3. Shadow in Minas Tirith

It was years later, but that moment stood out clearly in Aragorn’s mind. Arwen has fallen sick in the morning. First he thought it’s just a stomach flu – was she susceptible to illness as well, now that she has given up her immortality? No, her body was still the one of an Elf, and that worried Aragorn immensely. And then, she lost consciousness.

When he remembered that rainy day when all his training as a healer was in vain, his heart froze. He didn’t leave Arwen’s side. Her pulse, the feeling of her skin… the same symptoms. Slower, but still the same…

He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. He could be wrong. He wanted to be wrong. But what if you are right, a little voice in his mind told him. You do not have much time, and you need answers. No, you need to be with her, another part of his mind argued. If you are right, you need to use all the time you have together, you need to be with her until the end… That thought drove a cold, bitter thorn into his heart. He would do anything for her. But would he sacrifice the last hours with her for a chance to find a cure? Would he dare to hope? He was Estel, and he was a healer.

He put his hand on Arwen’s brow. “ Easy, vanimelda. I will leave you with Eldarion for a while, but I will be back soon, and I will get something that will help you. I love you…” He kissed her on the brow, and left the room. Only those who knew him well would be able to see the pain in his eyes that he was carrying with him.   

He always knew he will be the one to die first, whether of old age or by the hand of another, in the many war campaigns that Gondor had to lead after the defeat of Sauron. Now, he fulfilled his name Envinyatar - Renewer: peace ruled in the Reunited Kingdom, and the scars of the war were almost healed. Still the weariness of old age was several decades away, although he was reminded on it every day when he looked into Faramir’s face, where age was already leaving its mark.

The aging Steward has surrendered the duties to his son Elboron, who have been a great help and friend to Aragorn just like his father before - Faramir taught him well. Aragorn himself has known the joy of fatherhood, and watching his son and daughters grow up and teaching them was delightful and fulfilling, just like having Arwen at his side. He always thought they have many more years together, years of peace and happiness… No, he was not prepared to lose her, he could not!

He sent for Eldarion first, and now the Steward was talking with Arwen's maidens, trying to find out how the poison got to the Queen, while Eldarion sat with his mother. Aragorn trained him in the healing arts himself, as so he knew he is leaving his queen in capable hands. The King did not join any of them, though. He climbed the stairs of Ecthelion’s tower into the highest chamber. His hope for answers lay there – the palantír.

He removed the cloth covering it, and for a moment he observed the Seeing Stone, the obsidian surface, so perfect in its glassy smoothness. Yet every time he saw the palantír, he remembered the night in Hornburg, the battle of wills against a cruel mind of darkness and fire. The moment when it felt like his mind was in a furnace and it only could melt in fire or harden like steel and resist.

He took a deep breath, and touched the stone. At first, he saw nothing. Then images came in rapid succession for he didn’t know what he is looking for: images of green hills and high mountains, of deep seas, battles fought in distant countries for causes he knew nothing about…

Suddenly, a voice pierced the images, sounding as a thought in his mind. “Congratulations to your victory, heir of Isildur…”

He gasped. A part of his mind jumped in panic, but he didn’t sense any malice directed against him in the voice.

“Who are you?” he asked carefully.

“You do not know, Elessar?” The voice paused, then continued quietly, in a mere whisper. “The pupil of my eyes was gold and empty. But now I am blind…”

Aragorn blinked, as the pieces of the riddle fell into place. The palantír of Minas Ithil was taken to Barad Dûr after the Tower of the Rising Moon fell and became Minas Morgul. Barad Dûr fell when the Ring was destroyed, but where was the stone now? Cold sweat covered Aragorn’s brow. 

“Sauron!” he hissed, and wanted to let go of the stone immediately, but something stopped him. No, not the will of the one who once commanded vast armies of darkness. He didn’t have any power and shape left now. It was… he didn’t even know what. Curiosity? The unwillingness to run from a fight? Frustration for not finding the answers he wanted? Hope to get them from Sauron? He did not really know. But he did not let go.

Almost instinctively, he fought, tried to push the other’s mind out of the palantír, just like before. Like when Finrod Felagund battled Sauron with Songs of Power was the duel, but the songs were in Aragorn’s mind, and there was no sound in the room as they fought – a duel of songs and memories in absolute silence.