“Ada, why are you sad?”
Aragorn turned to look at his son who stood before him tall and proud. He was a boy turning thirteen and well on his way to becoming a man.
“I was thinking, Eldarion,” he admitted, “of how swiftly the years pass. So much has already faded from memory. I wonder, when you are king, how much of what brought you to that end will already be forgotten.”
“But I will never forget your stories of Frodo and the Ring, Ada. I promise, they will live on through me.”
“I know.” And smiling, Aragorn nodded, appeased.