In Remembrance and In Song

Winter Solstice 3019 TA, Minas Tirith

Standing at one of the balconies of the King’s House on the seventh level of the White City Aragorn closed his eyes.  He allowed the pale light of the winter sun to slowly warm his face.  He felt a chill wind whip ever so gently around him, his dark mantle trimmed with silver rustle about his shoulders.  He breathed in deeply and let the clean, chill air refresh his spirit.  He opened his eyes and looked across the tiered city and was amazed by what he saw.  People working at their lives.  Rebuilding what they could, they worked at restoring their city.  He wondered at their resilience.

He felt slender arms encircle him from behind.  A voice that held a smile said, “Estel, what has you so pensive this Solstice Night?”

Aragorn turned in his lady’s arms, “I think you may have answered your own question, my lady.” he answered with a spark of mischief his grey eyes.

Arwen’s midnight blue eyes flashed mischief of their own, “Quick with the tongue I see.  I shall leave you to your musings.” She feigned leaving his embrace.

“Not so fast, my lady.”  He leaned in for a kiss.  Their lips met for a joyous few moments.  Arwen smiled blissfully up at Aragorn.  His breath caught in his chest as he gazed at the beauty in his arms.  Years upon years beyond counting he had loved her, knowing her to be unattainable and yet she was in his arms looking at him with love in her eyes.  He marveled at the turn of events that made this moment possible.  He took her hands in his.  “You ask what I was pondering this solstice?  Everything.  Everything that has happened to bring us to this moment.”  He looked out onto the city.  “That this has happened.  That we have chased away the darkness.”

“I knew that you would defeat it.  There was never a doubt in my mind.” Arwen stated softly.

Aragorn countered, "But at what cost? We have lost so many." His voice rich with grief; his mind drifted towards thoughts of Boromir, Faramir's older brother and one of the Nine Walkers. To Halbarad, his kinsman among the Dunedain and sorely missed. He thought of the many Dunedain Rangers, who had been brothers-in-arms for years beyond count. So many sons of Gondor and Rohan. So many Elves and Dwarves.

“At what cost? Many gave their lives defending the hope that our way of life would survive.  And it has.” Arwen reached up and placed her slender hand on Aragorn’s stumbled cheek bringing his troubled grey gaze to her face.  “This is the Solstice.  A time for remembering, yes.  But also, a time of release and going forward.  Look.” She said as she gestured out to the city as dusk turned to night.  Amid the tiers, bonfires were being lit in open spaces. One by one fires lit the early nighttime.  It was as if the city was being decorated in points of light.  In the tier just below them Aragorn saw the Gondorian people gather to light their bonfire.  They were there to celebrate the Solstice, longest night and the ritual coming of the new sun.  They would be holding in their hands scrolls tied with twine around a small holly branch and leaves to be thrown into the fire to release those cares written that were weighing them down and their hopes written for the future that would take flight as the ashes floated away on the wind.

“Come, My love.  It is time we set our own bonfire.” Arwen took his arm and gently lead him away from the balcony to the courtyard below.

Entering the Court of the Fountain, Aragorn was filled with hope. The new sapling of the White Tree found on Mindolluin, in the White Mountains was guarded as always by four of the Tower Guard of Honor.  It was winter bare but was thriving in the withered tree’s place, having flowered in Summer.  To the side of the Tree, the Bonfire of DûTaen, meaning longest night, was being built up. 

“My Lord, it is good to see you.” Aragorn looked to his side and saw Faramir and Éowyn approach.  The younger man bowed as did Éowyn.  Aragorn smiled then said, “Faramir, in a setting such as this you need not call me formally.  We meet as friends.”

The younger man looked abashed and said, “As you wish, My Lo-” he stopped himself and then said low and haltingly in an almost incredulous voice, “Aragorn.”  Aragorn smiled again. Joy flowed from the newly married couple.  He was so happy to see joy in two lives that so richly deserved it.  He looked around and saw many he was so happy to be sharing this Bonfire with on this night. 

It was a simple ceremony that was celebrated in the same way across the city. Families and neighbors gathered in open spaces and the youngest was the one given the privilege of lighting the fire because they represented the future incarnate.  Then each who prepared a scroll would then toss it onto the fire.  Those who were moved to speak did so.  Some sang.  And all stayed up all night to meet the morning’s new light.

Aragorn looked around and motioned for quiet amid the general rumble of the inhabitants of the King’s House and the Citadel.  “Who here is the youngest?”

Beregond, still residing with the Tower Guard, though not necessary of them any longer, and who was privileged to be at the King’s fire, called out, “Bergil and Borlas, my two sons.” He motioned for them to step forward.  Both did and it was clear that Borlas was beside himself with excitement.

Aragorn’s face lit with amusement at the youthful enthusiasm, “Very Good.  Come forth my young men and claim the privilege of your youth.”  Borlas, at age six, bounded forth while Bergil, all of ten years old, was trying to maintain a more dignified demeanor which was belied by the huge smile on his face.  Aragorn drew himself up to his full height and said with solemnity, “Do you accept the task set before you?  To light the fire that will see us till morn.  To the new day!”

Bergil answered solemnly, “Yes.” Borlas simply nodded so fervently that the curls escaping his winter cap bounced furiously. 

Aragorn laughed at such enthusiasm. “Very good then!  He looked to his sides, “Where are my tapers?”

“Here, my lord!” Faramir called.

On his other side Arwen said, ““And here!” They were holding the unlit tapers made of holly branches.

Aragorn turned and retrieved the first from Faramir, lit it from the torchlight at his side and handed it to Bergil.  Next he retrieved the one from Arwen and placed it in Borlas’ small mittened hands.  Bergil took his younger brother’s taper and lit it from his and they walked forward quickly and set alight the kindling to start the bonfire and then ran back to their father and mother.

As the fire grew Aragorn spoke in a clear ringing voice.  “This night is a night to remember and to reflect.  Much has happened in this year.  Much to be joyful about and much to give us sadness.  We remember our loved ones who are not here this night.  While they are no longer among us; they will always be in our hearts.” He looked at Faramir, who held his gaze while tears for his brother gathered in his eyes.  He inclined his head and Faramir mirrored his action as Aragorn saw Éowyn reach for Faramir’s hand and clasped it comfortingly. Aragorn held her gaze as he said, “We have all lost those whom we held dear in this year of woes.” Éowyn smiled back at him as tears gathered in her own eyes as she thought of her beloved uncle, dead on the Fields of Pelennor. “But indeed, their memories live on in us.  It is a night of memory.  But also,” he averred, “It is a night of rebirth, of the new light of day when we look forward to what we bring with us and what we will leave behind. It is DûTaen.  Our hearts are open to hope.” Aragorn strode forward and tossed his scroll into the flame.  Arwen watched as he touched his head and heart in the way of the northern tribes of the Dunedain and her elf ears picked up his murmured words, “Be at peace, Nana.  It is done.” She felt his pain and its release.  The night continued in remembrance and in song.  There was both joy and tears as the fire burned through the night and the last embers died just as the early light of dawn stole across the city.

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DûTaen:  My own very flawed construction of Sindarin meaning “the longest night.”