
". . . But Arwen went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was quenched, and it seemed to her people that she had become cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star . . ."
-- A Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, The Return of the King
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Old. Tired. That is how my mother appeared to me as I watched her depart the House where my father had laid himself to rest forever. She was still beautiful, despite her worn mortality, but it seemed as though the light of her people that had long shone in her eyes had at long last abandoned her. Or perhaps she had abandoned it.
I had always known that the Elves, my mother's kindred and my own, were possessed of great joy along with their great sorrow. I had seen this joy sparkle in the eyes of my uncles, despite their longing for their kin which they so recently decided they could no longer ignore; and in Legolas, who had so often set me on his knee and sang, mirth dancing across his fair face despite his yearning for the Hither Shore, which I knew he would soon seek to quench; and in my mother, the fair and loving Queen, who had never lacked for happiness.
Until now.
My sisters and I, and our brother Eldarion, were gathered outside the House that would be our father's tomb. We had already said our farewells and departed so that our parents might have a final moment together in peace. Our own children stood not far behind us, seeming to feel that to come any closer would have been in some way intrusive to us and our mother. An unnecessary gesture, of course - I do not think my mother would have even seen them at that moment. I do not think she could see anything through whatever dreary haze had enveloped her.
She walked as though trapped in a dream, slowly and without any obvious destination. Such age, such weariness! How could I have not seen before this moment how truly old my mother was?
I looked at my eldest sister, who had her head bowed in reverence and respect, and sorrow for those who had passed. But did she mourn for our father the King? Or for this forlorn lady who now walked before us?
Mother continued to pass by, and we could do no more than watch, until at last my brother could bear this silence no longer.
"Undómiel!" he cried. "Mother, will you not look towards us?"
She halted at his words and slowly turned to us, and a sad smile came to her face. She approached Eldarion and lovingly rested her hand against his cheek.
"My son," she murmured with soft pride. "In you I see the grace and wisdom of the one you shall succeed. A fine king you shall be."
"Will you not stay to see your son reign, if only for a little while?" he asked mournfully, for he already knew her answer.
Mother's smile did not fade, but grew sadder. "Nay, Eldarion. I will not linger when my time has passed."
"But your time may not have passed!" my youngest sister insisted as tears rolled down her fair face. "You may yet have many years ahead of you! Will you not spend them here, with your family who loves you?"
Mother's gaze met mine, and I knew in that moment that Nimloth's assumption was incorrect. Our mother's time had indeed come. She would soon depart to face her grief alone in some far, empty land, and she would pass away under what would seem to her a bleak and starless sky. But it did not really matter where she chose to lay her body in eternal slumber - looking upon her dull, extinguished eyes, it would have seemed as though Arwen Undómiel was already dead.
A sudden fear seized me, an anxiety that had been lurking in the back of my mind for many years. Only now, in the wake of my mother's sorrow, did this fear find its way to the surface of my thoughts. This fear that I had possessed ever since I had begun to notice how quickly my husband seemed to age...
Some strange instinct caused me to look behind me, where my husband stood, his wrinkled hand resting on our son's shoulder. So old, so very old, he seems... He is fast approaching his 120th year, the age his own father was at his time of passing.
I drew a shaky, terrified breath as I looked upon my husband. My father's passing made the idea of my husband's death seem all the more frighteningly real. It was something I had until that point managed to avoid, a topic I had scraped aside for years of denial. But it could be denied no longer. Not only would my husband soon die, but I would have many more years to live after his departure.
I quickly turned back to my mother, my eyes wide at my sudden comprehension. This was my fate - she was my fate. I would soon look as my mother looked then, cold and lifeless, and without hope.
Without light.
"Mother!" I cried to her, weeping as I ran towards her. She placed her hands on either side of my face, caressing my cheek as she had so often done to soothe me when I was a child. She looked upon me with an understanding gaze.
"Will there be no comfort, Mother?" I asked bitterly. "No healing after the loss? No sign to show that your choice was the right one to make?"
She smiled gently. "Whether it was the right choice is of no consequence now. The choice was made, and no amount of pondering will unmake it. I have no doubts, and I have no regrets." She kissed my brow and whispered, "And neither should you."
I stared at her with wonder. No regrets? No doubts about her decision? She forsook a chance at undying bliss in a world far away from grief, and now she was left with the consequences of her choice. How could she feel no bitterness towards her chosen mortality?
As though sensing my thoughts, Mother smiled again and said, "Even now I believe that all was not in vain. I was granted the gift of being with the one I loved until his end. I must soon depart, to face my sorrow in solitude. But I will still have these few blessed treasures to keep in my heart that I would not have possessed had I not chosen as my heart wished."
With that, she turned and walked towards the King's House. She passed from my sight, a star that slowly flickered and died in a night that would meet no dawn. Had I been more foolish, more naïve, I might have tried to reach out and touch her, as a child that sought in vain to caress the passing clouds. But I supressed this desire, for I knew that my mother would soon pass beyond my reach to become little more than a sad, sweet memory.
My siblings soon followed our mother, and I was left alone to ponder her words. I then slowly turned back to my husband and met his gaze. He smiled gently at me, and there was an inquiry in his eyes. It was a question asked not for himself, but so that I might truly understand the answer that I already knew in my heart.
Was it worth it, Míriel?
I returned his smile, and at last I understood my mother's choice.
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