Here
you will dwell, bound to your grief...until the long years of your life
are utterly spent.
Elrond:[Coming into her
room] Arwen.
Tollen i lû. I
chair gwannar na Valannor. Si bado, no círar. (Arwen, it is
time. The ships are leaving for Valinor. Go now... before it is too late.)
Arwen:
I have made my choice.
Elrond [becoming stern]:
He is not coming back. Why do you linger here when there is no hope?
Arwen:
There is still hope.
Elrond:
[Elrond
turning his back to her, walking towards the window and looking out, speaking
with sadness and determination]
If
Aragorn survives this war, you will still be parted. If Sauron is defeated,
and Aragorn made king and all that you hope for comes true, you will still
have to taste the bitterness of mortality... Whether by the sword or the
slow decay of time, Aragorn will die.
[Arwen sees a vision
of her future as Elrond speaks. She is dressed as a Queen in mourning,
looking down upon a grey-haired Aragorn as he lies on a funereal plinth;
a crown on his brow, Andúril in his hand; an expression of peace
on his cold face. Mourners walk past the plinth, paying their final respects.
Among them are their children. Arwen is weeping]
Elrond:
And there will be no comfort for you. No comfort to ease the pain
of his passing. He will come to death, an image of the splendor of the
kings of men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.
[The vision dissolves
to a later time: the body of Aragorn has been cast in stone as a monument;
Ithilien is desolate, crumbling into ancient decay. Arwen stands before
the monument, veiled and in black among the rubble of the kingdom, an eternal
sentry to her husband's grave]
Elrond [darkening]:
But you, my daughter...you will linger on in darkness and in doubt.
As night fall in winter that comes without a star, here you will dwell,
bound to your grief, under the fading trees, until all the world is changed
and the long years of your life are utterly spent.
[The vision: still veiled
in black, Arwen walks alone through the deserted, leafless woods of Lothlórien.
In Rivendell, Arwen gasps at the realisation of the pain that awaits her.
A single tear falls]
Elrond:
[Turning
to Arwen. Voice softer now.] Arwen...
there is nothing for you here, only death.
[The vision ends. Arwen
weeps with sadness and fear. Elrond gracefully sits beside his daughter,
raising a hand to her tear-streaked cheek]
Elrond:
A
im, ú-'erin veleth lîn? (Do I not also have your love?)
Arwen:
[Crying
and moving into her father’s comforting embrace] Gerich
meleth nîn, ada. (You have my love, father)
[Cut to exterior: a procession
of silent Elves, each cloaked and carrying a lantern, are setting off from
Rivendell on their journey to the West and the Undying Lands. Elrond looks
on with a strange mix of resentment, relief and sadness as his daughter
leaves with them. Arwen turns back to look at her father one last time,
then departs with the others. Elrond continues to stare after her with
an expression of resigned sadness]
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