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My Winter	By : RavenHeir Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 1777 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R Tolkien�s characters. All I own are Isabelle, Anastasia, Viktoria and Viktor. Any quote or lyrics used in this story belong to their respective owners.

A/N This timeline is slightly changed in post-ROTK. I am not sure when Arwen and Aragorn had their son, so bear with me. I am also altering the death of Arwen; I know she died after Aragorn, but she dies before him in this story.

Also, I will be using ice-skating terms in this story, so if I use them incorrectly, please let me know.

Also, the titles for the chapters in this story will be corresponding with lyrics from Meatloaf�s song, A Time For Heroes.

Also, this story is told from alternating viewpoints. I will denote in bold who�s viewpoint the story is being told from and when it changes.

Also, according to the �Encyclopedia of Arda,� the estimated birth of Eldarion was in year 30 of the Fourth Age. This would mean Arwen and Aragorn were married for 32 years before their son�s birth.

Summary: It has been thirty-five years since the marriage of Aragorn and Arweney hey have a three-year old son, Eldarion. But on a ride in the countryside, Arwen and Aragorn are attacked by orcs. The fight leaves Arwen dead.

In an attempt to deal with the grief of his dead wife, Aragorn becomes cold and distant from those around him. Is it possible for the heart to love again when its been frozen for so long?

Prologue - We Search For An Answer

The rose and thorn; and sorrow and gladness; are linked together. ~Saadi

~ Isabelle�s POV ~

It is said that it is the greatest tragedy of life is not to die, but never to love. My question to that saying is what do you do when you�ve loved, but it ends in death? How do you go on when the one you vowed to be with forever isn�t there? An eternity is a long time to give your heart to someone, especially when they�re no longer with you.

Morbid thoughts, I know. But when you are bedridden for six months, your mind has a lot of time to speculate about what could have happened and what should have happened. Especially when your bed is lonely from the cold and your husband isn�t there to wrap you in his arms and chase away the demons. Especially when he�s not there at all.

No. My husband, the famous ice-skater Viktor Kouznestov, has been dead for almost a year. Or at least that�s what it says on the tombstone I�m standing in front of. I don�t think the shock of his death hit me until now. I haven�t been here to visit him since his death last February. For two months after the car accident, I was in and out of consciousness with the skin-graphing surgsurgery. It was only five months ago that I was able to walk without a cane and one month ago when I was able to stand on the ice again without falling down.

His tombstone is simple as it rests beneath this plot of land in Newark, Delaware. Our home. My home now. It reads: Viktor Demetri Kouznestov, 1976-2003; Beloved husband, Loving father, Loyal Friend; The world will miss him. Such general and cold words. They don�t do justice to the fiery, blue-eyed, blond-haired Adonis who stole my heart. Who still has it.

I�m told the funeral was simple, but elegant. It was held three weeks after the accident on a cold, stormy December day. Only his immediate family were invited, but many of the press hovered nearby as they waited for a comment from the grieving family. I�m glad I was in the hospital; I would have given them a piece of my mind about privacy.

As I stand here under the barren willow tree where his grave is, everything seems so surreal. It seems like only yesterday I met Viktor at the University of Delaware in 1998, where I was training for the singles trials in ice-skating for the Olympic Games in 2002. I had known his sister, Viktoria, since we were college roommates during my freshmen year. I was so young then, twenty and ready to take on worlworld. So excited to be able to compete with the ice-skaters I had idolized since I started skating.

But fate is a funny thing and never lets us stay the same for very long. Before I knew it, I was training with Viktor as his partner for the 2002 Olympic Games and falling in love. In 2000, we were married in a small wedding chapel in Newark. It was like a fairy-tale; I�d found my prince and my happy ending.

For two years, life was a dream. We were the toast of figure-skating; a young couple with everything to live for and nothing to lose. We stole the hearts of the judges and audiences alike at the 2000 Cup of China and the 2001 National Championships. And the birth of our daughter, Anastasia Rose Kouznestov, was a beautiful ending to those two years.

But all goods things must come to an end, no matter how suddenly. Last February, we were driving back from practice at the rink. The road was icy from a recent snowfall, but that still didn�t stop people from running the lights. At a cross section two miles from our home, a red Expedition ran a light as we were driving. The impact sent our smaller car spinning three times before flying into a pole.

I was conscious the whole time. My right leg was pinned beneath the dashboard and I had cuts all over my face from the ice. It took a fire truck ten minutes to respond to the call, but even that wasn�t quick enough to save Viktor. I was told he was killed on impact, so at least he didn�t suffer.

I wasn�t so lucky. Five minutes after the initial crash, the back of the car caught fire because the gas tank was punctured. Fortunately, the paramedics got to us before the fire moved to the front seat, but not before sixty percent of my right arm was burned. I remember screaming for Viktor until they had to give me valium so they could look at my leg. Before I fell unconscious, I remember a paramedic telling me he was dead.

A sharp tug on my left arm brings me back to the present. I look over and see Viktoria standing next to me, Anya in her arms. Her blue eyes are brimming with tears and I can feel the hot trail of mine falling down my face. I look to my right arm, still slightly scarred from the accident and then down my right leg, still sore from therapy. The accident had shattered my femur and it took hours of reconstructive surgery to piece it back together. But no amount of therapy would even get me back to the prime condition I was in before the accident.

How is it that, despite a shattered leg and burnt arm, I survived and my love didn�t? How is it that my daughter will never know her father, save for what she learns from pies aes and memories? How is it that my fairy-tale life has fallen to pieces and I don�t know where to pick it up?

Viktoria must have sensed my discomfort because she softly put her arm around me. Over these past ten months, she has been the one thing that has kept me from going insane; her and my little princess. She moved into our house to help me raise Anya, but even she can�t replace the emptiness that sits in my heart.

With a heavy sigh, I throw two flowers onto the snow-covered ground. One pale pink tea rose to symbolize my memories for Viktor and one crimson rose to mark my mourning. Against the white snow, the roses look out-of-place. Like I feel standing without my husband by my side.

I turn around, take Anya from Viktoria and begin to long trek back to the car. The sky is gray and overcast, as if nature herself is in mourning with me. But even nature will move on and come spring, the cycle of life and hope will begin anew. But the cold that has settled in my heart will always be there, without a chance of the sun to keep it warm. My winter has begun.

~ Aragorn�s POV ~

It has been one year to the day since Arwen died. Since my reason for living was taken from me without a chance for good-bye. Since I watched my heart shatter in a million pieces. Since I stopped living.

We had been out for a ride in the country on one of my few days away from the demands of a king. Out there, it was just Aragorn and Arwen; not King Elessar Telcontar and Queen Arwen Undomiel. We were free from the confines of royal life and stiff formalities of my court. It was our first time to ourselves since Eldarion�s birth three years ago.

We had taken only a handful of guards since the reports of orcs and Uruk-hai had fallen over the years following the war. Such worries were forgotten as I watched my beautiful wife ride her horse without a care in the word. She had aged little since she gave up her immortality so many years ago, the glow of a mother still shining in her cerulean eyes. Only a slight streak of silver ran through her otherwise black hair. She was the epitome of grace and beauty; the Evenstar of her people and my love.

I should have listened more carefully for signs of attack. I should have paid closer attention when I realized we were alone in the woods and my guards were nowhere in sight. I should have done a lot of things, but the opportunity to have some privacy with my wife blinded my senses.

Before I was even able to edge Brego over to Arwen, a group of about thirty orcs had emerged from behind the trees. We were caught completely off-guard; my sword was the only weapon we had between the two of Bef Before I could react, an arrow was thrown at Arwen,dingding in her right side.

I reacted without even thinking. My sword sung in the wind as it found its home in the stomachs and chest of my enemies. In a matter of minutes, all of the orcs had fallen. I stood, chest heaving, covered in black blood and surrounded by bodies. It was then that I noticed Arwen wasn�t standing.

I ran to where she had fallen, noticing her pale color and uneasy breaths. I pulled the arrow from her side without so much as a cry from her and sniffed the tip. It reeked of poison.

Lifting her unconscious form into my arms, I mounted Brego and rode back to Gondor like a man possessed. I don�t remember how I made it to the House of Healing, but somehow I found my way to the head healer. Upon noticing the still form of his queen in my arms, the man quickly ordered for herbs and cloths. Arwen was gently taken from my arms and then I was ushered out of the room.

Two hours later, I sat outside the room, the rug showing signs of my continuous pacing. Eldarion had fallen asleep in the chair next to me, the worry for his mother marring his pale face. Suddenly, the door opened and the head healer came out. I was on my feet in an instant, though the regret in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

�Is she�?� I managed to whisper.

�Yes, your highness. There was an unfamiliar poison on the arrow that pierced her side. It was spread throughout much of her body before she was brought to me. There was nothing I could do,� the healer explained, his head bowed.

In a state of shock, I walked past him and into the room. I went over to the bed where Arwen�s body lay. Her skin was icy to the touch and her skin was even paler than usual. As I pressed a last kiss to her now lifeless lips, a tear slide down my face. It would be one of many that I�d shed in the days to come.

Her funeral was one befitting a lady of her station; the whole city attended to pay respects to their dead queen. Legolas and Gimli returned from their many travels around Middle Earth and kept me company in my grief. We buried her on the winter�s solstice under a beautiful willow tree she used to frequent. She was laid to rest in a simple elven gown with a wreath of elanor flowers on her head. Even in death, she was still breath-taking.

Time moved on and spring came again. But the coldness that had frozen my heart was not thawed by even the brightest sun. I became distant and detached; even the sight of my son could not warm my heart. He resembled Arwen so much that it hurt sometimes to even look at him.

As I stand before her grave, it is still hard for me to imagine that she is gone. That I will ride back to the castle and never see her bright smile again. That I will never wake-up with her in my arms or touch her again.

In anger, I kicked the snow-covered ground. I had given my all to my people. I had assumed the throne when I would have rather gone back to the Dù nedain. I became a leader when no others would. And how was I repaid? By having my love taken from me in the blink of an eye, with no hope for good-bye.

I know that I have grown cold to those around me. Even Eldarion has noticed the change; his once lively father has became sullen and grim. He no longer seeks me out to play fight with or to take him riding. Thank god for Legolas and Gimli otherwise he�d stay in his room all day.

I turn back to the grave and throw my bouquet of elanor flowers onto the ground. For a moment, a smile begins to tug at my lips as I remember a fleeting memory with Arwen; but it is gone in a moment and my smile is replaced by the scowl that now graces my face. With a heavy heart, I turn back to Brego and prepare to ride back to Gondor. Back to my lifeless home and cold bed. Back to my winter.
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My Winter