| Subject: The prophecy |
Author:
Aragorn
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Date Posted: 21:33:05 09/16/02 Mon
He lay still; the night's wind washing gently over his face, his eyelids closed. Behind them a war raged.
The halfling's hand extended towards him.
"Would you destroy it?"
For a moment he wavered. What would he become? His smile didn't falter as his fingers closed around the one ring.
He sat atop a midnight steed, dragging on the reins he turned his horse away from the sight of Imaldris as it became engulfed by the flames that licked at its walls. A cold smirk settled over his lips; the golden band around his index finger glinted.
Aragorn watched the scene play before his eyes calmly; it wasn't real. Oddly he felt no emotion at the destruction of his childhood home. A slight noise. His head twitched involentarily.
He stood in his own room. He looked back towards where his nightmare still carried on without him in the large mirror opposite the window.
He wasn't alone. The woman turned towards him, the folds of her dove coloured dress swishing noiselessly, her face effortlessly lovely.
He felt nothing in this place. Somehow he knew that what appeared to be his room, wasn't. And so no emotion stirred in his heart. It was a reflex action that made him breathe her name. "Arwen?"
The image of his wife shook her head, her long tresses shining in the dim candle light. "I take the form closest to your thoughts," she answered. "I have none of my own."
Emotionless, his next question came. "If you are not Arwen who are you?"
"I have no name," she replied crytically. "Not one you need to know. Think of me as Undomiel if it makes you feel less uncomfortable."
"I feel nothing."
Arwen smiled ruefully, "one of the disadvantages of my realm is that I am continually denied intelligent conversation. But enough of that, you have been summoned here to recieve instructions and a warning."
He stared at her blankly.
"Your warning concerns your wife and your son," her expression became serious. "He must be born within the walls of Minas Tirith. If this does not happen the consequences will be disasterous."
"Consequences?"
"Your wife will die in childbirth and your son will grow up to become a powerful tool of the darkness."
The magic that surrounded and penetrated the room prevented him from feeling the dispair the statement would've induced normally but a sharp sensation of fear prickled at the base of his neck.
"And the instructions?"
"They concern your meeting tomorrow. Though you will remember nothing in the morning you must know your part in this."
"If I'm going to forget all this, why am I here?"
"The knowledge will surface when it is needed."
For hours he listened to her until through the windows of the enchanted room the sky turned pink, the sun bathing the room in its warm glow.
"I must leave you now," Arwen said, swinging to face the rising orb. He remained silent as he had throughout their meeting. She turned back and walked quickly towards him. "You will do well Elessar," she smiled and he bent his head as she kissed his forehead gently.
His eyes snapped open. His wifes room. His mind tried desparately to hold onto the dream. Nothing. He concentrated. Nothing. Nothing save five whispered words:
"You will do well Elessar."
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