Fairy tales are so necessary. They take the fantastical… the impossible and they make it all so actual—so real. They breathe life to dreams. They reassure. Perhaps they blind, but perhaps it is good that somethings at sometimes remain unseen. For as long as possible, let the magic live… at least for one more story. Just a moment longer the children cry… just one more story. Just one more break from the chaos. Reassure that it is all for something. Anything.
Just a moment longer.
One of my favorite tales is that of the love between Aragorn and Arwen.
He… well he someone who was not supposed to be, at least not the way he was. A castout, vagabond , little more than a cutpurse. That is how many looked upon him. Though from a lineage of kings… little more than a shadowy ranger. A gulag placed on the fringes of society. At times in the darkness it seemed that he may have been the only one who knew that the blood of kings flowed within him. He would not accept the label that others placed upon him. For he was Aragon—if he knew anything… it was he was Aragon.
Fearlessly he chased dragons to fight. Few knew however, that his drive to fight them arose from his fear that he might become one. He carried his pain within. A laden suffering which would have destroyed a lesser man. He found his solace in helping others. Loyal to a fault he would not be the one who would be found faithless. Forever believing that by helping them he might be able to earn his own elusive redemption. So it was, until he met her… Arwen.
He could, no… he would not, tell you too much about her. She was precious to him. In his darkest moments she was a light that shone. Pushing him forward, just a moment longer Aragorn. Just a moment longer. In the glory of her eyes laid the salvation he had so long sought. In the comfort of her arms he found the warm acceptance that he refused to accept from anyone else. In the shine of her face he found acceptance. In the warm folds of her heart he found completion. She held him in her hand As for her, Aragorn held her heart. As they can be so easily broken, this was a precious gift. At first sight she loved this man, a mortal, who could so tenderly touch. For him she gave up her elven birthright, but stood beside him as queen. Each meeting would end with the stabbing pain of separation, their eyes forever crying just a moment longer.
Just a moment longer.
One day there fairy tale might end… but until then, let the magic live… at least a moment longer.
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