Mending Broken Hearts II I am not afraid to leave, for it is you that will wait for me on the
other side.
Perhaps, Death is truly final.
But it may be that The One cannot bring himself to part
the ones who truly love.
So if I leave you now, my Lover, I will not abandon you.
I hope that you will pass through the days to come without harm, and
that my death may prove a boon, not a burden.
My Lover, embrace all those I have left behind.
Take care of yourself.
I follow the call, the one that summons me in your voice to
a place far from here, urging me onward.
I love you, and that you deemed me worthy of your love made my life
complete.
I love you, and wherever I go, I will never forget.
I love you.
I love you...
I can see a light.
Far away, I can see a golden brightness, calling me home, calling me
with your voice.
The light is growing enveloping me, swallowing me, filling me, my
heart, my being with warmth and gentle care.
I know you are here with me, for I can hear your voice, calling my
name; I can feel you in my mind.
There are shapes in the light, darker ones against omnipresent
brightness. Red and golden sparkles dance around me, the air feels
fresh and clean, like spring-day's caress. I can almost hear the
birds singing, just like they did when spring had come to the city of
my fathers, when the first green of the year graced the pearl-white
walls of Minas Tirith.
Yes, if there is a life after death, this is where I would spend it
with you, my love.
In the city I grew up in, together the two of us, living without
worry.
This is how I imagined heaven would be.
But where are you now, my Lover?
I cannot hear you any longer. Why don't you speak to me anymore?
What is this? I am in pain. I am cold. Where are you?
Help me, Lover! Where am I?
What is this?
Lying on the cold stone floor, I open my eyes, blinking, trying to
overcome nausea and disorientation.
My body feels as if it is black and blue with bruises, I am
shivering with cold, my head spinning, making me want to retch.
Slowly I manage to regain my senses, finally being able to
distinguish up from down.
Someone is holding me.
Cradling me in his arms like a child, rocking me gently.
Is this the afterlife?
Why then, by The One, does my whole body hurt so bloody much?
I feel moisture on my chest. Gentle drops, warm, pearling down on me.
That someone must be crying.
What's happening?
Curse this whole dying thing! Why can't I see anything more than
blotches?
Aragorn?
Is that truly you?
I can hear your voice, full of pain and sorrow—don't suffer, love.
I'm with you!
A shape is forming in my sight. The person holding me.
Aragorn?
You are crying. Why? We're here, together, joined in afterlife
forever.
"Aragorn?"
My voice is rough and my throat burns of strain after that single
word.
But the reaction could not have been more rewarding—you turn to me,
your tears subsiding at once, staring at me with the most
flabbergasted expression I have ever seen on your handsome, usually
oh-so-serene face.
But something is ... somewhat off-key. It is your face I see in front
of me, but at the same time, it is someone else. You seem so ...
clean. Your hair is decently cut, you're shaved, you wear a flimsy
deep blue tunic of silk.
You seem ... grey. As if youíve been forced into a costume that doesn't suit you.
You're suffering. Drained.
I see this with my first glance.
"Who—who dressed you up like this?" I ask, completely overtaxing
my voice, breaking into painful fits of coughing.
You, in response, hold me in your arms even tighter, still crying and
sobbing, but now it's tears of joy, I can feel it.
I am finally here with you. And I will not leave you again.
And you're choking me, the way you press my head against your chest.
With gentle force, I pull away from you—looking into your
eyes clearly for the first time. Still, tears are running down your
face, tiny streams of crystalline liquid, incessantly, but you are smiling. Your eyes are radiant with joy, your smile almost splitting your face apart.
Oh Valar, how much I love you.
How much I loathed to leave you.
But I am here, here with you.
I try to shake my head in disbelief, only managing a weak move. But
my hand obeys my orders, moving up, wiping away some of the tears on
your cheek.
How strange to feel you shaved...
You do not look so shabby anymore, not at all like the man I used
to know. But you look exhausted. Drained. Yet you are the man I
love, no looks could ever change that.
'What happened to you?" I ask, my voice still rough
but far less painful now.
"To me?" you ask in bewilderment.
"Of course." My hand, still touching your cheek, moves further,
touches your neatly combed hair, your tunic so fine, before adding:
"You look so changed. And sad."
"Me sad? I have never been happier in my life!"
You bend down, touching the tip of my nose with yours, holding your
cheek to mine, kissing me softly, as if I were but a fragile dream,
threatening to dissolve as soon as you start wanting it never to end.
"All the Valar—you're back!" you say, and once more I hear the
tears in your voice, your disbelief matching mine.
Instead of answering you, I put my hand behind your head, pulling you
even closer to me, kissing you—but not like a dream, like a
man I kiss you, passionate, demanding, full of life.
I can smell you now, the scent I remember of you still somewhere
behind soap and oil, your own fragrance, sweeter to me and more
enticing than anything I can think of; leather, tree-sap and a hint
of wild roses, still unchanged.
I let myself fall into your kiss, revelling in the love that was
strong and true enough to give both of us this chance of life beyond
life, of love beyond death.
Nothing fills my thoughts, nothing but you, your body against mine,
your scent making my head light.
Except for the nagging sensation of a bloody cold, stone floor
beneath me.
What strange kind of afterlife this is where you can still freeze
your arse off?
Irritated, I end our kiss, looking around in a vain attempt to find
someone responsible for my lack of comfort.
"My old rooms!" I exclaim, surprised by how close to reality this
dream is.
"I took them as mine, as you were no longer here to use them ," you say.
I struggle with the concept. No longer where? Why should you
take rooms in a dream? And why am I still lying on these stone-
slabs, naked as I am? And where are my clothes?
"But I died before you," I say, half stating, half questioning, my
mind continually stumbling over mismatching information.
"Of course," you say, your faint smile clearly showing
that you do not understand my irritation.
"You died in my arms, that dreadful day, and I carried your
lifeless body myself into the boat that bore you down the falls of
Rauros."
"Well, yes, maybe." They buried me in a boat? What the...
"But then, how did you get here before me?"
Now it's your turn to blink in irritation.
"Before you?" you ask, now truly irritated. "I have been here in
Minas Tirith for four years, and one more has passed since you
died."
"You didn't die.." I say, feeling the truth in my guess as I say it,
completely at a loss to understand how my existence fits into that
picture.
"No, I'm alive." Now you smile again. By The One, how lovely you are
when you do that.
"I'm as alive as you are, my love."
Now it hits me.
With much the same impact as a troll's fist in my face, at
least partially the mist around my clumsy brain disappears.
You're alive!
But then, what am I?
Undead?
"By all the Valar," I exclaim. "you haven't done this to me, have
you?"
Your eyes widen in surprise and fear.
"Done what?"
"Brought me back as a living corpse?"
If it weren't truly a matter of life and death, the bewildered look
on your face would have been priceless.
"Tell me you didn't bring me back as one of the undead, love. Please!"
Your mouth falls open in utter disbelief, and immediately I feel
completely stupid, for surely I had missed something pivotal and have
just shown myself as the ignorant boor I am. Once more.
But then, your eyes begin to sparkle with mirth, and shaking your
head you begin to laugh, to laugh loudly and happily, free and light.
You pull me into your arms, strong, tender, and I know that you love
me, be I dense as a brick or as bright as you are.
"I have missed you so much," you say, tears again in your eyes. "So
much, my Boromir..."
You're sweet, and my heart rejoices every time I see your face,
knowing you are beside me.
But that doesn't explain at all why I'm here. And why I have to lie
here, naked, on the stone floor of my old study.
"Alright, alright, my love," I say, gently pulling away from you
once more. "Please—what has happened? One moment I lie on Amon Hen,
riddled with orc-arrows, choking on my own blood in your arms, and
the next thing I know is lying in your arms, in my old study,
but otherwise unharmed."
I grin as you look down my unclad body, stopping where my bare back
rests on the ground, and a slight frown of surprise touches your
eyebrows.
"Oh," you say.
"Oh? Is that all you have to say, Aragorn son of Arathorn?
You've never been on the talkative side of humanity, but that's a bit
meagre even for you!"
"I—," you begin, your eyes still resting on my body more than on my
face. "I hadn't realised..."
"Realised what? That I'm naked?"
"Well," you start, turning to meet my eyes again, a dirty little
smile flashing in the corners of your mouth.
"Actually, yes. You are naked."
It takes me some time to figure out what that funny undertone in your
voice is.
"No—," I exclaim. "You cannot truly be thinking of—".
You merely raise your eyebrows, trying to look innocent and failing
miserably.
"You just brought me back from the dead, you haven't even had the
decency to explain to me what has happened, and now you start giving
me hungry eyes."
You merely nod, quite pleased with yourself, your smile ever
widening.
"You're an evil man," I say, pulling your head down to my face,
kissing you ferociously.
"Let me show you how cold that bloody floor truly is!" I say between
kisses, surprised how much of my vigour returned as soon as there
was talk of making love.
All my questions could as well wait a little longer. Whatever strange
and wondrous things had happened,—they had happened to bring the two
of us together again, and we would not dare disappoint the powers
that be, would we?
Surely not.
by
Osiris Brackhaus
he One has given Death as a gift to humanity, as an end to its
suffering—and yet I feel that you will be there, wherever I may
go when I leave this place.
