Ias dortha undómiel, dortha estel* by Ithiliel

Ias dortha undómiel, dortha estel*
By Ithiliel (*AstariA51*)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Aragorn/Arwen, naturally
Summary: Aragorn has the watch, and a night sky to contemplate; and alone he can let himself falter. Aragorn's POV.
Disclaimer: Well, Tolkien merely re-discovered Middle Earth, so...oh, very well, Christopher and the Estate own everything. I have nothing and I get nothing from this, except my own gratification (and that of my very insistent muses. Muses Aragorn and Arwen are happy now. Well, somewhat happy. They're still sexually frustrated muses, but hey, at least I'm in canon.)
Feedback: YES PLEASE! Buffy24601@aol.com.
Distribution: Of course! Mention to me first.

Summer fades into the sharp crisp cool of autumn. The leaves turn and fall, the ground hardens, the flowers die, and all around me the air is changed.

It is on evenings such as this that I take the watch with little care, watching my companions fall to the frost-kissed ground exhausted. Everything changes; even the grim determination on the faces of Legolas and Gimli, their only anchor in these times, is stolen from them in sleep.

All has been taken; and on these nights I look into the darkening sky and see the evening star's constant light, and it is as a beacon guiding my path. For everything may change, and yet there is beauty in the darkness, there is a path laid for me, and somewhere, there is love, two hearts pledged as one.

But night brings doubt to my mind with the turning of the seasons. For even the constancy of that brightness too may change, once seen as an untouchable beauty, distant, immortal. Now her life is given into my hands as much as if it were any comrade's, her very immortality hangs close to my heart: she trusts to my devotion for her existence. I would fain have it so, for it is as if I now hold her heart in my hands; at any moment I feelt it may slip away, finally proving me unworthy of its keeping.

And am I worthy? This heir who is no heir, this mortal who would sooner live and die amongst the wilds, with a sword at his hip, the sky above him, and a horse to ride, no more, fleeing the mistakes of his ancestors? How may I even ask for that which I treasure so dearly, this willing loyalty which has been given through no account of my own? She is so sure that I do not possess the flaws of my bloodline, and her very voice can renew such strength in me - yet…as the days pass, and one by one our company is lost…

 First Gandalf fell, and still we carried on. Then Merry, and Pippin, taken by the Uruk-hai; Frodo and Sam separated, and…Boromir. We scorned him for his temptation to the ring, all full knowing that we were all called by it, and in the end he tried so hard to prove himself a true son of Gondor, fighting through a score of injuries to ensure the safety of those who had disregarded him from the beginning. And still I was powerless to save him as he died in my arms.
A leader of men? I cannot even lead a fellowship of nine. How can she put such
faith in me?

"You cannot give me this."

"It is mine to give to whom I will, like my heart."

I stare into the night, my gaze focused. Deep within me I know I must continue, for those I have failed, and those I cannot fail. I swore to protect Gondor, and I will not break oath to Boromir; Merry and Pippin remain within my power to save, and while they are, I will try, with the help of two strong friends. I falter, but I will not fall while there is a glimmer of light in my life.

Darkness brings fears to my mind, thoughts of change: but through the black velvet of the night sky, the Evening Star shines and, despite my own doubt, will not be quelled by the ideas of a mere man.

She exists as she will, and is always with me. And this keeps me alive.

*Where there is the evenstar, there is hope. (literally: there is = dwells)