Letter Addressing the passing of Elendil's son

Elendil stood at the window of his chamber, looking out over the city of Minas Tirith. The capital faded into the distance, the city walls just visible on the horizon, shimmering in the heat and partially obscured by the dirty smoke that rose from the many smithies far below. Today the sky was darker than usual, similar to the effect of heavy clouds pregnant with rain only now the sky was clear. The Steward heard a slight shuffle behind him, but did not turn, having caught the feminine scent on the breeze. Gudrun closed behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle, her head tucking in against his shoulder.

“Is it true? The rumours I mean?” she asked tentatively. She felt Elendil nodding, and buried her head in his side in sorrow. The king continued to gaze out of the window. Discomfort hung between them, Gudrun knew her husband had been close to the man, but how does one console someone after the passing of one of their sons?

“They say he died well, like a hero” Gudrun uttered finally, her soft voice breaking the silence that hung between them like a curtain. Elendil shifted and turned, stepping into her embrace and rested his head atop hers. This time the silence between them was different, more comfortable, as each took strength in the presence of the other, both lost in their own memories of the deceased. Eventually Gudrun pulled away, and looked closely into her husband’s face. His youthful looks seemed to have aged, his shoulders were slumped but his eyes remained clear, glittering with an inner fire.

“You must tell them, let the people know of the passing of such a legend. May his name be sung in the temples and taverns throughout the kingdom tonight” Gudrun said, her gaze locked on the eyes of her husband. He nodded, and Gudrun dashed to the small writing table that stood by the door. Slowly, Elendil began to speak and his wife dutifully wrote his words on the parchment ready to be copied and sent throughout Gondor.

“My dearest Lords and Ladies,

It is with deep sadness that I write to you on this dark day, and announce the passing of one of the most beloved men in the Kingdom. My son, Eldarion, and his guards were en-route to meet with their forces in Ithilien to discuss the future direction of the region when his party was ambushed by a number of Mordor forces. It is with sorrow that I must pronounce that there were no survivors."

Eldarion worked tirelessly in the name of Gondor to see that the people of Gondor had sustenance and security in what was its darkest hour, striking at cruelty and deprivation wherever he walked. Even now that the lands are united he continued to fight in the name of justice and right, turning back darkness wherever it tried to settle in the lives of the common man.

I know that he would not have us mourn for him, forgetting all that he has done in our grief, but rather that we embrace what his achievements and work to see his principles carried forward. Let us not sit in sadness, but instead celebrate all that we have and love.

My people, open your doors and hearts to those around you, and act like Eldarion did throughout his life. Let us not grieve, but rather remember, remember all that he did and all that he wanted to do, and let us all promise to continue his great work.

Signed,

Elendil Aranor,
Steward of Gondor


The scratching on the parchment stopped, and the rustle of silk followed Gudrun out of the room. Elendil watched her leave, but then turned back to the window and looked once more over his capital and his kingdom beyond it. His eyes narrowed and he clenched his fist, then he turned abruptly away and left the room.

Vraal sat in his chambers, looking out over the fires of Mordor thinking of the glorious things he has accomplished in his life. The battles he has won, the victims he has tortured and slain. He want's nothing else out of life other than more. More bloodshed, more death, more destruction. He relishes those nostalgic moments where he can reminisce of events long past. He doesn't have many moments where he has the opportunity to. One moment in particular was coming to the front of his mind at this particular moment.

It was mid-day near Emyn Arnen. Vraal and 200 strong Uruk-Hai were out looking for trouble. They were heading south when a scout came running towards them from the east. "Vraal, I have spotted a medium sized part of Gondorians heading north." "Excellent" Vraal replied. "Lead the way." The Uruk-Hai followed the scout to a small copse of trees and were shown where the party was. Vraal quickly told the warriors their plan of attack and within minutes everyone was in place for the attack. They emerged from the woods like banshees, all giving great war cries all the while. They hit the party with the force of a typhoon, knocking men off their horses. As bodies began to fall Vraal's plan began to unfold. The initial attack was a diversion. Vraal led the initial charge with only 1/3 of his forces. The rest had used the distraction to get behind the party and attack from their flank. The battle was over before it began. The party was slain and their heads neatly displayed on pikes.

"Vraal." A young Uruk-Hai warrior bellowed. "Look at this one's armor, this was no ordinary soldier." "Yes, you are right" Vraal replied. "Strip his armor, take his weapons. They will make nice war trophies."

Elendil, after learning about the Ranger's deaths, sat down on his desk in his chambers. He remembered the day he learned of his son's death. It was an ordinary day, he was fulfilling some construction projects he had planned for the betterment of his kingdom. He sent his son to meet with the Gondorian forces in Ithilien and was awaiting his return. "Whoever did this to my son will be punished..." He wrote down some of his thoughts, as he does for a hobby, and then left the room... ready to prepare his army for the coming battle ahead...