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“Leave us,” croaked Seunghyun. His voice was strange to himself; it had been for many months, but it was only now, with his twilight so near, that he could truly hear it and know that his time had come. His eyes, too, had been sore for a score, and had worsened over the weeks since he took to his bed. Seunghyun could only dimly see the guards and handmaidens bow their sorrowful heads as they exited his bedchamber. The heavy wooden door creaked shut and plunged the room into silence.
Then, too faintly but so sweet and familiar, the soft rustle of a gown met his ears as its owner crept almost silently to the bedside. Seunghyun knew well how those footfalls could go completely unheard. He knew it was for his benefit that Jiyong made himself heard. His eyes strained through dim candlelight to find him—and there, peering gently down into his face, was Jiyong, as youthful as the day they met. For a moment, as always, Seunghyun’s heart overflowed.
He turned his hand on the bedcovers, offering his palm. “My love,” he whispered.
Jiyong’s bright eyes shut momentarily, and when they opened, Seunghyun saw that they were full. “My lord,” the elf said, voice even, and traced his fingertips lightly over Seunghyun’s palm.
“The hour is indeed hard,” said Seunghyun gruffly. His hand closed on Jiyong’s delicate fingers. “But this is our promise, is it not? I cannot escape the fate of every man.” Seunghyun brought their joined hands to his mouth briefly. “That is your way, not mine.”
Jiyong withdrew his hand and settled elegantly on the edge of the bed. It hardly dipped beneath him, and Seunghyun marveled once again at his elf’s grace. Jiyong’s head was bowed, unseen to Seunghyun, but tears poured down his round cheeks when he raised his face. Seunghyun’s overfull heart ached then. He raised an unsteady hand. Jiyong caught it between his two and held it to his heart. “My lord,” he said again, voice uneven and high now.
Seunghyun was dimly aware of wetness on his own cheeks. “When I have gone on, you must return to the place of your birth.”
“No. I’ll stay here—”
“Go, Jiyong.” Seunghyun tried to smile and found that he could not. “You cannot stay here. It is my place, not yours. Your place is with your people, in your land.”
Seunghyun felt Jiyong’s chest expand as he took a deep, calming breath. “My place is with you.”
“It is.” Seunghyun watched the candlelight flicker over Jiyong’s ethereal face and glint in his white-gold hair. “Yet, here I am.”
Jiyong turned his face to the floor and began to cry silently. The world closed in on the elf, and Seunghyun squeezed his hand gently. “This is our promise,” he reminded him softly. “You must live on, Jiyong.”
Jiyong’s body shook once, then was still. He turned to Seunghyun, face glistening mournfully. “I shall not. I cannot.” He leaned forward until his face nearly touched Seunghyun’s. “You are my life, my dear: this you know. Do not ask me to live on without you. I will do anything you ask, but I cannot do that.” He lowered his face to the pillow, resting his soft cheek against Seunghyun’s gaunt one.
The sorrow over their house had hung heavy for many years, but now the time was come—nearly gone—for it to come to fruition. Seunghyun knew there was nothing to say to convince Jiyong of a better life. He would roam the earth, as he had before Seunghyun, and he would until the end of the world. It was his way.
Jiyong drew his legs up into the bed. Still, and with his elf pressed securely to his side, Seunghyun could almost believe he was younger and this was their marriage bed. He longed now for the touch of moonlight, but the window was shut tight, and he could not dream of asking Jiyong to move. The elf turned his head and pressed a long, sweet kiss to Seunghyun’s temple.
“Do not think I wish to defy you now, my king,” he said in a low tone. “Our promise is my burden, and I must bear it. I am glad to.” He raised himself up on an arm and looked down into Seunghyun’s face. “It is foolishness to think otherwise.”
“Indeed, it is foolishness.” Seunghyun paused. The time was near enough now to feel the earth slipping away. “It was foolishness to bind you to me.”
“It was not.” Jiyong was indignant in his grace. “I chose this life, my love. You speak of our promise—do you recall it?”
Seunghyun did.
The white halls of Minas Tirith had beckoned for many months, but Seunghyun could not tear himself away from the glorious waterfalls and enchanting forests of Rivendell. The hospitality of the elves was much needed after years of improperly treated injuries, and Seunghyun could feel his body and mind healing more every day he spent roaming the luscious valley or exploring the great house. But he feared his welcome was worn—the elves had not indicated this, but Seunghyun had watched their mourning for many days now, and though his heart told him to stay and see what he could do, his head said he must move on. So it was with a heavy spirit that Seunghyun wandered aimlessly through the forest, now donned in reds and yellows for the coming of winter, on that fateful day.
The elves did not join him now, for there was much to be done inside the house to prepare for the next elf-ruler. Seunghyun missed their company; he had learned much about the history of the elven race and the properties of the surrounding nature from their wise words. On that day, Seunghyun was far from the waterfalls, and if he was still, he found that he could hear nothing at all. He knelt on the earth, leaves crunching beneath his knees, and settled himself until he could feel sunlight on his face, and closed his eyes. He was still for a long time, and his thoughts traveled invariably to his mother. He could sympathize already with the new elf-ruler, though he suspected they would not meet before he took his leave from Rivendell, for they had both lost a parent. He could see his mother’s face now, and it brought him comfort.
Suddenly, Seunghyun was aware of another presence—it did not startle him, for he had learned from the elves an awareness of the animals that made the valley their home. He opened his eyes, expecting to find a deer or a fox, and felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush. It was not a deer. It was a girl, an elf-girl by her pointed ears and the white-gold hair that tumbled down her back like the waterfalls. She was watching him, careful not to block the light on his face. Seunghyun stood slowly, and without the sun in his eyes, he beheld her properly. He was not certain of much, but he was certain that this was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He must have appeared frightened, because she tilted her head to one side and spoke.
“I am Jiyong.” Her voice—his voice, Seunghyun realized—was low and light, and it washed over him as though a mist from an early spring rain.
“Dragon,” was all he could think to say in response.
The elf merely smiled. “You are a Man of the West.”
Seunghyun dared take a step closer. “I am Seunghyun, Lord of the Dúnedain.”
“I have heard of you,” said Jiyong. “You have stayed long in Rivendell.”
“I depart soon,” said Seunghyun. “I have not seen you in my time here.”
“You would not. I returned from my mother’s family today.” He paused, and Seunghyun recognized sorrow in his eyes. “Duty calls me home.”
Seunghyun instantly fell to one knee. “You have my deepest sympathy, my lord.”
“I beg of you, stand,” said Jiyong quickly. “I am not lord of my people yet.”
Jiyong moved almost silently across the forest floor to where Seunghyun knelt and extended an elegant hand. Seunghyun reluctantly took it, and marveled at its strength when Jiyong helped him stand. He gazed upon the slighter details he had missed—the elegant gold constellations stitched into the skirt of Jiyong’s white gown, the depth of his warm brown eyes, and the fine strands of hair at his temple that moved in the breeze. This was the son of the late elf-ruler he had heard murmurs about. Seunghyun had never inquired further.
“Why do you live apart from Rivendell? Surely you are missed.”
Jiyong’s eyes softened, and he clasped his hands together. “Middle-earth calls to me, Man of the West. My father set me free an age ago, when he knew he could not keep me here forever. I wander.” And he smiled then, and the expression was so sweet to Seunghyun’s eyes that he wished to gaze upon it forever. “Your people live in Minas Tirith—the white city. I have never laid eyes on it.”
Seunghyun wondered how Jiyong had not seen his city in an age of wandering. “I shall show it to you, then.”
Jiyong’s smile deepened. “I would be grateful. And why are you apart from your people, Lord of the Dúnedain?”
Seunghyun took a deep breath of the clean, healing air of the valley. “I led my people against the hill-trolls north of this land two years past. My comrades have journeyed home. Your people have been kind to me, but as I say, I depart soon.”
Jiyong watched him for a long moment. “If my circumstances were different, I would ask to join you,” he said quietly. “But they are not. I can only ask that you prolong your stay.”
Seunghyun’s heart sank. “As your duty is your people, my duty is mine, Lord of Rivendell.”
“Already, I know it,” Jiyong said. Seunghyun thought his face too solemn for such a magnificent being. “Stay a week more, then.”
Despite himself, Seunghyun nodded. “I cannot refuse.” He meant to say more, but held his words back.
Jiyong smiled again, and it was well worth Seunghyun’s delay.
The week between their first meeting and Seunghyun’s inevitable return to Minas Tirith passed as if a dream. His stay at Rivendell was the same, yet changed, because Jiyong joined him in the forest every day. They talked of much and of little—Jiyong told him of his travels in Middle-earth and Seunghyun spoke of the glory of Minas Tirith, much to Jiyong’s envy—for often they would stroll side-by-side in pleasant silence, Jiyong’s slippers causing not a sound.
Seunghyun could not sleep in the night before his journey. The silver moon shone into his room like a beacon to his heart, and his mind was too full to be quieted. He dressed and left the great house.
That night, Seunghyun did not stray far from the house, for he wanted to return to his bed quickly if sleep called him. He chose to wander the gardens. When he thought later of that night, as he often would, he found that he was not at all surprised to look up from his private musings and see Jiyong, alone and turned away from him, bathed in moonlight. Seunghyun did not want to startle him, but he had no need to fear, for Jiyong looked over his shoulder then, and Seunghyun could only watch as he drew closer.
“You cannot sleep.” Jiyong’s words were one with the hum of the breeze and waterfalls.
Seunghyun shook his head, and Jiyong extended his hand. Seunghyun found he was able to move closer, and he took it. Jiyong fixed his pensive gaze on the moon again.
“What troubles you?” asked Seunghyun after a moment.
Jiyong did not look away from the sky, but his fingers curled around Seunghyun’s wrist. “You do, Lord of the Dúnedain.”
In that moment, the horrible ache in Seunghyun’s heart disappeared, but it returned just as soon. His affection had not been misplaced after all; yet, he must return to Minas Tirith.
“You think of your people,” Jiyong murmured, and Seunghyun drew in a sharp breath.
“I do.”
“As do I.” Jiyong turned to face Seunghyun, and he moved closer. “But that is not—” He broke off, suddenly, and his face twisted as tears came to his eyes. “My lord,” he breathed, and held a hand to Seunghyun’s face.
His touch seemed to both burn and cool Seunghyun’s cheek, and in an instant, he laid a hand over the elf’s. Seunghyun could not speak, so he gazed into Jiyong’s sad, round eyes until he could.
“Even if it were possible—if there were not leagues and leagues between us—” He broke off and marveled at the majesty of the small creature before him. “You are immortal, dear one. You have lived many lives, and you have many to live yet.” Seunghyun wondered where his words came from; it was as though they had known each other an age already. “Do not let me guide you astray. Your place is here, with your own blood.”
Jiyong shook his head. “I do not believe that. You…” He stepped even closer, until Seunghyun could see every detail of his delicate face. “You make me want to stay. I do not want to wander. I want to stay by your side. Say the word,” he pleaded. “Say the word, and I will follow you, to Minas Tirith and beyond.”
“I will not,” said Seunghyun. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I will not ask you to forsake the immortal life of your people.”
Jiyong’s bright eyes searched his, and he slid his hand slowly down Seunghyun’s cheek, until it rested over his heart. “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”
“You cannot know what that means,” said Seunghyun, but he immediately thought better of his words. Jiyong had lived ages in Middle-earth, and his eyes held wisdom Seunghyun could only imagine. Perhaps he knew exactly what he was asking for. “You hardly know me,” he tried, but that was no good—he had fallen into a dream the moment he first laid eyes on Jiyong.
Jiyong seemed to understand his thoughts. “I know you, my lord.” He smiled, but it was small and sad. “I have no doubt about that.”
“I cannot. I will not—” Seunghyun forced himself to step away, and the instant the elf’s hands left his body, he had the overwhelming impression that he was drowning. He took a few moments to recover. “You say you would follow me to the ends of the earth. It is because I would love nothing more that I cannot allow you to do so.”
Jiyong’s lovely features fell slowly, until his face could not hold any more misery. His eyes closed briefly, then he held out his hand. “Farewell, Man of the West. Namárië.”
Seunghyun brushed his lips over the back of Jiyong’s hand. He longed to pull the elf to him, but he made himself release the graceful fingers. Without another glance at Jiyong’s face, for he knew he would not be able to resist his heart once more, he left the garden.
And so Seunghyun took leave of Rivendell the next day, and he did not seek out Jiyong before he departed, for his heart ached more in the early hours of that morning than it had in his whole young life. He did not journey to Minas Tirith at once; his mind as well as his heart was set ablaze by Jiyong, though he did not know it, and he spent many months in the Misty Mountains before returning home. He was greeted by much rejoicing in the city, and for a time he was able to set aside the pains of his soul. He led his people as he always had, with justice and grace. But those nearest him saw a change, for he would become melancholy, and when this mood struck him, he would ride out into the fields of Pelennor, all the way to Anduin, and be gone many days.
The years that followed passed by Seunghyun swiftly, and when he was two and fifty years of age, he led the Dúnedain and the Rohirrim against a rising tide of darkness, the orcs in Mordor. The campaign was successful, and Gondor and Rohan lost very few men, but Seunghyun was wounded—an arrow to his shoulder caused him to lose hold of his horse’s reins, and he was nearly trampled underfoot. He was aware of very little in the days that followed, only that he could not move, whether by injury or restraint.
On the eighth day after the campaign, Seunghyun opened his eyes to find that he was in his bedchamber. It must have been high noon, and the sun shone through his open window, at which, gazing out at the white city, stood Jiyong.
Seunghyun let out a strangled cry, for he had dreamt of the elf many times, but the pain in his arm told him this was no dream. Jiyong spun—it was him—and was at the foot of the bed in an instant. Seunghyun could do little more than stare. Jiyong was unchanged, only his hair was longer, and it was braided elegantly instead of flying free in the winds of the valley of Rivendell. He smiled, then, and oh—how Seunghyun had longed for that smile.
“Is it really you?” he whispered. “Or is my mind playing tricks on me?”
Jiyong moved soundlessly to the bedside, eyes dancing. “Your mind is sharp as ever, my lord.”
Seunghyun laughed, and it was a loud, wonderful sound that made the hearts of all who heard it glad. “How is it you are here?” he cried in disbelief.
Jiyong lowered himself to the bed. “Rivendell heard of your attack, but we were too late to fight. So I am here.” He bent down, and pressed his mouth to Seunghyun’s forehead. When he raised himself up again, there was a determined glint in his eye. “I am here, and you will not be rid of me.”
All at once, Seunghyun remembered why he had left. “You cannot stay here forever.”
“Seunghyun,” said Jiyong, and his name had never been more beautiful than it was from that mouth. He laid gentle fingers on Seunghyun’s neck. “I shall not stay here forever. Only as long as you are here shall I stay.”
“I cannot let you do this.”
Jiyong stood abruptly, spun to face Seunghyun, and gripped the bedpost. “Do you believe immortality is a gift, my lord? It is not. These years apart have been long for you, of this I am sure, but longer still for me. I cannot bear it any more.” Seunghyun looked closely and saw that Jiyong’s face was thinner, his skin paler than it had been. “Do not refuse me again, I beg you.”
“I—it is not I who refuses you, dear one. Your people require you, they must own your heart and soul.”
Jiyong’s eyes shone with the wisdom of countless lifetimes. “Elves are not men. You lead your people. I guide mine. Though, I have not done that for many years now.”
Seunghyun watched Jiyong’s white hair stir in the breeze as he tried to sort out those words. “You are not the elf-ruler?”
Jiyong’s smile returned. “I am not. That is my sister’s title now.”
Seunghyun’s throat went dry. “You…”
Jiyong laughed now, a high, sprightly sound. “Fear not, my lord, it was not all your doing. I could not keep myself in Rivendell, it was impossible for me. My sister is better suited to guide our people. We both knew it from the beginning.” He came nearer again. “And I could not keep myself from you.”
He fell silent, as though waiting for Seunghyun to speak, but there was nothing to say.
“I cannot,” Seunghyun said softly after many minutes had passed. “I love you, Jiyong.” Jiyong took in a quiet breath. “I cannot force you to live the life of a man. The Dúnedain are not quite mortal men. We could spend many long, happy years together.” He found Jiyong’s bright eyes. “But I shall leave Middle-earth one day, and you would continue on. Shall I risk it?” He thought, perhaps, that he was really asking the elf. “Your brightness, the light inside you—shall I selfishly take it all for myself? I would pass on, and it would dim. What life is that?”
“A life I spent with you,” Jiyong said quickly. His smooth forehead wrinkled in what Seunghyun saw was fear. “Do you remember what I told you—that night?”
Seunghyun did. Not an evening had passed that he hadn’t thought of the elf’s words, but he loathed what giving them breath again might do to his heart now.
“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone,” Jiyong murmured. “I meant it then. It is a promise, as real to me as the waterfalls of Rivendell. Time has only made it stronger in my mind.” He drew in a shaky breath and held it, and Seunghyun saw in his eyes that he was waiting for the disappointment of that night so many years ago.
He could not do it. He could not disappoint Jiyong.
“You are right,” Seunghyun breathed. He knew Jiyong’s words were true, as he knew they always had been. His own words grew heavy and stern. “But you must realize that I can never make you truly happy. No man can ever do that.”
Jiyong was frozen at the bedside. Slowly, he began to move, creeping closer to the head of the bed. “I think you are wrong,” he said softly. “Immortal is not the same as alive.” Seunghyun was at a loss for words as Jiyong slid one knee onto the bed and carefully lowered himself down. “I have not been alive since that night. I am now.” His voice trembled. “Tell me,” he whispered desperately. “Tell me I may bind myself to you—tell me I may love you until you die, even after, until this world is no more.”
“You may,” said Seunghyun swiftly, and Jiyong closed their distance to kiss him. Seunghyun decided Jiyong’s mouth was sweeter than any fruit, and his heart ached, though happily now, when they separated. The elf’s eyes were merry, and he was laughing.
“Seunghyun—” he exclaimed, and buried his face in the crook of Seunghyun’s neck, careful of his injured arm.
“My love,” Seunghyun murmured, and felt the elf move closer to him. He pushed his head back into the pillows and grinned at the ceiling as his heart overflowed.
They married that day at sunset.
“Yes,” whispered Seunghyun. “I shall never forget it.”
Jiyong cupped his chin gently. “There is much for me to mourn, my lord. This—” and he cast a fond look about their bedchamber, “I shall not. I love you. All my life I will love you.” Jiyong bent to brush his lips against Seunghyun’s, and their tears mingled.
“Jiyong,” Seunghyun gasped. He must say this—the darkness was coming too quickly. “Dear one, you are loved.”
“I’ve never doubted it.” Jiyong smiled at him, and then—nothing.