A lasting idea

    Ismaril wasn't the sort to banter words in a hurried situation. He took the ring from the Rhoswen and slipped it into his pocket. With the slow movement of a reluctant mother, Rhoswen gave her son one last kiss and let Ismaril take him from her. Her head drooped for a moment, and she clasped her hands before her. To stop them from shaking, Ismaril thought. Then she straightened and stepped away. Very regal she looked, there in the blood-red light of the sunset. A queen. The Last Queen. 

     "Go," Rhoswen said, "before it is to late. Do not hesitate--for my sake, Ismaril."
     Ismaril shifted the sleeping babe to his other arm and bowed, fist over heart. In reply, the queen raised her hand in a fist, thumb and first two fingers pointing up. It was an ancient salute, almost a blessing. Behind the woman, the shifting light of the red sunset made Rhoswen seem to glow with glory. Ismaril fixed that image in his mind as he turned away, first walking, then running, holding her son tightly in his arms.

Ooh. I like that one. That plot seems to come easy. Anybody want more?