A Fairy Tale of Gondor
The Queen was beautiful, but unhappy, for even though a great war had just
been won and an Evil Enemy vanquished, her King was always very sad: he was
a very beautiful King, with dark long hair and deep blue eyes that always
took her breath away, and he loved her very much.
Yet he was sad.
Sometimes he had bad dreams, at night, and the Queen held him while he
shivered and called out in fear; sometimes he lay very quiet, and tears
rolled down his beautiful face while he dreamed.
Sometimes he thrashed about, and moaned, and arched back against the silky
sheets of the royal bed and called out a name—not in fear, but in
passion—and it wasn't the Queen's name, even though he loved her so much.
When he awoke he always looked ashamed and guilty, and would let her hold
him in her arms, and he would shake with silent, heartbreaking tears.
But the Queen was not angry at him, nor was she unhappy because he longed
for another's touch: she had lived for very, very long years, and she had
had other loves, too; and she knew about loss and pain and partings that
were for ever.
So, when one day at the beginning of Autumn—when the light was golden and
the leaves of the White Tree swayed gently in the breeze from the
mountains—the White Wizard came to the city of Minas Tirith, she went to
see him.
He was very old, much older than even the Queen. And he knew many things,
and many great things he had done, for he had many powers.
The Wizard knew about the King's sorrow, for he had known the one the King
had loved and lost, and had watched their love as it blossomed and grew; and
in his heart compassion had taken root, as he saw the shadows upon them
lengthen.
The Queen told him that she knew of the rewards that those who had fought
against the Evil Enemy had gained: how the Ringbearers would see the Land
That Never Dies and be reunited upon its shores; how the Elf would obtain to
keep his dearest love with him for all eternity; and she knew that her King,
too, could have his own fondest wish granted.
If only, the Wizard said then, in his deep, ancient voice, the King asked
for it himself.
And that, the Queen knew, was the source of all their grief: for the King
would not ask; for he felt guilty, and ashamed.
He would not ask because of her.
"But I," the Queen said in her sweet voice, that was like silvery waterfalls
sparkling under the stars, "I renounced my kin and my fate for him. My heart
and his are for ever bound, and if he suffers, I too suffer. I chose a
mortal life," said she. "I would not spend it in pain and sorrow, watching
the man I love wither away thus."
"It is not," the Wizard said, and his eyes were dark and deep, gleaming
under his bushy eyebrows, "for you to ask."
But the Queen had renounced uncounted years of life to be close to her King,
to give hope to the new world of Men; and she knew that she, too, had been
granted a reward.
"All the years I willingly gave," said the Queen, "I ask that they be taken
and remade by those who shaped the World." Her pale hands opened, like
flowers in the sunlight. "I ask that they be given to restore the years
stolen to my King's love."
"You would do this?" the Wizard asked, his deep blue eyes twinkling like
newly lit stars.
"I would," said she. "For my love is his love, and my happiness is bound to
his. And," said she again, looking long and firm into his eyes, "this is for
me to ask."
"So be it, then," the wizard said. And he took her open, warm mortal hands,
and a glow like red firelight was seen for a moment over them, casting deep
shadows that danced away in the golden twilight.
The Queen woke at her usual time the next morning. She opened her eyes and
looked at the brilliant blue sky outside her window, and saw that it would
be a beautiful day.
The place beside her in the bed was empty, but she had not expected
differently, for the King was usually up very early to deal with the
Kingdom's worries.
Her maids dressed her and brushed her hair, chatting happily; and then she
went to the great hall where she always took her meals.
She smiled when she saw the man waiting for her at the high table. He saw
her, too, and rose to his feet to bow and courteously guide her to her seat.
"My Queen," the man said with a beautiful smile. He had soft-looking, curly
blond hair and wide lovely eyes, as blue as the King's.
"Prince Faramir," the Queen said with a smile, and then inquired if he knew
where the King was.
"Oh," the prince said, with laughter in his slanted blue eyes. "They are in
the Tower, my queen. There were dispatches that needed to be seen to."
"Then," the Queen said, and smiled anew when the Lady Éowyn, the Prince's
wife, joined them, "let us eat, and leave them to their work."
It was a little past noon when the Queen at last made her way to the King's
room high in the Tower. She pushed the sturdy wooden door open, and saw her
King sitting at his desk near the wide window, a content smile lighting his
face, as she had not seen on his lips in all the long years of toiling of
his youth.
The bright light of the sun fell on his Steward, sitting close to him at the
desk, their fingers brushing while they followed a route on the map spread
before them. Their lips looked red, their cheeks flushed; the Steward's
green eyes were lit with joy and happiness and love.
The Queen stopped on the threshold to contemplate them, and as always, she
thanked the Valar that the King had been in time to rescue his love so long
ago, on the riverside. She remembered prince Faramir's happiness when he had
embraced his brother again; she remembered King Éomer telling her the tale
of how valiantly Lord Boromir had fought beside his King in the last battle,
saving the King's own life as the King had saved Boromir's.
She saw the Lord Boromir again as he had been the day of her wedding, his
beautiful eyes shining with pride and emotion, his hands clasping the
King's, tight. It had been the first time she had beheld her King and his
Steward together, and then with his other hand the King had beckoned to her,
while the people of the White City called her name, welcoming her home.
The Lord Boromir saw her first now, and rose to greet her, making a place
for her between himself and the King. The Evenstar pendant shone brightly as
a star on the Steward's chest, under his unbuttoned shirt; the Ring of
Barahir caught the light as his hand took hers, as he bent his head to kiss
her. The King smiled at her his beautiful, happy smile, and kissed her
lovingly when she settled beside him.
Their love enveloped her, and as the day grew old she watched as they hands
touched while they talked, saw the love in their eyes when they looked at
each other; and the King's fingers would play idly with her hair, caressing
her gently.
The Lord Boromir would smile at her, and the King would, too, his eyes
resplendent with love, for her, for him; and she would feel all the long
years that she had renounced to be with him flow warm and soft around them
like the light of the Sun, as though eternity were now, here in this room,
with these men that she loved.
She had chosen a mortal life.
It was a good life.
The End
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by
Cinzia
nce upon a time, in a kingdom called Gondor, there was a beautiful Queen.
Her name was Arwen.
