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Leave A Legacy
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I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I earn enough to make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of honor and grace who did the same, unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
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The years came slowly to his face, but come they inevitably did. When he smiled his face would crinkle into a million lines and creases like an old piece of parchment. His dark, wavy hair was strewn with strands of silver, like seaweed on the ocean's rolling waves. Maybe he walked a little slower, and maybe his eyes were not as keen, but his stride was as long as ever, his face commanding and his back straight. Time had stolen nothing of the grace and nobility he held. Instead it settled in a mantle of pride about his strong shoulders, lending him the respect and trust of a kind that only it could bring. There were no regrets to laden his heart, no guilt as a burden to his soul. His life had been long, and full of everything beautiful, and not one moment, however dark, would he have willfully changed if he had received a second chance. Life had been good to him, if you looked at it that way.
The King of Gondor, and the object of study, stood facing a wide balcony high above the city. His silver-specked hair lifted off of his shoulders in a sporadic burst of wind, only to slowly settle itself once more as the breeze, momentarily distracted, took its fancy elsewhere. His silver-brown eyes, which had but moments ago roved the streets and buildings far below, had locked in distant concentration on the waning sun, half-concealed by the range of mountains to the west. In its final moments of dying glory it flung its rays outwards rebelliously, determined to paint the land in glorious hues ere it finally left it to a night of gentle starlight. The shining orb, in one of nature's great mysteries, did not pain the Mortal's eyes as it did in broad day, and he watched it in great interest.
So fascinating, he found it. So quickly did it deteriorate after so many hours of bringing light to an otherwise drab landscape. Two minutes, perhaps, and no more did it take for it to sink beyond sight, to touch other worlds after leaving this one. Just like a mortal life. Just like
his mortal life, just as
his life was drawing quickly to a conclusion.
He did not seek to convince himself that he would live forever. His days were drawing swiftly to a close, his mind and senses slowing and his light dimming. He was neither bitter nor regretful. This was the way it was meant to be, as the seasons were meant to change and the sun precede the moon.
"Ada!" Aragorn turned quickly from the window at the cry, his face cracking into a broad smile as his tiny son ran through the doorway.
The child was perhaps four or five years old, and the perfect image of his elven mother. This small boy was the pinnacle, the embodiment of all of Aragorn's hopes and dreams, and worth more to the human King than life itself.
Eldarion ran to his father, laughing, and the King stooped to receive him. He lifted his young son high into the air above his head, and the youngster clasped his forearms and squealed in delight, looking down adoringly into his proud father's face.
Aragorn felt a thrill of pride and love as he gazed into the tiny face, the face that so resembled Arwen's. He knew this boy would do great things. He would age with the lingering traits of his half-elven blood, but he would also gain a deep, rare wisdom and understanding, having been the last product of a dying race. It would live on in his blood forever, long after the last elves had left Middle Earth. The Firstborn would survive in the blood of his line, and mark the world with the beauty it would not have otherwise gained.
If nothing else, before his death he vowed to teach his son how to be a great, just, ruler, merciful and gentle, but firm and brilliant in war. A King Gondor could be proud of.
This, Aragorn knew, was the kind of legacy he wanted to leave.
After the King... he thought with a smile. After his days had faded like the sun into a period of darkness, his son would rise, like the sun again in the morning, to continue a shining legacy.
This, he thought as he looked into the eyes of his son, was the kind of mark he wanted to make-- a mark to be proud of. And he had.
He would leave a legacy.
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The End
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