Introductory Author's Note:

This story is in some sense a bit of a core dump of the ideas that were percolating about what Arwen and Aragorn's life and marriage would be like in the Fourth Age, and what kind of people their children would be. Other people have written about this period too - this is just my version of things. Technically this should probably be called an AU - I am sticking as close as I can to canon regarding characters and setting, but Tolkien left a lot of this timeline fairly vague, and other interpretations are always out there.

In general, I'll also say that I'm much more about character than plot. Think of this story as a character study with plot on the side.  ;)

Some small notes:

Names: Many of my OCs do not have very Tolkien-ish names. There are two major reasons for this: (1) When I began this fic more than two years ago, I wasn't familiar enough with the secondary Tolkien literature to come up with convincing canonical names (oh how I'd do it differently now... *g*), and (2) Most canonical names are a bit tongue-twisting, and I like simplicity, that's all.

Rating: There are a handful of love scenes here, so I've made the overall rating an R.  In general though, the story's much closer to PG.  Where R chapters do occur I'll note it at the beginning of each one, but this won't be the majority of chapters.

Language: Some Sindarin is used in places.  Translations are included as footnotes at the end of each chapter.

That should be it. *g* And we're off! *fires starter pistol*

Hope you enjoy! :)

~ RR

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Chapter 1 - The House of Telcontar

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"Eldarion! Catch up!"

"If you would ride at a decent pace, Mírra , then I would!"

The King and Queen's two oldest children were enjoying a familiar ride around the outskirts of Minas Tirith. Today, as often happened, the prince found his sister was more interested in racing than anything else.

"This is nothing!" Mírra called back over her shoulder, "I thought a future King would be able to match it!"

Even though she teased her brother, she slowed to a trot and waited for him to approach. She had to admit she was breathing hard - it was not easy to maintain such speed. But the feel of the wind on her face was too irresistible.

As she caught her breath, she looked about her, enjoying the brightness of the fall day. The early afternoon sun was still high over the horizon, warming the cloudless sky. There were a scant few patches of green left in the surrounding foliage, the remainder having burst forward into fiery colour.

"I think you go out of your way to choose the fastest horse in the stable," Eldarion said dryly as he appeared at his sister's side.

"Not quite," she replied, just as dryly, "the fastest horses are reserved for father's men."

They now rode at a comfortable pace, enjoying the light conversation.

Both were well into their teenage years, and were happy to stretch the bounds of freedom that went with them. It was good to be able to set their own course for their rides, even if it meant staying within reach of the city.

"Besides, you never seem to vie for the fast horses," she added, "does a little excitement never interest you?"

Eldarion shrugged. He sat easily in the saddle, gripping the reins loosely in his palms.

"I enjoy riding for what it is. It need not always be a race, as you seem to want to make of it."

"You say that because you have travelled," Mírra replied, "I've hardly seen the far side of Mount Mindolluin. And you're only two years older than I am."

"Two and a half," Eldarion responded, straightening his broad shoulders, "And that was only to Ithilien, with father this spring."

Mírra was only slightly assuaged.

"But you have been on other journeys as well. And you know it is only a matter of time before father takes you to Edoras, and takes you into battle, even."

Eldarion simply looked down at the reins. He felt a little awkward about the extra independence that he was allowed because of his title. But then, his sister would never be concerned with the duties that went with the prospect of the throne. She would not have to spend all her afternoons in the study, memorising maps and poring over journals.

"Well, I will go to Ithilien as well, when I reach seventeen years," Mírra continued, "Perhaps even farther."

"That bodes well, for at your speed I'm sure you could make it all the way to Arnor overnight," Eldarion countered.

His sister smirked back at him. She also straightened herself in her saddle.

"Mother enjoys a brisk ride as well, you know. When she is up and around again, perhaps she will join me."

The Queen had been abed for the last week, expecting the birth of her fourth child. Mírra was excited about the prospect of a new sibling, but as usual Eldarion was more pragmatic.

"What do you think, will it be a boy or girl?" Mírra asked.

Eldarion shrugged once again.

"I gave up on the prospect of a brother years ago. And I have two sisters already, so I cannot see how a third would be different," he said simply.

"Can you never state a preference?"

"I try to cultivate diplomacy whenever possible," he grinned. He then changed the subject. "But to be honest, what I would prefer now is to return for a meal. Are you not hungry?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right," his sister admitted.

There was a sudden twinkle in her dark grey eyes.

"I'll race you back."

Eldarion's shoulders sank in exasperation.

"No Mírra, wait..."

But she was already off on her horse, the long braid of her dark hair bouncing across her back as she gathered speed.

"You always have a head start," he muttered, shaking his head.

When Eldarion returned to the stables, he found that his sister, having naturally arrived first, had already unsaddled her horse and had started to brush its mane. There were of course many stable hands who could manage the horses for them, but they both enjoyed caring for the animals, which was also encouraged by their parents.

"Father will ask you to change, you do realise that," Eldarion told his oldest sister as he dismounted.

Mírra looked down at her riding habit, suede breeches and tunic. It was what she always preferred to ride in, and even though she was now fifteen she saw no reason to give it up.

"Maybe not," she replied, but without conviction.

Eldarion did not press the issue. He put away his riding tack, took up a brush of his own, and started working.

A few minutes later, Mírra was gathering fresh hay for her mount, when an unexpected visitor arrived.

"I thought I would find you two here," said the King, smiling.

Two similar pairs of eyes and two dark haired heads turned his way, looking over the horses.

"Father!" his oldest daughter said brightly as she unloaded her armful of hay, "What are you doing down here?" A sudden thought crossed her mind. "Is it mother?"

"No, no, she is still resting," Aragorn assured her, "Nothing yet. I was meeting with visitors earlier and thought I would see if you two were here. I think when you return to the palace you'll find your afternoon meal is waiting for you."

"Will you be joining us?" asked Eldarion.

"Not today." Why did he seem to be rushing around this past week? Arwen always seemed to find time for everything. "But I will see you for supper."

Aragorn did not leave immediately. He helped Mírra collect more hay, reminded Eldarion how to inspect the hooves for stones.

"Mírra, after you take your meal you should change, please", Aragorn said upon noticing his daughter's appearance. "You know that is not proper attire for the court."

She opened her mouth as if to object, but thought better of it. She shot a thin glare at her brother, who had taken a sudden interest in a knot in his horse's mane.

"But it is so uncomfortable to ride in a dress," she protested weakly, knowing full well this was an argument she would not win. She looked down guiltily at her rumpled tunic, brushing fragments of hay off her arms.

"Aye, but Mírra, you are not a child anymore," Aragorn admonished gently, "You should dress as befits your station."

"I know - properly." She sighed. Her shoulders sank a little.

"Thank you," her father replied, again gently.

He surveyed the stables for a moment, and the work his two older children had done. He was pleased to see them take care in their activities. And although he was often stricter with Mírra , Aragorn had to admit she had an enthusiasm for the outdoors. He did not want to discourage it.

"Things look well here," the King said contentedly as he left "I will see you for supper as usual. And Eldarion, I'll see you later in my study."

"Of course, father."

"And what will today's lesson be?" Mírra teased, after her father was out of earshot.

Eldarion did not answer right away. "Something dull and of great worth for my future, no doubt."

Mírra smiled hesitantly, not entirely sure if her brother was jesting. The walk back to the palace was quiet, both siblings looking cheerlessly to their afternoon tasks.

* * * * * * * * * *

When she returned to her chambers, Mírra's handmaid selected a gown for her - dark green, plain - and helped her dress.

It hardly mattered to Mírra what she wore. But her riding clothes were so much simpler. With her breeches and tunic there were no hooks or laces to fuss over, no worrying whether the neckline was high or low enough, no concern over how well the colour matched her eyes. But then, appearances were important for a young woman of the court.

After all the hooks were fastened and the skirts of the dark green fabric were arranged, she paused to take a look at herself in the mirror. She wondered if her appearance would ever pass muster. Her father had said she was not a child anymore. But not a woman yet either, she sighed, pondering her reflection.

She had grown two more inches since the winter, but the added height did not make her feel elegant, only more awkward. Her breasts had grown fuller, too. She supposed they were of adequate size, but she was still not quite comfortable with them.

She looked with disappointment at her hair. There was hardly any curl in it, always laying flat. And why did it never seem to stay neat? It had been so nicely braided into a queue this morning but, as usual, some strands at the side of her face had slipped out. And was that a bit of hay she saw clinging to her hairline?

Women in the city remarked how she favoured the Queen more than the King, but Mírra could not see how she would ever match her mother's beauty. Looking back at herself from the mirror, she just seemed... plain.

Sitting down heavily in front of her dressing table, she untied her long braid, and loosed the dark locks. She took up a comb and began to work through her hair from root to tip, hoping for once to make it tidy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that afternoon, the King and his son were settled in his study, with many manuscripts on the table in front of them, when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Aragorn called.

He was moderately surprised to see his youngest child, Lúthea, being shyly led into the room by her nursemaid, Adina.

"Pardon, your highness," said the young woman, giving a small curtsy, "Miss Lúthea wanted a visit with you."

Aragorn set down his pen, smiling, as his daughter released her maid's hand and ran over to his chair.

Lúthea was ten years old, just entering her last years of childhood. Like Mírra, she took after Arwen and had smooth dark hair and pale skin, but her features were more delicate, and she was much more reserved than her older sister. But although she was quite good-natured, Aragorn could not help thinking that Lúthea was not yet ready to give up being the youngest in the family.

"Well now," said Aragorn, "what brings you here?"

The little girl rested her folded arms on the arm of her father's large chair, leaning on it almost distractedly.

"Something is on your mind?" he added.

"When will the baby be here?" she asked, looking down at her arms.

"Very soon, so your mother tells me. Any day now."

She paused for a moment. Aragorn remained quiet, sensing she had more to say.

"We were working on something together," she continued, looking up at her father, "a shawl. It's not finished yet."

So that was it. Lúthea often spent long afternoons with her mother in front of the looms and spinning machines, working on generally any craft she could get her hands on. But that had all been on hold for the last week, and now she was at loose ends.

"Ah. And Adina can't help you to finish?" Aragorn ventured.

"No, it's for mother and I to do. She was going to show me how to do a border when it was done."

"I see."

Aragorn began to wonder what he should do next. Lúthea was now frowning and beginning to look unhappy. Her nursemaid stood at the door, waiting patiently. He wondered how many activities they had already been through before arriving at this point.

He unfolded his daughter's small hands and took them in his own.

"Well, somehow I do not think my talents at the loom would be of any use to you."

Lúthea did not smile but she was no longer frowning.

"Would you like to spend the rest of the day with me?"

He had expected her to accept his offer only as a last resort, but to his surprise her face brightened.

"Alright," she said tentatively.

Aragorn nodded to her nursemaid at the door. "Thank you Adina."

"Very good, your highness." The blonde young woman gave a small curtsy and a smile, and slipped out.

"Would you like to sit here?" he asked.

Lúthea nodded. She let her father lift her onto his lap - something she was getting a little big for, but the chair was large.

She put her hands at the edge of the table and quietly looked around, taking in the papers and books. This was a strange new world, her father and brother's work.

Eldarion looked up from his manuscript, a bemused by his little sister's presence.

"I am reading up on the tributaries of the Anduin. Apparently there are many of them," he explained somewhat dryly, with a sidelong glance at his father. "But I don't know if you would be interested in that."

Lúthea looked wary, not sure what to think. Was this what they really did all day? Sit at a table and read?

Aragorn had an inspired thought, and reached for blank paper and a smaller pen.

"I've written many letters this afternoon. Would you like to try one?"

"I've been practising," Lúthea said, turning to look up at her father.

"Well then, I would enjoy seeing what you've learned," Aragorn said.

Gently she took the small quill from his hand, reached out, and very carefully dipped the end of the pen in the inkwell. She tapped the tip several times on the edge of the inkwell before bringing it to the paper.

Slowly, and as neatly as possible, she wrote the first letter of the alphabet, first in upper then in lower case. Looking back up as if for approval, she smiled when her father nodded to her. Having made a start, she carefully dipped her pen once more.

Eldarion chuckled quietly to himself, turning back to his readings. Lúthea bent over her paper, and set herself to her new task as her father observed contentedly.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was much later that evening when Aragorn slipped away to a certain quiet room in the same wing as the family rooms. Supper was long over, and the children had all made their way to bed.

Softly he closed the door behind him, and stepped lightly over to the bed, where his wife lay comfortably. She lay half on her side with pillows arranged behind her, and another she held at her side to support her body. Her eyes were closed, her breathing calm and deep.

Arwen had withdrawn from palace activities many days ago, when she felt the time drawing near. She was happy to be so completely relaxed, to be able to focus her thoughts entirely on the child within.

The recent days had been a time of mixed emotions for her, more than the times before her three other children were born. This pregnancy had been unexpected, and she had enjoyed all the experiences it brought. Although her body had become ever more uncomfortable, some part of her wished this time would not end yet.

As Aragorn sat down gently beside her, Arwen felt his presence but did not stir. She did not react until he leaned over and placed a kiss beside her ear, and then a broad smile crept across her face.

"I wondered when you would come," she said warmly, her eyes still closed.

Aragorn reached out to where his wife's hand was comfortably resting on her stomach, and put his hand over hers.

"How are things here?"

"Just as they should be."

As Arwen answered she slipped her hand out from underneath his, and exchanged places with it. She pressed his hand lightly against her belly, letting him sense the activity beneath the surface.

These last few days had been mixed for Aragorn as well. Although he was also excited about the upcoming birth, he never tired of moments like this.

They sat together calmly for a few minutes. Then Arwen's eyelids fluttered and she looked up at her husband sitting beside her.

"Tell me about today."

This was a habit of theirs, sharing the events of their days apart. Aragorn collected his thoughts and then began recounting the facts of his day, giving special attention to the activities with their children.

"I think Mírra would be truly happy if she could spend the whole day with the horses, and dress however she saw fit," he sighed, leaning back on the bed next to Arwen.

"Are you not pleased she enjoys the outdoors so well?"

"Of course, it is just... it always seems to be difficult with her, more than with Eldarion and Lúthea."

"She is more energetic," Arwen reasoned. "But she is still finding her way. Give her time."

Aragorn then went on to describe his hours with their second daughter in his study.

"Ah," Arwen said knowingly, "now I understand those."

She nodded to a few folded papers that lay on the bedside table. Aragorn saw where she was gesturing to, and collected the papers. He smiled as he unfolded them and saw the pages filled with Lúthea's careful scroll. Aside from her alphabet she had written a short note for her mother, which she had delivered personally before going to bed.

"We were just in the middle of a project," Arwen sighed, "I had not realised she would be so taken up with it."

"I am not sure how well she enjoyed the day. She prefers your company," said Aragorn as he met his wife's eye.

"That does not mean she does not enjoy yours."

"Maybe so, but I cannot show her crafts as you do. It is plain she is looking for other activities. How shall I entertain her tomorrow?"

Arwen thought for a moment.

"When we work I always share stories with her. I truly think she enjoys it as much as the weaving, or anything else."

"Somehow I doubt that hearing a story from me would be enough to content her," Aragorn said with a raised eyebrow.

"Do not tell me that the King of the West, who was once a Ranger called Strider, does not have any interesting stories to tell," she replied, nudging her husband's arm.

Aragorn simply smiled, tight-lipped, in return, not wanting to admit that his wife was, of course, right. He would give the idea some thought.

For now, he settled in next to her, returning his hand to its previous spot at the side of her belly. Arwen could see him concentrating, thinking carefully, as she had, on the life within.

"You shall have to wait, just as I will, to find out," she whispered to him.

Aragorn again met her eye. "You must have your own suspicions."

She did have her own suspicions about whether they would soon have a new son or daughter, but she did not reveal them. Arwen merely smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. She gave his hand a squeeze.

"You will not have to wait long."

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Chapter 2 - Discoveries and Discussion

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After discussing Lúthea's activities with Arwen, Aragorn gave much thought to the matter, and an idea came to him of something that she would enjoy. The next day, following his business of the morning, he decided to meet with his younger daughter.

Aragorn had not often been seen in the children's wing in recent years, now that they were grown older. So when Adina looked to the door of the children's sitting room and saw the King standing before her, she was more than a little surprised.

"Your highness... it is a pleasure to see you here," she flustered, as she stood from the table where she and Lúthea were sitting.

"I hope I am not interrupting," said Aragorn as he approached.

Lúthea hopped off her chair and went to him, clutching a piece of cloth encased in a wooden hoop.

"We're stitching," she explained, holding out her work to him, "I've just learned how to do the flowers."

Aragorn took the cloth from her and ran his hand over the coloured threads. Lúthea had done a small chain of flowers linked with a green vine. It was simple, but as with anything she applied herself to, neatly and carefully done.

"It looks lovely."

He returned it to his daughter's hands. She smiled down at the cloth, pleased with his appraisal.

"I was wondering - if Adina does not mind, that is," Aragorn continued with a nod to young woman who stood near, "what you would think about spending the day with me again today?"

Lúthea looked up at him with her usual calm expression.

"Will we do more writing?"

"No... I was thinking of something else," he replied, folding his hands in front of him. "Your mother tells me how much you enjoy listening to stories. Is that right?"

She stood up taller and nodded intently.

"Well, I thought we might go somewhere where we could discover many stories, ones you have not heard before."

Lúthea's interest was certainly piqued.

"Shall we try it?" her father asked.

"I would like that," she replied, her dark eyes shining.

Aragorn turned to his daughter's companion.

"Is that well with you, Adina?"

What could she say? As she gave a short curtsy to the King, she could not help smiling.

"That is very well, your highness. I will be here, should you wish to send for me."

"Excellent," he said brightly. "Shall we go, my dear?"

He extended a palm. She handed her stitching to Adina, and then returned to her father, taking his hand.

They left the sitting room and began to make their way through the corridors of the palace. Lúthea, small for her age, came to just above Aragorn's elbow as she walked beside him. Her shining dark hair, loose except for two small braids at the sides, hung down her back.

As she looked around, she soon realised she was coming to a section of the palace that was unfamiliar to her.

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"To the library."

* * *

The same morning, Arwen sat by the widow of her chamber, calmly waiting, thinking. The heel of her left foot rose and fell with a slow cadence as her chair rocked back and forth.

She had a book open on her lap, but was only half concentrating on it. As she stroked a hand lazily across her belly, she could sense a gradual, growing tightness, which was a sign of things to come. There had been moments in the early hours of the morning when she had thought that labour had begun, but had been disappointed.

And so she was pleased to have a distraction from the morning's expectation when her oldest daughter entered. Mírra came over to the window and greeted her mother.

"It still isn't time?"

"No, and I am quite impatient." Arwen smiled and briefly rolled her eyes in a gesture of exasperation that was only half in jest.

Mírra touched her round middle, intensely curious. "Will it take very long?"

"I cannot tell," Arwen shrugged slightly, "Each of you were different, but I was the longest with your brother. The women here like to joke that it was because he was a boy, not because he was my first."

Mírra grinned.

"I had thought you would be outside this morning," Arwen said inquisitively.

"No. Eldarion is practising his swordplay. I didn't feel like going out." Mírra stepped over to the window as she answered.

"That is not like you. Especially on such a fine day as today." It seemed that Lúthea was not the only one who was feeling disconcerted.

Mírra put her slim hands on the window ledge, looking out at the landscape surrounding Minas Tirith.

"But I know all of it," Mírra said wistfully, "Every ride is just another part of the same countryside." She turned towards her mother, half-leaning against the large chair. "I wish I could see more, go farther."

"You will, certainly. But you have only turned fifteen a few months ago." When Arwen was fifteen she would never have dreamed of venturing beyond Rivendell, even to the Bruinen. She found she was constantly shifting her perspective of things to match her children's. "There will be time for you to travel, darling. Be patient."

Her daughter nodded, quietly fidgeting. Arwen decided to move to a simpler topic of conversation.

"You've done nothing with your hair today?"

Mírra brushed aside her mother's fingers that were stretching to her long, loose hair.

"What ever I do, it never stays neat. This way is just easier."

"Shall I try something with it?" Arwen offered.

Mírra accepted. She knelt down with her back to the chair, and let her mother run her hands through her hair.

Arwen sat up and leaned forward as best she could. As she shifted her position, she felt a tug across her belly - not quite painful, but still noticeable. She paused briefly, but it passed as soon as it had begun. She did not dwell on it, and instead turned to the weaving of hair at her fingertips.

It had been months since Arwen had done this. Making the small braids felt familiar, almost soothing. She began to work a few small ones at Mírra's hairline, twining each new one together with the last.

"Why so quiet, all of a sudden?" Arwen asked her daughter.

Mírra did not respond immediately.

"I'm not... very good at this," she eventually told the floor. "I can never make my hair look right. I don't know the right clothes to wear."

"I know you've never been terribly interested in those things."

She pulled the braids at each side together at the back of Mírra's head, forming a thin queue.

"But now they matter, and I wish they didn't. Father is always saying I should dress properly, that I'm not a child."

"Which is true. Soon you will be introduced into the court, and unfortunately you cannot do that if you are still pulling hay out of your hair," Arwen answered pragmatically. She secured the last few pieces of hair, and smoothed her hand over the finished braids.

"I know." Mírra sighed deeply, and scratched distractedly at a loose thread on her skirt. "I still wish I didn't have to worry about it. The women at court are so beautiful. So poised."

"That is because they are well practised. You can learn, too."

"I do not think I will ever look the part, like they do."

Mírra turned and cast slightly discouraged eyes up at her mother. Arwen tucked a last bit of hair behind the curve of her daughter's ear.

"They look the part because they have help with their appearance, as you will. But your hair, your dresses, those things are only that - your appearance. They do not change who you are. Neither do they shape the woman you will become. You will still be beautiful even if your dress is not perfect, even if your hair is not neatly braided."

Mírra smiled lightly. Arwen continued to stroke her fingers over her daughter's dark hair.

"Who you are is beautiful. Do not doubt that."

Mírra smiled and blushed, shyly turning her eyes down again. She reached up and gingerly patted the handiwork that was completed in her hair.

"Thank you, naneth." she told her, even though it was not needed.

Arwen smiled back. She opened her mouth to reply, but once again was caught by surprise as she felt another tug over her stomach, stronger than the last. She put her hand to her stomach, realising with a sudden certainty that labour was becoming real.

Mírra saw her mother's response. "Is it starting?" she asked, her eyes widening in excitement.

"I think it may be."

"Shall I send for the midwife?" Mírra was at her feet in an instant.

"No, not just yet," Arwen reassured her, "Stay with me a while. I am enjoying your company."

She smiled in return. "I would like to stay with you too."

Arwen held her hands out to call her daughter to her again.

"I have been sitting all morning. Come, will you help me to walk about for a while?"

Mírra did so, her expression bright but slightly nervous. She gave her mother her elbow as they began to take a turn about the room.

* * *

Aragorn opened the large oak door, and led his daughter into the foyer at the centre of the library. The floor was a sandy marble; lanterns, that were carefully placed on the walls and hung from the ceiling, lit the room. This area was well looked after by attendants, who nodded respectfully as the King entered.

Aragorn took Lúthea to the centre of the great room, and they stood surrounded on all sides by shelf after shelf of books. There were books of all different sizes and bindings. Some of the bookcases stretched all the way up the side of the walls, and required ladders to reach the higher shelves. This central chamber where they stood was bordered by smaller rooms, which had their own specific collections.

Lúthea's dark grey eyes widened as took in what she saw before her, craning her neck to look up at the tall bookcases. If the simple reading materials she had seen yesterday in her father's study had seemed like a new world to her, then this was an uncharted universe.

Aragorn looked down at his daughter, impressed by her quiet wonder.

"This is the library. It has been here for the life of Minas Tirith, and it contains the collected writings of many scribes and scholars. There are maps and drawings, journals and record books, and most importantly, histories of our country and all peoples of Middle-Earth."

Aragorn saw his daughter's eyes glazing over, obviously overwhelmed.

"I think those are what you will be most interested in. We are here to find stories, are we not?"

Lúthea nodded, coming out of her daze somewhat.

"But father, how will we know where to start? There are so many."

"They are arranged in a certain way. Come, let us see what we can find."

* * *

"You seem slow today, Eldarion. Is that blade too heavy for you?"

The prince, sword in hand, faced his adversary who was grinning cheekily before him. Brennan was a close advisor of the King and, in recent years, erstwhile companion and mentor to the prince and princess royal. With his reddish brown hair, brown eyes, and moderate stature, he was unremarkable in appearance, but he was as trustworthy as any man of Gondor.

"Not at all," Eldarion replied. "If there is any deficiency with my performance, perhaps the fault is with my opponent, not my weapon."

"Aha. Think you so, young master?"

Brennan cocked an eyebrow at his young charge. Eldarion's fighting abilities had certainly improved with his physical maturity, but he had not abandoned boyish jests.

"Well then, I would not have you hold back on my account," Brennan countered. "Let me see what you have to offer me today."

Over recent months the prince had grown noticeably stronger, his body now bearing an even closer resemblance to the lean, broad-shouldered frame of his father. He shook dark hair off his face, and steadied himself before the older man.

They brought their swords up, momentarily stilled, before Eldarion stepped forward.

There were repeated clangs of steel on steel as the two men moved around the hall. The measured pacing of the training pattern was tempered occasionally by impulsive moves from Brennan, as he tested Eldarion's capabilities. The prince proved able, most of the time.

"You're dropping your right shoulder again," Brennan cautioned.

"And I'm still advancing on you," Eldarion countered.

"That does not matter. Your offence is weakened by your stance, no matter how well you deflect my sword."

Brennan matched Eldarion's blows for a few moments more, but soon enough found an opportunity to prove his point. After the tip of Eldarion's blade came down on his sword lightly once more, in one motion Brennan raised his sword against Eldarion's, and turned against the prince's left side. Eldarion's balance faltered, and with a shove to his shoulder, Brennan knocked him to the ground.

Eldarion caught his breath, sheepishly.

"Alright, I see what you mean."

"You did well with the White Company this spring, but you cannot make such mistakes on the field. Did you see your weakness?"

Eldarion nodded. "I was off balance. I will correct it."

Brennan nodded in acceptance, and extended a hand to help his pupil to his feet.

"This is still better than sitting in front of a table, memorising maps." Eldarion said as he found his feet again.

The two men found their starting places again. Eldarion rolled his shoulders, adjusting his stance to begin another bout. Mentally he was adding his mistake to a list of tactics never to repeat.

"Again."

* * *

"Mother, would you not like to rest?"

Mírra could not help feeling concerned, for Arwen was by now showing more advanced signs of labour. After moving about for the last hour or so at the most tedious of paces, they had stopped altogether. The Queen was leaning against the wall, rubbing the underside of her belly to relieve the discomfort. Around the room Mírra saw subtle signs of commotion that had not been present before. The midwife, Corinna, had arrived and with her assistants was preparing the rest of the room.

Arwen breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to relax. She smiled faintly at her daughter.

"I am well. I do not mean to worry you. This must seem strange, but walking is actually comfortable right now."

She gave Mírra's hand a small squeeze, trying to be reassuring. Almost immediately though, she released it as she felt her belly tighten once more. She leaned forward into the wall and pressed her forehead against her hands, taking as deep a breath as she could. The familiar but nonetheless powerful sensation of pressure was becoming stronger with each more prolonged contraction. She had to admit she felt the labour progressing rapidly.

"Mother, is there nothing you need, nothing I can do?" Mírra doubted if she was the right companion for Arwen at this time. "Shall I send for father?"

Arwen paused. The King had been unavoidably away from Minas Tirith during the births of his daughters - Mírra in particular had caught them by surprise arriving a month earlier than expected. And Eldarion's birth had been so overwhelming already that they had been cautious, neither knowing what to expect.

"I am not sure," she said shakily as she found her voice again. "His presence was never an option before."

She was still thinking on the matter when Corrina came over. The midwife was old but not aged, with only a few streaks of grey yet in her brown hair. Her expression showed kindness and capability.

"By the looks of it, we will have a new prince or princess before the sun sets. How are you faring, my Lady?"

In answer Arwen gave a low, fragile moan.

"Until a few moments ago, my answer would have been, 'very well'." She swallowed and regained a modicum of composure. "Now, though, I wonder if I should heed my daughter's advice and take some rest."

Arwen allowed her companions to assist her to the bed, and she lay down slowly on her side against the pillows, continuing to rub her taut belly.

Corrina saw Mírra's concern for Arwen. "My dear, would you be so good as to fetch some clean towels for me? And perhaps another pillow for your mother?"

Mírra smiled, somewhat relieved to have a task.

While she was gone, Corrina took advantage of the opportunity, and made a quick examination.

"You're making quick progress. It should be only a few hours more, I would imagine."

"So soon? But I have not been in great pain, not until just now."

"This is your fourth, your highness. It would not be unusual for things to progress more smoothly than your earlier births. Your body has likely been preparing for hours already."

Arwen nodded in agreement.

"I think this is going to be fast."

* * *

"Undómiel..."

It was only his voice that she caught at first. Then his hand was there, holding hers, and she grasped it for relief.

"Meleth-nîn," she nearly whispered, opening her eyes to look into his.

"At first I thought something was wrong, when you sent for me..."

She shook her head, even as the concentration in her face betrayed the effort of what was taking place.

"I wanted you here. It felt right."

Just then Arwen sat up slightly. She dipped her head and winced silently as the pain intensified. While it faded she began to breathe hard, nearly panting.

"Mellwain, I'm not sure what I should do."

She turned to him and smiled as she answered. "You can support me by sitting by me, simply being with me."

He sighed inwardly and felt a small measure of anxiety vanish.

"Where is Mírra?" she asked, after exhaling a slow breath.

"Gone to find Lúthea. I think she was a little nervous."

Arwen nodded, allowing herself to relax against him momentarily. But the moment was short, for she soon closed her eyes once again and knitted her brow as another contraction came on fast. She leaned into Aragorn and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, and released an intense moan that could no longer be stifled.

Aragorn put his free hand to her back and began to rub. He could feel the muscles of her body tight underneath his fingers. The tension at last seemed to give way under the applied pressure, but not entirely.

Arwen caught her breath, feeling the support of her husband beside her. She felt his hand steady in hers.

"I am glad you're here."

"So am I."

* * *

Looking for a way to pass the remaining hours of waiting, Mírra joined her sister in the library. With Aragorn's help, Lúthea had already found several books of interest, and was settled in a small corner of her own. At the King's request, the library attendants passed by from time to time, and observed the younger princess with gentle curiosity.

Lúthea sat on a bench at a large table in one of the side reading rooms. The toes of her slippers dangled a few inches from the floor as she quietly turned the pages of the large book in front of her. The parchment was filled with text and many drawings, colourfully detailed.

"What have you found here?"

Mírra came and took a place next to her sister. In some small way the table resembled her father's study, with all sorts of books lying open.

"Father showed me how to find stories." She frowned a little at her words. "No, that's not right. They're called history books. There are whole shelves full of them."

Mírra could not help but smile at how engrossed Lúthea was with it all. She nodded to the book in front of them. "What's in this one, then?"

"It's about a place called The Shire." She turned back a few pages, and with both hands lifted up the cover to show her sister the large illustrations. "There's a map of it, here."

Mírra recognised some of what she saw. "Father knew this place well, didn't he? He used to tell us about it when we were very small."

"The halflings - no, the hobbits. They live there." Lúthea's dark eyes sparkled. "But they don't live anywhere else, only in The Shire. And no one else may go there, no one of our size, I mean." Lifting her arm, she pointed a slender finger in the direction of the bookshelves nearest their table. "That section, there. That's where the histories of the hobbits are."

"This place is far north, on the other side of Middle-Earth," Mírra said, studying the map. "I wonder if I will ever be able to travel so far." The last part she spoke quietly, half murmuring to herself.

Lúthea touched her arm, and met her eyes earnestly. "But you don't need to go there. You can read about it."

Mírra smiled again. Her sister was so different from her in some ways. But she was content to share in her enthusiasm for the tales of other lands.

"Alright then. What does it say about this place..." she let a fingertip land somewhere on the map. "...Tuckborough."

"I haven't looked that far yet." Lúthea began to turn pages again. "But we can find out."

The two girls turned their similar dark eyes to the book. They passed the next few hours together, reading and talking quietly.

* * *

It was much later, after day had turned to evening, when the King and Queen sat together comfortably on the bed. Arwen held their new daughter as they quietly took in the newness of it all.

"To think it has been more than seventeen years, since we sat here with Eldarion."

"I cannot quite believe it myself," Arwen replied softly. She touched her fingertips to the child's cheeks, then stroked over the small curled fingers.

Aragorn shook his head slightly as he went back in memory. They had been so overjoyed then, to at last become parents after two decades of waiting. This fourth time though, they took each new moment as it came, simply for what it was.

Arwen saw how captivated her husband was. Gently she nudged him, and passed the child into her father's arms. She laid herself against the pillows next to Aragorn, resting a hand comfortably at his elbow, feeling fatigue take over.

He held the baby carefully but surely, cradling one hand underneath the small brown-haired head. He found himself once again entranced by the tiny features, by what the two of them had brought into being.

The newborn awoke and blinked slowly, adjusting to her surroundings.

It was only then that Aragorn noticed her eyes. Their three older children, however different they might have been in other respects, all had dark eyes like their mother. But as he looked into his new daughter's face he was greeted with a pair of light grey eyes, like his own. They gleamed brightly up at him.

"Like little stars," Arwen observed.

She could see a curious expression - of happiness, recognition - cross his face. His eyes were locked with hers.

"She has hold of you now," said Arwen sleepily.

Aragorn turned away from his daughter, long enough to smile back at his wife.

"So it would seem."

Translations (Sindarin): = mother
meleth-nîn = my love
mellwain = dearest

naneth

(About 1 1/2 years have passed since chapter 2.)

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Chapter 3 - Pebbles, Blocks, and Firelight

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"Mírra!"

The King called out after his oldest daughter, who had strayed from their party.

The small group had stopped just near Osgiliath to the east of the Anduin, on the return from Emyn Arnen. Having let the horses take water, they would soon be ready to begin the remainder of the journey.

Aragorn's feet crunched on the thin layer of snow that remained on the ground. Although it had partially melted in the recent, unusually warm early spring weather, a thin layer of white crystals remained.

He rounded a small cluster of birch trees, and saw his daughter not far off, next to the edge of a large stream that ran west to meet the Great River.

Mírra was crouched next to the water's edge, unaware of her father's approach. The surface ice had melted in the sunshine, and she dipped her fingertips ever so gently into the lazy current. She retrieved a pebble and examined its swirled pattern on the flat palm of her hand.

When Aragorn called out a second time, she turned her head abruptly and noticed him. Mírra stood and pocketed her small stone and stepped over to her father. She was nearly as tall as the Queen now.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Not just yet, I only wondered where you had gone to."

"I'm sorry, I suppose I lost track of where I was."

Aragorn gave a reassuring wave of his hand. "It is no matter, we have a few moments yet." He took up a leather water flask that he had carried with him to the stream, and bent down to replenish it.

"It is a shame we had to return so soon," the princess commented, pulling her dark cloak tighter around her.

"Soon?" Aragorn stood and closed the flask. "I had thought a month in Emyn Arnen would be enough time for you?"

"Of course. But now that spring is coming, there would be more to see."

Aragorn had debated taking Mírra with him on this journey. Having gone essentially for business, to share information with the Lord Faramir and his sons, the King unfortunately had not been able to spend the full time with his daughter.

"Did you enjoy your stay there?"

Mírra nodded cheerfully.

"Very much. The Lady Éowyn was very kind to me. I liked her."

"I thought you might."

"Eldarion had hardly told me anything about the royal hills and the Steward's home. I will compare with him when I get back."

The young woman absentmindedly stamped her feet a few times, not really from cold, since the day was warm.

Aragorn had bent down to the stream's edge, noticing a particularly flat, smooth pebble. He turned back to his daughter as he rose again.

"You did not mind then, going at this time of year? The weather is not so fine."

"You mean it because is wet, and cold?" Mírra held out her cloak to display, almost proudly, the thin track of mud that had collected at the hem of the heavy sable fabric. "... and muddy?"

"I see now I was mistaken to think that would hold you back." Aragorn smiled as he turned his small stone between his fingers. "With that attitude, no doubt you will make a fine impression on your next adventure, whatever it is."

Mírra lifted her heels briefly. "I intend to."

Aragorn turned to face the sparkling stream again, held the stone out briefly at his side, and with a smooth snap of his arm, tossed it out to the water. It skipped three times over the surface before sinking.

Mírra's expression brightened suddenly.

"How do you do that?"

"The trick is the right motion of the wrist." He mimed the correct gesture. "Flat stones work best."

Mírra immediately bent to look for her own stones, a few feet farther down the edge of the water. She found one that looked right, and held it up to brush it clean from dirt.

When she did toss one out, it sank as soon as it hit the water. She frowned and looked back at her father.

Aragorn demonstrated with yet another pebble, which skipped twice before sinking. "Quick and straight. It is easier in still water, of course. Try again."

She bit her lip in concentration, practised the gesture a few times before finally letting the stone fly. It skipped once.

Mírra was pleased, and cheered for herself.

Aragorn clapped in response. "Keep going."

They spent the next few minutes by the water, only realising they had lost track of time when an attendant approached, calling out to the missing pair.

"Your highness, the horses are ready." He looked somewhat relieved to have found them.

Aragorn straightened.

"Thank you, we will follow presently." He then motioned to his daughter as they turned away from the water. "Come, it seems we have been delinquent long enough."

Mírra was thoughtful as they walked back to join their party, reflecting on part of the earlier conversation.

"What will my next adventure be, father?"

Aragorn shook his head and gave a soft chuckle.

"Time will tell, mír nîn. Let us finish enjoying this one, before we consider that."

* * *

It was after midday when Arwen finally made her way to the nursery, which was in the same wing as the King and Queen's rooms. Having become quiet since Lúthea had grown, it was now happily active again with the late arrival of the third princess.

She had been caught up with appearances at court all morning, as she often was in Aragorn's absence. Now, Arwen had expected only to quietly check in on Elenna while she napped, but she was met with a different situation.

The small girl was awake, and playing on the thick carpet with Adina, who rose briefly to give a curtsy to the Queen.

Arwen nodded to the young blond woman, and knelt down next to them. There were toys and blocks all around. Evidently they had spent a busy morning.

Elenna was pleased to see her mother, and waved small hands in the air as she voiced her greeting. Light eyes sparkled.

"Na! Nana!"

"Hello to you too, my darling." Arwen could not help smiling, immediately drawing the little girl on to her lap.

The little girl soon wriggled free, however, and reached toward the pile of blocks on the floor. Each one was just the right size for a toddler's grasp. She took one and carefully held it up between chubby fingers, raising it towards her mother as if for approval. She then grinned and set it down, and found another block to repeat the process with, showing it to Adina this time.

Arwen stacked a few blocks together. Elenna noticed this and after a moment of observation, passed the block in her hand to her mother. Arwen then added it to the small tower, eliciting a giggle from the little girl.

"You will be worn out by the end of the day, without your nap."

"She hardly wants to sleep at all in the afternoon, now," explained Adina. "And she often wakes earlier in the morning, too."

"Is that right?" Arwen turned to Elenna. "You only want more time to explore, I think."

"Yes. She wants to do everything but walk, it seems."

"She certainly does not appear to be in any hurry."

An expert crawler, Elenna had yet made only tentative motions toward walking, and always with assistance.

"Should we encourage her, perhaps?" offered Adina, "she seems energetic, still."

"Yes, let's." Arwen extended a hand to stroke her daughter's dark brown hair, which curled just slightly at the ends. "What do you say, darling? Shall we try a few steps?"

Elenna gave a grin as her mother held her sides, propping her up on her feet. She looked to Adina, who had backed up a few feet, and held her hands out to her young charge.

"Come, little friend!" Adina's blue eyes smiled.

Arwen stood behind her daughter and took her small hands, boosting her forward. Elenna gradually and shakily moved forward, a happy expression on her face. When she at last reached her goal, Adina welcomed her, and assisted her back in the other direction. Arwen knelt down on the other side of the carpet, motioning her daughter forward.

"Perhaps she can go a bit farther, this time."

The little girl did well for a few more minutes, but on the fourth try tumbled to the ground on her backside, frustration evident. Arwen drew her to her again and smoothed a hand over her back to settle her. She did not even mind overmuch when Elenna took a collection of her long brands in hand, steadying herself.

She could not help noticing the similarities between Elenna and her father, which became more pronounced as she grew; silvery irises in deep-set eyes, dark brown hair with a slight wave to it. Had they happened today, Aragorn surely would have been disappointed to have missed her first steps.

"Perhaps you only miss your ada, hmm?"

Arwen tipped her forehead to her daughter's, and received a grin in return.

"Well, he will be happy to see you today when he returns."

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Arwen hurried down to the stables, just in time to meet up with Aragorn and Mírra upon their return.

Aragorn welcomed her in his arms, letting his cloak fall over her shoulders as they embraced.

"Your journey was well?"

He kissed her briefly. "Sunny the whole last week."

"I did not mean the weather," she said with a smile.

"I have much new information to share with Eldarion, about the southern territory. And I think Mírra enjoyed herself, but it really was a simple journey."

Mírra came up brightly then, having left her horse. Arwen gave her a tight hug.

"The royal hills are wonderful, I am so pleased father brought me."

"I am so glad to hear it."

Mírra seemed to have new excitement, despite the day's long ride.

"I must find Eldarion, and tell him about it."

She kissed her mother once more, and ran off toward the palace, leaving her parents amused.

Arwen slipped her arm around her husband's waist underneath his cloak, as they left the stables with a little more leisure. She gave him an encouraging smile.

"Simple or no, it seems to have made her happy."

* * *

It never failed to surprise the King, how much there was to catch up on after being away from the city, no matter how long his journey was. So it was much later than anticipated when he finally returned to his chambers. There had been just enough time to check in on his youngest daughter, now sleeping soundly.

He closed the door gently behind him and paused for a moment in the outer chamber, listening. The fireplace in this room was still active, matching the fire he heard crackling in the bed chamber. But there was no other commotion. Perhaps Arwen had already retired.

He unbuckled the belt of his robe as he stepped slowly forward, and unhurriedly pulled the garment off his shoulders. It had been a longer day than expected, and he would be glad to finally join Arwen in bed. He laid his robe across a large chair and slipped off his low boots, went over to the wide entranceway between the two chambers, and peered in as he began to leisurely unfasten his tunic.

His wife was sitting by the fire, half-leaning back on the small sofa in the bedroom. One hand was fingering one of the many small braids in her hair. Aragorn thought he could discern an extra touch of colour in her cheeks, but could not be sure whether it was from the fire.

Arwen turned her calm gaze to him. She had waited up for him, eager as she always was when he returned from travel.

"Finished at last?"

"Thankfully, yes." He smiled easily, finally feeling himself relax.

She smiled and laid her free hand down on the seat next to her.

"Tolo enni, hîr nîn," she said just loud enough for him to hear.

Leaving his tunic open, Aragorn crossed into the other chamber and stood beside her. He stroked a hand over her hair - how he loved her hair - and as Arwen gave a tug on his other hand, sat down comfortably beside her.

Slowly he fingered the small braids as she had done. Her eyes met his briefly, as if giving him permission to continue. He gently loosened the dark locks, and one by one the braids came free under his touch, all except the last.

"Wait," she said gently, protecting the last braid that hung at the side of her face. There was a small glimmer in her eyes as she gave a slight smile. "Leave the last one."

He let it remain, delved his fingers through the roots of her hair, and spread the dark curtain out and behind her shoulders. Arwen's hands went lightly to his cheeks, over his beard, to the back of his neck to draw him nearer.

"Shall I hear about today, then?"

Aragorn's breath tickled her ear as he spoke, and instinctively she clutched his open collar, feeling a pleasant shiver pass over her.

"Today can wait for later," she whispered, her breath on his cheek.

She parted the fabric of his tunic and pushed it over his shoulders. He finished by removing the garment from his arms, but as soon as his hands were free they were again on her body, smoothing over her back.

The fire crackled lightly next to them, as wood began to fade to embers.

Arwen trailed her fingertips over his bare arms, his shoulders, enjoying the way the firelight played across the contours of his muscles. Aragorn's arms were still circled around her body, as his mouth began to explore the side of her neck.

"Presta i helch le, meleth-nîn?" he murmured.

"Not now..."

His fingers had found the hooks at the back of her dress, and were slowly beginning to unfasten them one by one. Arwen gave another small shiver.

"...but I certainly will be colder, if you continue."

More hooks were opened, exposing more pale skin and the chemise underneath.

"I must compensate, then," he smiled darkly, coming face to face with her, "by other means."

Then Aragorn's warm lips were on hers, and they opened their mouths to each other, tongues asking, answering. Arwen felt his heart beat faster, her own passion for him rising.

He began to remove her loosened gown, tugging at the neckline, and she pulled away breathlessly.

She stood, and faced him as she slipped the sleeves from her arms, and the dress fell about her ankles. After she had laid it across the arm of the sofa, Aragorn took her hand. She regarded him with a wry smile for a moment.

"Come to bed, mellwain," she said, squeezing his hand.

Although his wife made an essay away from the sofa, Aragorn did not move from where he sat.

"But I am comfortable here."

The calm tone of his voice contradicted the surge of heat that had risen in his body as he looked at his wife, her hair spilling loose over her shoulders, the cotton chemise she wore hugging each curve.

"Are you, now?"

Aragorn's free hand had already gone to the outside of her thigh, dragging lightly over the thin fabric. Arwen gave in and went to sit atop him, her knees straddling his waist.

"Mmm... yes... and getting even more comfortable."

His lips brushed the hollow at the base of her throat, and when goose flesh rose subtly over her skin, it was not from cold. Arwen took his bearded jaw in her hands and kissed him, as she felt his fingers straying underneath the hem of her chemise, over her knees, up her thighs. And where his touch would be next... the thought made her sigh deeply... but instead he brought his hands up to her waist, to press her even nearer to him.

"Ah, I do love it when you tease me…"

Arwen felt her belly flutter with ragged breath. Aragorn looked up into her face, his eyes shadowed in the firelight.

At last her fingers worked their way down his bare body, and she sensed a gentle, familiar sigh from him as she began to loosen the waist of his trousers. And soon they were pressed intimately close, as close as man and woman could be, as lips met fervently once again.

Even as the fire began to settle, the heat between them grew.

When they did finally retire to the bed, it was much later that evening indeed.

mír nîn  = my jewel
nana = mom/mommy (naneth = mother)
tolo enni, hîr nîn = Come to me, my lord
presta i helch le, meleth-nîn? = Do you feel cold, my love? (lit. does the cold affect you)
mellwain = dearest
Emyn Arnen translates loosely as "Royal hills", according to the Encyclopedia of Arda.

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Chapter 4 - Perspectives

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The following morning, it was only an hour or so after dawn when Arwen awoke, slowly. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the pillow, enjoying lingering in the space between waking and dreaming. Feeling the cool spring morning air creeping around her, she kept the blankets pulled protectively up to her nose. The castle did not heat up easily after chilly nights.

Rolling onto her back towards the middle of the bed, she stretched the back of her hand out between the sheets to reach for Aragorn, but found nothing except the smooth linen. He was not there. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, processing his absence. His scent still lingered on the pillow.

Arwen sat up and thought for a moment as her mind cleared, and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She knew where he was, of course. There was only one place he could be - nothing else seemed to be able to distract him so.

Still shielding her body with the heavy covers, she swung her legs smoothly over the side of the bed, and sneaked her toes into the slippers that waited for her. As she reached for her robe she saw a fire had already been thoughtfully prepared. The room was beginning to feel warmer.

She stood and stretched, and with a wry smile, set out down the hall to find her errant husband.

When the Queen entered the nursery she saw, as expected, her youngest daughter sitting happily on the arm of her father. Aragorn sang lightly as he paced slowly by the windows. He was still in his morning robes, not yet formally dressed for the day.

Elenna held her favourite soft toy to her mouth and listened to the cheerful melody, her light eyes looking in the direction of the windows but fixed on nothing in particular. She was awake, but calm.

Aragorn turned and saw Arwen at the door, and sent a smile her way. As she reached them his lips found her cheek, with the familiar brush of his beard against her skin.

"Good morning."

Elenna reached out a hand to her, and she fingered it tenderly.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully... though waking alone was a little disappointing," she finished with a raised eyebrow.

"I did not want to disturb you." He winked. " 'Twould have been a shame to upset such a sound sleep."

Between them, Elenna made her presence known. She was wide awake now, and happy to greet her mother. Aragorn relinquished her into Arwen's waiting arms.

"Good morning to you, too."

"She was already awake when I came, even though it was just dawn. Just lying quietly."

"Somehow that does not surprise me, given what Adina tells me." She turned to her daughter. "You were thinking on something, no doubt?"

At that moment the little girl lost hold of her toy and it fell to the floor. She gave a loud exclamation and wriggled in her mother's arms, reaching down for it. Arwen let her down and she retrieved it happily.

Aragorn was content to sit back and observe as Arwen held Elenna upright, helping her to balance as best she could as she busied herself by working new teeth against her cloth toy.

"We were trying to help her walk yesterday, but she is not quite there yet."

"I had wondered if I would miss it."

"She was only waiting on you, perhaps." Arwen then spoke in her daughter's ear. "Can you step over to your ada, and show him what you can do?"

Elenna held on to her mother's hands as she was directed towards Aragorn's chair. He held out his arms, his face brightening noticeably as he watched her totter forward.

Arwen helped her to reach her goal, and she eventually leaned forward, grinning, to grapple her father's knees.

"Well done, little star," Aragorn smiled.

It was then his turn to stand and help the little girl to another attempt across the carpet. Elenna was soon distracted, though, by her favourite set of blocks, and within a few moments she was happily crouched on the floor and reaching out for them. Aragorn sat down beside her, responding to little gestures and bright expressions.

As Arwen took her husband's place in the chair, and watched the two of them, she did not realise how quiet they had become, until Aragorn finally spoke many moments later.

"How is it that I could have missed all this?"

Arwen sat up, taken a little by surprise.

"But you have not missed that much with her, not really. She is still learning..."

He shook his head in thought.

"No, I meant before. With the girls and Eldarion, I mean."

Arwen opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly did not know what to say. It was true that, despite their best hopes, Aragorn had still needed to travel often when their children were small.

"It is only that, now that I do have time, I find myself wanting to make it up somehow. I think it was the right decision to bring Mírra with me this past month, but..."

"Of course it was the right decision, you saw the excitement on her face yourself."

She rose and slowly crossed over to kneel down on the carpet beside them, as Elenna made exploration of the toys in front of her.

"Before Elenna was born, I told myself that this time it would be different, that I would be here, even if before I was not."

She tilted her head in almost teasing reproach, that he was only one day returned, just out of bed, and already grown pensive.

"You have not been idle, meleth-nîn. Think of what has been done, in so little time, there is no shame in being proud of that."

"Yes, but I do still wonder, if I know the children as well as I could. It does not seem fair to them."

She stretched out a hand to one of his, and slipped her fingers underneath his palm.

"I would say you know them better than you think you do. Thanks to your encouragement, Lúthea is now so settled in the library that she seems to need no other hobby."

"And you know I am glad for it... Eldarion, though, I think only humours me sometimes."

Elenna chattered to herself, emitting unintelligible sounds as she sat and chewed on her cloth toy. Arwen flashed an overly dazzling expression to her, before responding to Aragorn.

"But it surprises me you should say that, for I know he has been preparing hard the last month. He wants to do well in Ithilien."

Aragorn almost frowned. "But of course he will do well, as he has done on his other journeys with the White Company."

"Ah, but this is the first time he will be going without you."

Aragorn considered this, and spoke without doubt in his voice. "He is of age now. He has the skill to lead a campaign on his own." He thought a moment longer. "I do not think it will harm anything, for me to stay in Minas Tirith for a season?"

Arwen shook her head.

Elenna kept a close hold of her chewing toy while inspecting blocks. Arwen watched as she took one block and held it up to Aragorn, with a bright smile. He returned the smile and took the proffered toy. It was a gesture that had been repeated many times before, but seemed more meaningful because of the reaction that her father granted it.

Aragorn's eyes finally showed a small twinkle. "I know you think I am being peculiar, for speaking of such matters now."

"No..." she smiled, despite herself. "Only that if this is the conversation you are starting the day with, I hate to think what the audience at the throne will have to contend with."

He suppressed a laugh.

"There is no terribly pressing business today, I think that may wait a while longer." He held his hands at the ready as Elenna crawled closer to where he sat. "Something else simply seemed more important this morning."

Arwen chuckled as she saw her daughter giggle, clutching at Aragorn's sleeve to hoist herself to a standing position.

"I cannot argue with that."

* * *

And so morning was well underway by the time the King had taken up his business. The Queen returned to her chambers briefly, and set out again to begin her own activities, which had also been delayed.

She was heading through the corridors, still fiddling with the cuffs of her gloves, when Mírra found her. They now met eye to eye.

"I was just coming to look for you," said the princess royal, smirking. "We will miss the whole day, if we do not leave soon."

"I am sorry, mell nîn." Arwen took her daughter's arm. "To make up for it, you shall choose our journey today."

"Ah, but I was going to do that anyway," Mírra returned, with a nudge.

"You are quite sure you do not wish to rest today, after travelling yesterday?"

Mírra winked. "Quite. I must make sure everything is still in the same place that I left it."

* * *

Lúthea reached her fingers as high as she dared, but still could not get to the book she was after. The shelf was simply too high for her, but not high enough to warrant a ladder. She found a stepping stool and brought it over, and tried once again.

When Eldarion soon passed by, his sister was nearly on the tips of her toes, just barely gripping the end of the book's spine. She had just managed to edge part of it off the shelf, but had to steady her balance.

He stepped over quickly, and being taller than Lúthea, even with the added height, easily lifted the book. It was of medium size, with burgundy leather spine and cover.

"I could have got it myself," she said a little defensively.

"And ended up on the floor yourself, too."

She took the book from her brother and stepped down, turning to her corner of the library where a small stack of reading awaited her. Eldarion followed her to the reading room. Lúthea had been spending so much time in the library lately, that she now had a section reserved for her use alone.

"It seems you must grow taller, if library work is to be in your future."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Just because you don't like studying, you don't have to tease me."

"It isn't that I don't like it, I just like to do other things too." He moved to the table and sat down across from his sister. "I suppose I simply wonder, how you can spend so much time here, never grow tired of it?"

Lúthea's fair face lit up. "But that is just it, Eldarion, there is so much, you can never grow tired of it." With a soft sweep of her arm she gestured to the shelves behind her. "It isn't only the reading itself though." She smoothed slender fingers over the book she had just retrieved. "They are so beautiful, the way they are made... the lettering, the artwork. I could spend a whole day with only one."

Eldarion had to admit, when Lúthea undertook a task she did it with devotion. Mírra had been right about her enthusiasm.

"But what are you doing all the way down here?" she asked, realising how rare it was to see her brother in the library.

"Believe it or not, there is something I need to find here, that is not in father's study," he admitted.

Turning to leave, he stood at the door of the reading room, confronted with the myriad shelves in the main library hall.

"Where might I find the atlases of Gondor?"

Lúthea closed the burgundy leather book cover, and stood from her seat.

"I think I know. I'll show you."

She took her brother by the hand and they went to seek out the right section. And if she did not take the simplest route through the mazes of shelves on their way, she did not let on.

* * *

Later, Eldarion sat semi-comfortably in the study he shared with his father, hunched over the pages of the atlas he had retrieved from the library earlier that day. The torches on the walls were lit as always, since the study had no windows, but the prince had brought a lamp to the table to supplement the lighting level. Unlike his middle sister, he did not have much patience for reading in the shadows.

As reading material went, however, he preferred atlases. Each one in the palace's collection seemed to be slightly different from the rest, with different annotations and illustrations. It could sometimes be tricky to tell what differences were artists' concessions, and what were genuine corrections, but that was all part of scholarship, he supposed.

Eldarion turned the pages until he found the relevant section. As the closest land to the enemy, Ithilien had taken the greatest damage in the great war, and so had been the most active site of renewal over the last four decades. Eldarion himself had taken on different tasks with each visit, but he was looking forward to patrolling once again with the White Company.

He inserted an index finger next to the spine to mark the page, and flipped to another section. In all honesty it was the land he did not know that intrigued him the most.

Sitting up slightly, he sighed as he perused the maps of Gondor's western provinces. On his one journey to Edoras last year they had kept almost entirely to the Great West Road, to Eldarion's disappointment. He was curious about the White Mountains. Places like Erech, that he knew had been important for his father during the great war, were completely unfamiliar to him.

Just then the door opened, sending a slight draft to make the lamp flame flicker.

"I am sorry to have kept you," said Aragorn with an apologetic sigh as he entered.

Eldarion sat up straight, and gave a small wave across the room to his father. He realised how long he had been sitting, staring at the pages, and stood to stretch.

"Shall I pour a drink?" These days, when he and his father sat down with books and maps, they were at it for a while.

"If you would like, by all means," replied the King.

Eldarion moved to the table at the side of the study, and poured wine into two pewter cups.

When he returned to the large desk, he saw his father examining the map, an odd expression on his face. It was still open to the same section of the White Mountains, near Erech.

"I'm sorry, I meant to get back to Ithilien, I was only curious about some of the other places." He still could not read his father's eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Aragorn looked up, his expression clearing.

"No, forgive me, it is only that I had not considered that part of the country for some time. We have been focusing on the east so much, I often forget how other areas may have changed."

Eldarion found himself remembering snatches of detail from stories he had heard long ago.

"You went to Erech, did you not? Before the end of the War of the Ring?"

"Yes... on the way to Pelargir..." He suddenly was not sure how much he wanted to discuss about those events, just at this point. "...but that is a different matter entirely, one I will not get into now. I am more interested to hear what you have researched."

Eldarion reached over and turned a corner of the atlas, to get a better perspective, and turned a few pages. "This looked the best atlas of the selection I saw," Eldarion explained, settling a bit, "Lúthea knew where to find them."

"She would." His father smiled knowingly.

Eldarion placed the tip of an index finger somewhere near the top of the page. "The hills are well detailed, but it is the southern province that is less clear. There is hardly anything of note east of the Harad Road, not until the source of the Poros."

"Mm" - Aragorn replied just as he had taken a sip of wine - "No, there would not be. That region has been quite desolate since late in the Third Age."

"But the White Company has kept a close patrol near the road, has it not?"

"The road is safe, yes, but the extent of the dangers in the south eastern lands is not yet known." He raised a hand in recollection, thinking of something. "As a matter of fact, something I learned on my last visit may prove useful in that respect."

Aragorn rose briefly and went to the other large table of the room, to collect a few leather folders of parchment that he had been given by the Lord Faramir. Eldarion glanced slightly less than enthusiastically at the sheaf of papers that was added to the table.

"I know it is getting late in the day, but there are still some things we should look at before tomorrow. Bear with me a few hours?" said Aragorn with a note of sympathy, "All great rulers were first great scholars."

The prince was quiet a moment. He knew he was nowhere close to being a leader yet, but he obeyed the King's wishes.

* * *

"You are frowning, ion-nîn."

"Oh?" Eldarion relaxed his face as he looked up to answer his mother, caught somewhat by surprise. "I did not realise it, I suppose I was only thinking."

Dinner was just ending. Aragorn had been led away by Lúthea, anxious to ask him questions about her day's reading, and Mírra had soon followed. The prince however, remained, staring forward at his glass. Arwen recognised that expression well, of being so lost in thought.

"Thinking on what?" Arwen questioned her son simply.

She took the seat next to him, which had been Mírra's; she noticed the princess royal had left her wrap behind, not unpredictably.

"On nothing, really... just what adar and I were working on this afternoon."

"Preparations for your journey with the White Company?"

Eldarion nodded. As he met his mother's eye, he realised she would not allow him to let the matter drop, though all she had really done was wait for him to answer.

"Do you truly want to hear? I fear I will only sound foolish."

"I have a hard time believing that. What is it?"

Sitting back in his chair, he fingered his wineglass, circling thumb and forefinger around the base.

"I hadn't expected how it would feel to be going on my own, without father there, I mean."

"You are quite ready for it though, from what he says."

"I hope I am." He let out a slow breath. "The maps we were looking at though, so much of it is new to me, and I had so many questions."

He cast a brief glance of dark eyes to his mother.

"Adar knows the answers to each of them. I do not think there is any part of this country he does not know."

"And so he should, he has done much travelling. Do you think this makes you unqualified by comparison?"

He looked back down at his glass. "Perhaps..."

"Eldarion, you would not be making this journey if you were not ready. If your father thinks you are able to lead a party, then you can do it. And you will have Brennan with you, will you not?"

"I know. It may be I am anxious over nothing."

Arwen gave a half-smile and cocked an eyebrow.

"Why do I think you will still be occupied by this, even after our conversation is finished?"

He only shrugged and turned up his palms.

As Arwen stood, she collected the shawl that her daughter had left behind.

"You have a few days yet before you depart. Please tell me you will not spend them mired in such heavy contemplation?"

Eldarion finally hazarded a smile.

"I will do my best."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Exiting the hall, Arwen encountered her oldest daughter heading in the opposite direction. Mírra reached for her shawl.

"I knew I had left this behind." She wrapped her shoulders. "Is Eldarion still at dinner?"

"Yes, and apparently happy to be alone with his thoughts, for the moment."

As they headed back to their quarters, Arwen turned to her daughter.

"Please, tell me we will be going riding again tomorrow?"

Mírra halted in surprise, but then grinned as curiosity got the better of her.

"Alright, we will ride tomorrow, but why?"

"I think it is more cheerful than the alternative. The men in this family are being far too serious at this time."

Mírra laughed.

meleth-nîn = my love
mell nîn = my dear
ada = dad/daddy (adar = father)
ion-nîn = my son

<><><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 5 - Visitors

<><><><><><><><><><>

It was a late April afternoon in the royal city, and the Queen was near completion of the work she had done in recent weeks in the south garden. The space itself had changed noticeably over the last four decades - what was once simply a pocket of green was now one of many lush gardens that had revitalised Minas Tirith.

The south garden of the Citadel though, being quite close to the High Court, was kept private for the royal family, and Arwen took great joy in maintaining it. Due to the work of the King's skilled architects it was fairly elevated, and provided a modest lookout of the Anduin.

Kneeling beside a patch of earth, Arwen gently took a small bundle wrapped in damp cloth from a basket next to her.

They may yet take hold. It is still early in the season.

She had found the three white orchids while walking about Mount Mindolluin. In Gondor they were a rarity, and Arwen paid special attention to collecting as many as she could. The pale blossoms had a delicate beauty but were quite hardy, and could last for almost a month if the weather was favourable.

Carefully handling the first bundle, Arwen removed the muslin wrapping and placed the plant into a small hollow in the damp earth. With luck it would settle into its new home.

She planted the remaining two, and began to tend to the rest of the flowerbed.

Just nearby sat Lúthea, reading, absentmindedly twirling a lock of smooth hair between her fingers. She had chosen to kneel on the ground, using a small stone bench as a table upon which a book was spread open.

Arwen heard her daughter's soft voice call out.

"Naneth?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What is 'a-the-las'?" She spoke the last word carefully, not sure of its pronunciation.

Arwen paused, looking up with interest. There was so much history to athelas, she could not begin to describe it all.

"What book have you got now?"

Lúthea lifted the cover briefly to look at the underside.

"Plant and Animal Life of Eriador."

"Ah. Athelas is a healing plant. It is also known in the north as 'kingsfoil'."

Lúthea flipped a few pages, and stopped when she found what she was looking for. "Kingsfoil is a low-lying plant with small, green leaves. Small white flowers through late summer and autumn," she read aloud. "It says it is hard to find, because it is often considered a weed." She frowned slightly. "But it says nothing here about healing properties."

Somehow, this did not surprise Arwen.

"Perhaps the author did not know of them. You should ask your father to tell you more about it. He knows much about that plant."

The princess came over to her mother, book still in hand. "But why do so many things have more than one name?'

Arwen looked up from where she knelt, expecting to see her daughter's brow creased in confusion. Eldarion had often complained of how much he had to memorise when he began learning. But to her surprise, Lúthea's expression was still light - she had asked out of plain curiosity, not frustration. Arwen gave the simplest answer she could.

"Well, it is because the different peoples of the world call things in nature by different names, in their own languages. When different cultures come together, they borrow words from each other. Some of those words last longer than others."

Lúthea seemed to accept this, and thought a moment. "I would choose to keep 'kingsfoil', because it is easier to pronounce."

"That is... a practical way of choosing."

Arwen wondered how long certain words would linger. Would there come a time, many years from now, when everything would have only one name? It was inevitable, she supposed.

She shook those thoughts away. "What does it say in your book about orchids?"

Kneeling down beside Arwen, Lúthea turned a few pages on her lap.

"Plant bearing flowers in fantastic shapes and brilliant colours, usually having one petal larger than the others." She looked to her mother after she had read the short passage. "There is a small drawing, here."

Arwen looked, and nodded to the flowerbed.

"Well, in a few weeks we may see for ourselves, if this works."

Lúthea smiled and turned back to quietly read another page or two. After a few moments she rose, and stepped slowly back to her bench, eyes still on her book. Eventually she left the volume on the bench and surveyed the work her mother was doing.

"Shall I help you?"

Arwen stood and brushed soil from her hands as she considered this offer.

"Will you collect some lavender for me?"

Lúthea cheerfully took up the now-empty basket beside her mother, as Arwen pulled a small pair of scissors from a pocket of her dress.

"You remember where to make the cuts on the stem?" she said as she handed them over.

"Of course."

And with the flash of a smile, she was off.

As the Queen was finishing up her work, one of her handmaids came briefly to deliver a letter that had arrived.

Arwen accepted the message, and was about to put it in her pocket to read later, when she was suddenly confronted with the familiar seal on the parchment. Her breath caught slightly in her throat. She sat down daze-like on the stone bench, staring at the crest made in the green wax.

We did not expect a message for weeks. What if their plans have changed?

Curiosity got the better of her anxiety, and she broke the letter's seal to read its contents. In a moment though, her fears vanished, and her expression brightened. She had worried for nothing.

Lúthea returned with her small basket filled with purple flowers, and then noticed the paper in her mother's hands.

"Is there news?" Her voice was light.

Arwen looked up and smiled, as she folded the letter to put it in a pocket of her skirts.

"Only to say we will have visitors earlier than expected."

"Oh. That will be nice." Her eyebrows lifted slightly, blissfully unaware of who the visitors would be. She presented her collection. "How are these, then?"

Arwen gave the basket an appraising smile. Her daughter had chosen well, not surprisingly.

"They will do nicely." She plucked a few blossoms and gently crushed them between her hands, with a wink. "We do not need to display them all, though - I think a few we may save for ourselves?"

Lúthea nodded eagerly. She lifted her hair back a little and turned her head to let her mother rub the crushed petals behind her ear. The Queen next did the same for herself, and they were both soon surrounded by a pleasant fragrance.

"I'll ask Adina for help to arrange them in the sitting room, if she is not too busy with Elenna. See you at dinner?"

"Of course."

The princess dipped her face toward the basket to take a deep breath of the lavender, and happily left to her task, remembering to take her book with her before she went.

Not more than a few minutes later, Arwen had cleaned up and set out to inform her husband of the letter's contents.

* * *

Having just returned from business in the city, the King walked into the Citadel, followed closely by attendants, who were doing their best to answer his questions. Now that the spring season was underway, trade activity was picking up, and he made sure to keep abreast of the latest reports.

He was so caught up in listening as he walked, that he did not notice his wife approaching, until she was almost directly before him. Aragorn smiled warmly and took her hand. A fresh floral scent greeted him as she came near.

The two attendants, who had accompanied their highness this far, bowed and discreetly made their exit down the corridor.

"This arrived just now. From Lórien."

She had perhaps walked a little too quickly; her heart beat faster than usual.

Aragorn's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as he took the parchment, and scanned its contents. "Elladan and Elrohir are coming early?"

Arwen squeezed his hand excitedly. "They should be here next week, if this is correct."

He had not expected the Lords of Imladris for another month. In truth he had so many other things on his agenda to think about, he had almost completely forgotten about their impending visit.

He put his arm around Arwen's shoulders, as they walked in the direction of the court. "Eldarion will not have returned yet," he said after a quiet moment.

"But he will, soon enough. Better late than never?"

Aragorn's mind began to turn. He was glad to have something else to plan for, besides official business.

"We must get ready, then."

Arwen circled an arm around her husband's waist.

"The week will pass too slowly." She looked up at him, biting her lip in a smile. "I cannot wait."

* * *

Sitting next to his wife, the King tried to remain still, and rested his hands flat on the arms of the high seat - he had never been used to calling it a throne. But even then his fingertips could not rest, as he unconsciously rubbed against the indentations in the grain of the wood. His collar seemed to chafe at his neck. The silver circlet he wore felt strangely heavy on his brow.

The Queen was making the same attempt at tranquillity, but he saw her fingers fidgeting in her lap.

With a sidelong glance, she caught his eye, gave a half smile.

"I keep telling myself this is not new, that they have been here before."

He turned the palm of his hand up and she brought her hand to meet it on the armrest. With entwined fingers they were both finally calm, for a moment.

"That does not make it less exciting, for much has changed since their last visit. The children have all grown so."

After he responded his thoughtful eyes looked briefly to their two older daughters, who sat near, quietly enthusiastic, but not quite knowing what to expect.

"To say nothing, I suppose, of the work you and Eldarion have done in renewing Gondor's eastern border?"

He turned back to her, smiling. "Of course, that too."

Before long the doors to the hall opened, allowing entrance to the party that had just arrived.

As the two tall, dark-haired elf-lords entered and approached the white-marbled dais, the King and Queen rose together and stood. There was a hush among the small gathering of courtiers who observed. Their deeds in the great war and in the northern kingdom were as well known as their connection to the Queen.

"You are welcome in Minas Tirith, Lords of Imladris," said Aragorn, stepping forward.

Formal introductions, though, were soon dispensed with in favour of more familiar greetings.

Elladan extended a hand first, his smile broad. "It is good to see you again, muindor-aran."

"And you."

Elrohir meanwhile happily greeted Arwen, embracing her warmly.

"I am glad to see you here early, for it has already been too long since your last visit," said the Queen, over her brother's shoulder.

"Little more than a decade, mell muinthel. But still we could see no reason to delay another month."

Aragorn extended his arm toward Mírra and Lúthea, who stood by shyly. Lúthea took her father's hand, and went immediately to his side, demurely looking towards her uncles with a slight smile. Mírra came forward with a little more eagerness, and gave a well-practised curtsy.

"You know Mírra and Lúthea," Arwen began, taking Mírra's side, "but they are much changed from how you remember them."

Elladan and Elrohir bowed, in turn.

"My goodness," said Elrohir, extending a hand to his older niece, "can this young lady be the same girl who could not keep her skirts clean from running around outside, when I last saw her?"

Mírra blushed furiously, but answered happily. "The same."

Lúthea remained next to her father, her stature still quite small compared with the tall family around her. She gave a curtsy as well, but was still too shy to speak.

"What of my nephew?" inquired Elladan.

"Eldarion is still with the White Company's campaign," answered Aragorn, "We expect to see him in a few weeks."

"You have not yet seen your youngest niece however," added Arwen. "When Elenna wakes you must meet her."

Elrohir shook his head. "This family seems to grow bigger each time we visit."

Aragorn chuckled. "Come, you must want to get settled. At dinner we will hear all your news."

* * *

News was indeed shared at dinner, excited conversation between hosts and guests. Mírra and Lúthea had hung on their uncles' every word - Elrohir in particular had been in fine form. But it was the King and the two Elf-lords who had kept the raucous chatter going on into the small hours.

Upon returning to their chambers, Aragorn had let the door close a little louder than anticipated.

"Shh, you will surely disturb the castle." Although she scolded him, a light smile played on her lips.

"Ah, at this hour, they will be asleep already."

"Precisely my point."

She took his hand to go into their bed chamber. It had been a good evening, with enough merry conversation to keep them occupied for hours yet. But it was now very late, they had to admit.

"I believe I have had too much wine," said Aragorn as he let his wife lead him slowly forward.

"I think all three of you did. Your heads will be aching tomorrow."

Coming to the bed, he sat down heavily.

"Maybe so."

"And so you should take your rest now, while you still can," Arwen finished, kissing his cheek.

Releasing his hand, she stepped away, just into the outer chamber to her dressing table, to remove her few pieces of jewelry. It had been a good evening. It made Arwen glad, to see the three of them so caught up with each other, like brothers again.

She heard a deep, quiet laugh come from the inner chamber.

"What is it now?"

"I cannot believe the stories Elrohir was dragging out," replied Aragorn, having laid himself back on the bed. He had raised a hand to rub his forehead, laughing softly, despite himself. "That time I nearly hit him with the arrow, when I was first learning."

"I thought he said it grazed his ear?"

Aragorn let out a dismissive noise. "He makes it sound worse than it was, like I aimed for him on purpose. I think it was rather he who was in the way."

Arwen finally returned, undressed and wearing her robe, and crawled across the bed to kneel over him.

"Poor thing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now, you are sympathetic? I did not see you come to my defence before."

"That is because it was simply too much fun to watch the three of you laughing."

She brushed hair off his face, feeling him lightly take hold of her waist, and gave him a simple kiss on the lips. His eyes grew calm as he looked up at her.

"Sleep now, for you will surely be tired in the morning."

Once again he cocked an eyebrow, and raised his hands to her waist, over the thinly-woven fabric of her robe.

"There is no need to fuss, for I am not tired yet, bain hîril."

She could not help grinning back. "Oh, indeed, hîr-nin?"

Aragorn pulled her close, and wrapping his arms about her, rolled her over on her back.

"Indeed," he replied, bringing his lips to hers in a firm kiss.

She smiled against the roughness of his beard, with the familiar, comfortable weight of his body over her. Perhaps their night together was not ending just yet.

* * *

There was much to catch up on from the last decade or so, but for the most part the reunited family was content to let days pass easily, acquainting Elladan and Elrohir once again with the capital of the southern realm.

On one afternoon, still in the early days of their visit, Elladan remained behind with his sister and two younger nieces, sitting in the garden. Aragorn had gone with Mírra, who was most eager to show Elrohir the stables.

"You have done marvellous work here, Arwen," said Elladan, surveying the lush flowerbeds and greenery around them. "It feels as though I never left Imladris."

His sister beamed notably at the compliment.

He moved to sit down next to Arwen, who held Elenna on her lap. Lúthea sat to the side, quietly absorbed in embroidery, while her mother and uncle talked.

"She favours Estel," he remarked on his youngest niece, who was observing him with curiosity.

Arwen nodded, smiling. "They are quite close. Elenna is so cheerful, she could turn the heart of anyone, I think."

As if to prove her mother's words, Elenna gave a smile and a small wave to her uncle. She was warming up to him. Elladan could not help smiling in return. He extended a hand to meet one of hers.

"Mae govannen, tim-gwenn."

Elenna's smiled widened into a gap-toothed grin. Her light eyes sparkled.

Seeing her, at the age she was now, Elladan was reminded of another meeting... Had it really been so long ago? It was over a century now, and things had been so different then. And that small boy was now grown into a King...

"I certainly have much to catch up on, for Lúthea was just this one's age the last time I was here. How she has grown," Elladan remarked, with a nod to his other niece, who remained calmly focused on the needle and fabric in her hands.

He paused a moment, contemplating something that he was surprised not to have thought of before.

"Lúthea reminds me of adar, you know."

Arwen looked back at him, sudden pride in her voice. "You see it too?"

The older elf nodded slowly.

"Yes... I cannot quite pin down the exact detail, but it is there. There is something about the way she concentrates, that seems just as how father was, when he would sit at his desk..." He turned to Arwen, a little sheepish. "I am sorry. I seem to be waxing philosophical these days."

"What is so wrong with that? Tell me what is on your mind."

Elladan shook his head slightly, thinking, and then rested his cheek against his palm as he continued.

"I was just remembering when Elrohir and I were young, and just beginning our studies. Father was always so diligent about showing us his library, taking such care with our lessons. I think he was a little disappointed that we did not have the same devotion for it that he did. But by the time you arrived, perhaps he decided it was best not push you into it."

Elladan looked over at his sister, expecting a reply. She was smiling faintly as she watched Lúthea, but there was a melancholy look behind her eyes.

"Arwen?"

She blinked as if waking herself out of a daze, and straightened as she turned her eyes back to her brother.

"Oh... I was just following my memory too, back to when I was small."

Elenna began to grow restless, so Arwen allowed her to slide her still-chubby legs down to the ground. She spied her sister close by. Lúthea looked up from her stitching and saw Elenna looking in her direction. She set the fabric down on the bench beside her and held her arms out. Elenna crawled over happily.

"When I used to sit in father's study," the Queen continued reflectively, "I think I found the books all quite fascinating because they were beautiful, and there were so many of them. But when I was that young I did not understand why he spent so much time with them. Now, it makes me glad to see Lúthea take such an interest."

"It is not all accidental, surely," Elladan teased his sister, giving her a nudge.

Despite herself, Arwen blushed.

"I have told her many tales, certainly, but it is Aragorn that introduced her to the library. To tell the truth, I am sorry I did not think of it myself, she likes it so much."

Brother and sister shared a smile.

"Naneth!"

The two elves were drawn out of their reflection by an excited call from Lúthea. Looking over, they saw her kneeling next to Elenna, who was standing, all on her own. Lúthea held out one arm hesitantly, half-expecting the little girl to fall back down.

"She's doing it!" Lúthea smiled.

But she did not fall, only stood with hand still at her mouth, while the other gave a wave.

Arwen drew in an excited breath and immediately crouched to extend her hands to her smallest daughter.

"Come on then, what are you waiting for now?"

Elenna seemed to take note of the few feet between her and her mother. Cautiously, she took one step. Evidently it was sound enough to propel her forward, for in four more small steps she reached Arwen's waiting arms.

"The first time, then?" Elladan inquired, as Arwen gave the little girl a congratulatory hug.

"The first time on her own," the Queen replied. "And you kept us in suspense long enough, didn't you?"

Elenna's only answer was another gap-toothed smile.

Arwen turned back to her brother.

"You will stay the season, then?"

The Elf-lord nodded. "I can see there is much visiting to be done, no doubt about that."

Translations (Sindarin): = mother
muindor-aran = brother-king
mell muinthel = dear sister
bain hiril = beautiful lady
mae govannen, tim-gwenn = well met, little star girl
adar = father

naneth

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Chapter 6 - Further Reflections

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Just after the break of dawn, a moderate sized party of riders assembled in the foothills of Emyn Arnen made final preparations for departure. The sky was overcast with clouds that had lingered from recent rain. A few horses whinnied, shook their bridles in eagerness.

A young man at the side of the group rubbed his gloved hands together in the briskness of the cold morning. He made one last check of his saddle, and mounted. Another man, some years older, rode near and gave a brief salute.

"All appears to be ready, my lord. Barring a few last minute adjustments to harnesses, the usual things, we await only your command."

Eldarion held back a chuckle, only smiled. "That is something I am not yet used to giving."

Brennan answered amiably. "I would think that six weeks with the White Company, patrolling the western side of the Ephel Duath, more than qualifies you, my lord."

The young Lord of Minas Tirith pulled his sable cloak closer about his shoulders, pushed hair of the same colour off his face. "Very well, my friend." He pursed his smile as he straightened his posture in the saddle. "Let the company move out."

Eldarion spoke easily to his companion as they made their way toward the Osgiliath. Having left so early in the day, they could afford to take a relaxed pace for an hour or two.

"Is it true that Elves inhabit this region? I see few signs of them."

"So they say," replied Brennan. "Often Elven ambassadors meet with the King in his city. But the signs of their presence are indeed most evident. How do you think this land comes to be so fair?"

Late spring was certainly an opportune time of year to journey through Gondor's eastern province. Aside from the dense foliage of the foothills, this countryside had lush greenery that was not to be found in the other regions of the southland.

There could be no doubt though, that of all the lands that had felt the wrath of Darkness during the Third Age, Ithilien, sharing a border with the lands of Shadow, was in the direst need of relief.

"Even two decades ago, when I was first sent on a patrol here, it was not like this," continued Brennan, "To see it now thriving is a most glad sight."

"Perhaps when I have seen other provinces, Ithilien's beauty will seem more pronounced by comparison." Eldarion could not help sighing a little. "Listen to me - I fear I am sounding like my sister, thinking only of seeing new places."

"Ah, there is no need for you to feel anxious on that account. I was much the same way, in my younger years."

"Was Ithilien your first posting in those days, then?"

"Oh no, my earlier expeditions were simply messenger errands through Anórien and Lebennin. Occasionally as far as Eastfold. Did I never tell you of this before?"

The prince shook his head.

"Well, my friends never understood why I was so eager to take up the messenger work, but believe me, there was nothing I would have liked better. My only task was to ride across the country, and to me it felt like exploring. I grew to know the White Mountains quite well during those years."

Eldarion was reminded of a few certain maps that he had lately taken an interest in.

"You say you sometimes saw Eastfold? Did you never journey to Lamedon at all?"

"A few times... yes, but not nearly so often. By the time I was making journeys of that length, I was reassigned to the site of Minas Ithil. And then to the White City, when a certain boy needed help with his sword work..."

"...and he is most grateful for your tutelage."

Brennan grinned back.

"Just remember who taught you everything you know, when it is your turn to wear the crown."

Eldarion raised a hand in declaration. "That day is still thankfully far off, my friend."

The two men were silent for a moment, and navigated the horses towards an upcoming river crossing. Osgiliath was now coming in sight to the northwest.

Eldarion, though, was reluctant to let their conversation go so easily. "But what have you seen of Lamedon, Brennan? Do you know the place of Erech?"

"I was there once... no, twice. Years ago though. I hear that region has also changed over the last few decades."

The prince remained inquisitive. "And the land north of there, towards Edoras. What do you know of that?"

Brennan turned directly to his companion, now more than a little intrigued by his questions. "You are driving at something, my lord. What is it you wish to know?"

Eldarion looked back, lips pursed in thought. "I am curious about Erech... and the Paths of the Dead."

Brennan straightened with a deep breath, and responded carefully. "I would think questions about that are better directed to your father, the King."

The younger man scratched a dark eyebrow.

"I know... The last time I consulted with him, about this journey, I had been looking at maps of the western provinces. That is when I began to think of it. I cannot tell why, but I could not bring myself to question him."

"But my lord, you must know that story. Every child in this country knows of those events, of how the War of the Ring was won..."

"...Yes, but still my father rarely speaks of it," Eldarion interjected. "He tells us of the past, but somehow I wonder if there are some things he does not want to be reminded of."

Brennan was not sure how to respond to the prince's comments about the King. Such matters seemed too personal to discuss with an outsider.

"I can tell you what I know about the landscape, and the great stone at Erech, and the tales of those who witnessed Elessar's journey to the Pelargir, but beyond that..."

"Beyond that, only my father can tell," Eldarion finished. Brennan gave a silent nod.

They came now to the bridge just east of Osgiliath, and began to cross. It was not yet midday; they would be at Minas Tirith by mid afternoon, with luck.

"We should let the horses take water here, and then press on across Anduin."

"Agreed, my lord."

The prince turned to his companion after the company had halted.

"Still, not having seen the place myself, I would enjoy hearing your account of Erech, and the great stone. It must be an impressive sight."

"That it is." As they dismounted, Brennan cleared his throat and collected his thoughts. "No one can tell the origin of the stone, but so the story goes, in the days of Isildur..."

* * *

"Did you not want to go with Aragorn and Elrohir? I believe Mírra planned to lead them out to the riverside."

Elladan turned, a little surprised to see his sister had found him.

"No, I suppose I wanted to stay inside today."

"Me, too," Arwen smiled. "Lúthea seems to be of like mind, for she was heading to finish some weaving when I left her."

Elladan folded his arms and leaned back against one wall of the spacious hallway they were in, quite near to the library. The high walls and floor were of the same sand-coloured marble of the archives area. This wide corridor, though, was filled with artwork, portraits of Kings and Queens, of Stewards from years past.

Elladan nodded to the large painting in front of him.

"I am trying to recall if the other portraits I have seen of Valacar are as unflattering."

Arwen raised an eyebrow at the artist's conception, painted in rather unattractive tones indeed.

"Oh, the small matter of a Kin-strife, you mean?" She gave a small chuckle. "Perhaps some memories fade more quickly than others."

Elladan's hands were clasped comfortably behind his back as they made their way side by side down the corridor, the brother just a little taller than his sister.

"I had thought to refresh my memory of the Southern line, but the portraits are not as complete as I had expected," he observed, "many seem to be missing from earlier in the third age."

"Yes, before King Tarandor it is indeed incomplete. The Disasters resulted in great material loss, and so before then we are still missing a great deal." Arwen sighed a little. "Lúthea is making discoveries to much the same effect in the library, and Aragorn is often lamenting the gaps in the written records."

She caught her brother's curious glance, briefly.

"I have found that there is much to remember, Elladan. There is so much history here, that we were little aware of."

They came to a small foyer where two hallways met, skirted by a few small benches. Elladan motioned to one and they both sat. On the wall opposite them hung an impressive portrait of Ecthelion I.

"You do seem to be familiar with it all," said the elf-lord after a quiet moment.

"It is partly to do with the children, you know. This is their homeland, after all."

"That it is."

Arwen knitted her brow for a brief moment, considering something.

"What would you say to me waxing philosophical again, for a few moments?"

Elladan turned to her with interest.

"Alright. What is on your mind?"

"It is just that, since our discussion a few weeks ago though, I find myself thinking about the older days more and more, all the time we used to spend in father's study..."

Arwen's voice trailed off slightly, but she paused for only a moment.

"...On some level that time seems so far away, when I look at how much has happened for this part of the world. In fact it is almost an entire Age away, and yet I can recall those moments as if they were yesterday. Of the years in between, there are so many moments that I'm sure have faded completely from my mind, but then there are still others that I will always remember."

Elladan began to hear confusion in his sister's voice.

"Time itself seems strange... in the way the days pass. It seems I remember every day, each of them, when before I was never aware of them. I watch the children change, see them grow, and so I cannot help but think it is why my view of the world is altered as well..."

"You mean to say that your perception of time, your life, is now measured by the scale of your children's lives?" Elladan interjected.

Arwen nodded, meeting his eyes. There she saw recognition, understanding of the thoughts she was trying to make sense of.

"That does not seem unreasonable to me." Elladan leaned forward, distractedly rubbing his beardless cheek as he continued. "From that perspective, it is fitting that time should feel different to you. But I do not think those variations are for you alone. The world itself seems to be changing." He shook his head as if in defeat. "At first everything was fine, after..."

He did not need to finish the sentence, as they both knew the event to which he referred.

"Peace returned to the land, the Darkness had disappeared... And Elrohir and I were proud to manage Imladris in father's place. But it is clear to me now, that the Shadow is not the only thing in this world that fades."

Their people were gradually departing. There was nothing to be done.

"Have you decided, Elladan?"

He answered carefully, surely. "No. No, Elrohir and I have not made any choice yet."

Arwen swallowed hard, and for a moment did not know what to say. "You... you have spoken little of grandfather since you arrived. He must be confronting much the same feelings."

Though Elladan's concerned gaze remained on his sister, she looked down at her knees while she spoke. He sighed disconcertedly.

"He... he seems unsettled. He has spent time in Greenwood, in King Thranduil's court. We have discussed him coming to stay at Imladris, and I think he may accept the offer soon. I am not sure that Lórien has felt much like home to him, of late. In fact, he was preparing to leave again, when we left him."

Arwen then looked to him, her eyes thoughtful, but sad.

"That is why you arrived here so early?"

Elladan nodded. They were quiet for a few moments, as elements of their discussion began to sink in. There was one subject that Elladan still wanted to raise, but felt the need for caution.

"There is something I have been considering, for the latest weeks of our visit, and I wonder how you would feel about it, given what we have just been speaking of."

Arwen could not help feeling a little wary.

"We have been busy of late in father's library," Elladan continued, "taking stock of the collection, and such matters. I am wondering, since Luthea seems to be taking an interest in history, should I perhaps send some things here?"

"What kind of materials?"

"I am not completely sure yet, mainly journals, record books. Some literature. Duplicates and later editions that might do well for the collection here."

"Adar's writings?"

She did not ask what the purpose was for removing such items from Imladris. But then, what would happen to it all, if her brothers did eventually depart?

Elladan nodded. "Some of it is, yes." He was aware of his sister's restraint, aware of how quiet she had become since broaching the subject of their father. "Does it bother you?"

Arwen stood carefully, trying not to frown too much, trying not to make this into more than it was. She folded her arms as she glanced back at the portrait in front of them, such a majestic image of the beloved Steward. There were few such images of her own kin to be found in the palace.

"The children know some things about our family, but not all," she said as she turned back to face her brother. "Truth be told, I am not sure how much I should tell them."

"You do want them to know of our line?"

"Of course, it is just that... I do not know how I would explain it. Sometimes it is hard enough for me to confront those memories on my own, let alone teach them." Her voice became quiet. "For Aragorn, it is different, but I am still getting used to the fact that some day, books will be the only way my children will hear of their heritage."

Elladan knew she spoke honestly, but could sense there were unspoken thoughts beneath the exterior calm. He rose to stand in front of her.

"I do not mean to force this on you, it was only an idea. But if they do want to learn, discover it for themselves perhaps, it would be there for them?"

Arwen turned her eyes back up to him, and he thought she still hesitated, but her expression cleared a little as she responded.

"Yes. You are right." She smiled faintly. "Whatever books you choose to send, I'm sure they would help Luthea to develop her language skills. Eldarion would perhaps be interested also." She thought in silence a moment more. "Yes, it is a good idea."

Elladan relaxed slightly.

"Good. We will look into it when we return in the fall, then." He took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "But books are not the only way my nieces and nephew can learn. Elrohir and I are here. Daeradar is here. Know that we will remain as long as we are needed."

Arwen nodded.

"I do know." She looked at him warmly. "And I am glad for it." She sighed, as if releasing some tension that had gathered during their talk. "How is it that we have now grown so serious, in these peaceful times?"

"I have no easy answer to that. I suppose we must occupy ourselves with something."

Elladan gave his sister his arm. But as they began to walk back toward the royal wing of the palace, Arwen remained quiet, in thought.

"I do not want to think of him with sadness, Elladan."

He covered his sister's hand with one of his own, not quite sure of what else he could say.

"I know, mell muinthel."

* * *

On the same day, the King and his oldest daughter were giving Elrohir a tour of the terrain near the City. Though the sky was cloudy, it was the driest day they had seen in a week's time.

The princess royal rode ahead, in sight of them, guiding her grey horse around the occasional tree or rut in the ground. From time to time she dipped into the conversation, but for the most part was content to explore on her own. Aragorn and Elrohir kept a more leisurely pace, chatting lightly.

After a time Mírra turned back to her father, saying her horse needed to stretch his legs.

"I think I shall ride just the river's edge, and come straight back," she said, pointing in the direction of the Anduin, which was just in sight.

Aragorn nodded his assent.

"Do watch out near the water though - the ground is still quite muddy from the rain this week."

"Of course." She appeared to give a slight roll of her eyes, but smiled. "You two are simply too slow for us today," she said as she patted her horse's mane.

Elrohir could only try to suppress a laugh as his niece galloped off.

"It is disappointing the day is not finer," Aragorn sighed. "We had been having such a warm spring until now."

"Mírra's enthusiasm for riding, though, seems undiminished by the weather," replied Elrohir. They watched her race away comfortably across the grassy terrain, her grey cloak matching the colour of her horse's coat.

"I think she hopes to catch a glimpse by the river, of Eldarion's party. He is expected to return this afternoon."

"Excellent, I look forward to asking him about his travels."

"You are right about Mírra's enthusiasm, though, she has always been eager for the outdoors." said the King in agreement. "She was a welcome guest of the Steward of Gondor and his Lady, earlier in the season," he added almost as an aside.

A smile crossed Elrohir's face.

"Yes, she recounted her journey to me, with much excitement."

"For the past year she has talked of almost nothing but seeing new places. I had thought to have her wait until she turned seventeen, but it seems that the court could not match the prospect of an outdoor adventure, for her."

"Is that really so hard to believe?" said the elf-lord, "When you were the age she is now, you could not wait to escape father's study, when you had the chance to go on patrols with us."

"I do know what it is to want to see the places in the maps, to want to do more than read about other lands. But even though I know Eldarion would rather be outside than studying, he still undertakes his learning diligently. Lúthea, she always seems to have something to occupy herself with, is happy in any part of the palace." Aragorn gave another sigh. "But Mírra... it seems no amount of activity in the palace can tempt her away from the stables, from the river, from the mountainside."

"Perhaps she simply needs more time, she is young yet," Elrohir reasoned.

"That is just what Arwen keeps telling me."

"But is it so terrible, for one so young to not know of her path?" The elf-lord shrugged. "She says she wants only to travel, to ride. So perhaps it may happen that one of those journeys will lead her to the right path. You can only guide her until she finds it."

Aragorn was silent for a thoughtful moment, before he responded.

"Perhaps it is because our paths were chosen for us, that I wonder so much about this. We had so few choices to make in the courses of our own lives."

Elrohir's expression became oddly calm. "It was a different time. That much is certain."

"And for that I am glad. I would never want them to face what we faced."

"We did what we did, so that they would not have to."

Both riders were now quiet, as a cool wind came about their ears. In the distance, they could see Mírra just beginning to return.

"You are still in good communication with Annúminas?" Aragorn asked at length.

Elrohir nodded, lifted his eyebrows just a little. "I wondered when you would ask about that."

"Can you blame me for not wanting to talk business for the entire length of your visit?"

"No, of course not," grinned the Elf-lord. "Yes, there is steady news, and the city is becoming more stable. It seems that with each year the Northern people grow more comfortable with the idea of having a capital again."

"To say nothing of the fact that Imladris will not be so overrun with Dúnedain, returning from expeditions?"

"On the contrary, muindor, it means we are constantly wanting for dinner conversation." His eyes glinted mischievously. "The Edain may not be skilled minstrels, but they tell wild stories."

The King laughed. "You seem to recall enough to make up for it."

As Mírra at last approached, they became quiet again, though something in Aragorn's countenance seemed to have lifted.

"You are still too slow," said the princess as she returned, breathless and exuberant. "What have you been talking of so seriously?"

Elrohir spoke first, and took the opportunity to attempt to lighten their discussion.

"Ah, it is only business. Methinks you are working too hard, Estel."

Aragorn sat up a little straighter, responded in a similar vein.

"One does not rebuild a kingdom overnight, Elrohir. Perhaps it is rather that my kinsmen in Arnor are not busy enough?"

Elrohir gave a silent smirk in reply.

"Why does he call you that, father?" Mírra interjected, recognising a name her uncles had used much over the last few weeks.

Aragorn gave a sidelong glance to his brother-in-law.

"That name is how I was first known to Elladan and Elrohir, before I was told of my heritage."

"Ah, do not listen to him," said the elf-lord with a wink at his niece, "It is because your father has so many names, I can only remember the simplest one."

"I didn't think 'Your Highness' was so hard to remember?"

Mírra laughed aloud.

"I see it is still muddy by the water, judging by the state of your clothes..." observed Elrohir.

Mírra looked down and saw the splatters of mud across her boots and hem of her dress. Her cheeks became even more pink than they had been after her brief race.

"...or perhaps the little girl I remember from my last visit, who was always getting mud on her skirts, has not changed so very much?"

"But at least my skirts are proper and courtly, now," she winked back.

Translations (Sindarin):

daeradar = grandfather
mell muinthel = dear sister
muindor = brother

Some small notes on the history of Gondor, from the Appendix to ROTK, and the Encyclopedia of Arda:

The Paths of the Dead is pretty well covered in ROTK, I think. "The Dead" or "Oathbreakers" were Men of the White Mountains who swore allegiance to Isildur in the Second Age, then turned to worship Sauron, and were cursed to walk the Paths of the Dead. They were rallied by Aragorn at Erech, where he raised the standard of Arwen. Regarding the Stone itself: "Unearthly it looked, as though it had fallen from the sky, as some believed... None of the people of the valley dared to approach it, nor would they dwell near; for they said that it was a trysting-place of the Shadow-men and there they would gather in times of fear, thronging round the Stone and whispering." (p 61, ROTK)

Valacar succeeded his father Rómendacil as King of the Southern Realm in T.A. 1366, and married Vidumavi, daughter of Vidugavia, King of Rhovanion. (Rhovanion = land between Mirkwood and river Celduin). This marriage was later the cause of a civil war (the "Kin-strife," or the First Disaster of Gondor.). Because their son Eldacar was the child of a "lesser race" of men, the Dúnedain of Gondor were unwilling to accept him as the heir to the throne. "Therefore when Eldacar succeeded his father there was war in Gondor." (Appendix A, p 398) For some reason I imagine that the Arnorian spin on that history would be a little more sympathetic. :)

The uprising against Eldacar resulted in a siege and the Burning of Osgiliath, in which one of the palantíri was lost. Osgiliath was originally the King's home, until Tarandor, the nephew of Telemnar (and his successor), moved it to Minas Tirith (formerly Minas Anor). There had also been a great plague (the Second Disaster) preceding the reign of Telemnar. These events suggest to me that there was likely a great amount of material loss for the royal houses, so whatever royal items are kept in Minas Tirith would be partially incomplete, including records and artwork.

Ecthelion I became Ruling Steward in T.A. 2685, and during his rule the White Tower of Minas Tirith was restored. "The Tower of Ecthelion was used to bear the standard of the City, and - at least during the last years of the Third Age - held the palantír known as the Anor-stone." (Encyclopedia of Arda)

Annúminas was the capital of the Northern Kingdom until it fell into ruin sometime in the Third Age. (exact date is not given) I imagine that it would have been restored after Aragorn became King, and it would make sense for the Dúnedain to be in transition between using Annúminas and Rivendell as a "home base" at this point in the Fourth Age. [that's just my take on things. :) ]

(This chapter has an R rating, for the last scene.)

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Chapter 7- Gifts and Partings

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"Oh Mírra, it's lovely, it suits you so well."

Lúthea admired the necklace her sister had just received as a birthday gift from her uncles. It was very like a bracelet she herself had been given when she had turned twelve in the early days of their visit. The chain and setting were of finest silver, and set in the centre was a crystal of amethyst.

Elladan had helped to fasten the chain around Mírra's neck, and she fingered the stone as she grew accustomed to the weight of it.

"I hardly ever consider jewelry," Mírra said after a moment, her expression brightening, "but I do think I like this piece."

The violet crystal was only the size of coin, but many of the crystal faces had been polished smooth without overly rounding the edges, retaining a certain quality of imperfection in its natural beauty.

"I am pleased to hear it then," smiled Elladan.

"And now we match, you see," Lúthea displayed her bracelet, in which a series of much tinier, more well-shaped lavender stones were linked in the same silver setting.

"So we do. Do you think will impress all the young men now?" she teased.

The younger girl blushed but could not help giggling.

Mírra returned her sister's smile, and turned and stepped to where her mother and father were sitting with Elenna, to show off her new trinket. Arwen reached out a hand in appraisal.

Lúthea's attention soon turned to a wooden box on the table.

"May we play?" She asked hopefully.

Elladan bemusedly turned his grey eyes to his niece.

"Dominoes again?"

She nodded, biting back a grin.

"Alright then, but with only two of us you will surely best me immediately."

They began to tip out the white tiles on to the table, to turn over the blank sides.

All were aware that there were only a few weeks lingering of the Elf-lords' visit, though no one spoke of it.

"Perhaps Elrohir can play too?"

"I think he is quite occupied with something else at the moment," said Elladan wryly, with a glance to the other side of the room.

Elrohir and Eldarion sat facing each other, both bent intently over a chessboard between them.

"Ada shall play then," Lúthea decided, crossing to the sofa. She had to plead with Aragorn for only a few moments, before the King left Elenna with Arwen and Mírra, and came over to join his daughter at the table.

"Alright then," he said lightly, rubbing his hands together, "you shall have to remind me of the rules."

"That can be done, I'm sure," returned Elladan, "but I do not think that will help our odds against our opponent here."

Lúthea tried not to look satisfied. "You must choose ten pieces with which to start," she explained.

As they began the game, Elladan gave a nod to his brother and nephew. "Perhaps next time we meet, I shall teach you chess?"

Aragorn observed his daughter consider this offer.

"Maybe. But for now I should like something that is not so perplexing."

The King winked. "A wise decision, sell nîn."

The prince and his uncle indeed had a serious air about them, as they continued their own game. Eldarion leaned his chin on his hand as he considered what piece he would move next. Elrohir watched calmly, with arms folded.

Eldarion stretched out his other hand over one piece, let it hover there for a moment.

"Be certain that is the best move, before you make it," said Elrohir.

"I have not touched any piece yet," countered Eldarion, raising an eyebrow.

He withdrew his hand and thought in silence for a little while more, before finally deciding to move a pawn forward. It was then his turn to sit back with folded arms, while he waited for his uncle to complete his next move.

"Have you given any thought to my offer?" said Elrohir, eyes still on the game board.

"I have, yes," replied Eldarion, with a short nod. "I must admit I would like to see Arnor, and the work at Annúminas. The patrols you describe sound intriguing."

"But not intriguing enough, by the sound of things?"

Eldarion leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I don't know. I keep thinking there is more I need to see in the South, before I can devote time in the North. Adar has told me much though, of the years when he rode with you and Elladan."

The Elf-lord nodded. "Even now, orcs still prove to be a challenge in the mountains, but the times are not as desperate as they once were, fortunately."

Elrohir sat up again, ignoring the game for the moment.

"The work in South Ithilien is going well, then?"

"This spring was very successful, I think. We regained substantial control of this side of the Ephel Duath, and the White Company's reach now extends firmly all the way to the Poros."

"That is advantageous indeed."

"We would like it to extend farther of course, but it is best to keep hold of the territory over the winter, make sure it is secure before trying to challenge for more."

"A sound decision, I think." Elrohir observed his nephew with something touching appraisal. "I must say I am pleased to hear the news of that province, from you. We have constant news from Osgiliath and Emyn Arnen, but mostly touching on the restoration work. I often wonder what the reports are missing, when they do not come directly from those who are in the middle of the action."

"Then I shall write and tell you as much as I can."

"I would look forward to that," replied Elrohir with a smile. "Do you think you will be spending much time there next spring as well?"

Eldarion pondered this. "I am not sure yet. Father has been in much correspondence with Rohan the last few months. I think a journey there next year will be inevitable for him."

"For you also, then?"

Eldarion nodded.

"Well," continued Elrohir, "That will certainly provide more opportunity for you to explore the South."

"You are right on that account." The prince paused. "It is not that Arnor is not intriguing. I have given it much thought."

"You need not trouble yourself over it," replied Elrohir, "it will still be there in another year, or two, or ten, what ever decision you come to."

The Elf-lord turned his attention back to the chessboard, and within a moment had completed his move.

"And now it is your turn," he said with a nod to the prince.

"So it is."

* * *

"It still seems as though you just arrived," said Arwen as she embraced her older brother, just inside the city gates.

"And here I was worried we would overstay our welcome," replied Elladan.

"You know that is not possible."

"Your visit has been most welcome indeed," added Aragorn, bidding his own farewell to Elrohir, then to Elladan.

All too soon, it seemed, the warmth of summer had made way for the burning colours of autumn. But by all accounts the Elf-lords' visit had been a success.

"Your journey will again take you through Lorien?" asked the King.

"We may winter there, if it suits our grandfather," replied Elladan.

"You will tell him that Arwen and I send our regards?"

"Of course, he will be pleased to hear our tales of this summer, no doubt."

Arwen took her turn to say goodbye to Elrohir.

"One summer or another, we must host you."

It was not the first time Elrohir had mentioned this, but Arwen did not want to debate with him now.

"When Elenna has grown older, perhaps."

Elrohir gave a brief nod. "I understand."

They embraced tightly, as Elrohir spoke over her shoulder.

"Promise you will not stay away for too long? Imladris is lonely without you."

"I promise."

As they separated, Arwen turned to see Lúthea arrive with Eldarion, to say their own goodbyes.

Elladan bent to give Lúthea a tight hug, making her giggle.

"We will soon send you many books to keep you busy for months on end," said the Elf-lord with a slight twinkle in his eye.

"I will like that very much."

Elladan caught his sister's eye just then, saw her nod in approval.

Elrohir shook Eldarion's hand, and they appeared to be in deep conversation for a few moments.

"But where are my other nieces?" inquired Elladan.

As if on cue, Mírra soon met up with them, holding Elenna on her arm.

"Not a moment too soon," said Elrohir.

"I am sorry," said the oldest princess, "but the walk through the palace is quite slow, when one of us keeps getting distracted." She tilted her head pointedly to her littlest sister.

Mírra let Elenna down, and she scurried over to her uncles, only to be swept up by Elladan.

"We could not leave without bidding you farewell, of course," he said with a grin, which was returned brightly by Elenna.

Mírra stepped over to kiss her uncles goodbye.

"Be sure to keep your skirts clean, young lady," said Elrohir, only half-serious.

"Of course I will not," laughed Mírra.

After a few final words from everyone, and hearty handshakes all around, the horses were brought around, and Elladan and Elrohir assembled with their party.

"Navaer, my lords," said Aragorn.

"Until next time," said Elrohir, adding only a brief glance to his sister.

Arwen smiled, and waved as they turned their horses around, and rode through the city gates. The late morning sun was high over the city as the party rode out.

Although the children soon drifted back to the palace, having seen their uncles depart, Arwen remained outside the gate. Aragorn stayed with her, as she stretched her eyes to see them ride out of sight.

He laid a hand on her back, and she found she was grateful for his touch.

"It is only until next time, undomiel."

"I know." She turned her gaze to him, tried to keep the melancholy she felt from showing too much. "But after such a summer, the autumn and winter will seem bare indeed."

They turned, and Aragorn took Arwen's hand as they slowly made their way back from the city's edge.

Though Arwen was quiet as they walked, he felt her squeeze his hand tightly.

* * *

"Mírra, I am getting cold, may we go back to the palace now?"

Lúthea, pulling her cloak tightly around her and clutching a bundle close under her arm, caught up with her sister at one of the market stalls. Winter had settled over the city for a month now, and it was indeed chilly.

The older princess had stopped to look at some silver jewelry, but although she closely examined a few pieces, nothing tempted her.

As Lúthea came up next to her, they turned together and walked out into the open air. The younger princess still came only to her sister's shoulder.

"But it was you who wanted to come to the market in the first place."

"I know, but now I want to get this home, and nicely wrapped," said the younger girl anxiously.

"You could have sent someone to get it, if you did not want to come out in the snow yourself."

"Yes, but then I would not have been able to make sure myself that it was just right." She took her parcel in both hands. "Do you think Eldarion will like this gift?

For her brother's upcoming birthday, Lúthea had selected a set of pens and inks.

"It is not the gift itself that matters, he will be happy that you thought about it so much."

Lúthea looked down again at the parcel in her hands.

"All the same, I hope he likes it. Thank you for taking me to the market."

"You're welcome." It was not as if Mírra needed an excuse to go out.

They continued to make their way through the streets, snow under their feet. Minas Tirith was much quieter in the winter, the market less crowded. They passed only a few other shoppers on their way.

Large, fluffy white flakes of snow drifted down to the girls' sable cloaks, down to augment what had already collected on the ground.

Just as they came near to the Citadel, Mírra stopped and turned her face upward, to try and catch a snowflake in her mouth. As she tilted her head back, the hood of her cloak fell down to her shoulders, exposing loose, dark hair.

Lúthea turned back as she saw her sister had paused.

"What are you doing? More are landing in your hair than on your tongue."

Mírra righted herself. "So? This is the best part about winter."

"If only we could have the snow, without the cold."

"I rather think the snow makes the cold better."

"Even though our noses are red, and we will be sniffling if we stay out for much longer?"

"Yes, even so."

"I do not understand you sometimes."

"Ha. Good."

Lúthea shook her head. "Come on, let us get back."

"Just a few more."

Mírra took a few steps forward, but turned her face up again, to catch a few more snowflakes.

Lúthea, waiting patiently, noticed one of the Citadel guards observing the two of them. She thought she had been mistaken, but as he turned his face away to resume his formal posture, she saw him blush slightly. He was quite young, perhaps a year or two younger than her brother.

"Alright." Mírra pulled her hood back up and brushed snow off her cloak as she joined her sister again.

As they entered the Citadel, Lúthea glanced back briefly towards the young guard.

"What?" Mírra, curious, looked at her sister, then to the Citadel entrance and back again. "What is it?"

"I saw that guard looking at you, though he should not be," Lúthea smiled, "I saw his cheeks turn pink as he looked away."

"You are exaggerating... why would any man look at me?"

Lúthea shrugged, then a sudden grin crossed her face.

"Maybe he likes winter also."

Mírra poked her sister, feeling somewhere between appalled and flattered.

"Come on, you."

* * *

She took Lúthea's free hand and led them quickly back toward the palace. Before long both of them were giggling as they ran.

A few weeks later, Mírra and Eldarion were sitting in the study, poring over maps.

"Let me see the section on Calembel again?"

"I'm not sure why it matters, father will surely want take the West Road when we go to Edoras."

"Even still."

Eldarion flipped a few pages.

"It's just near the intersection of Ringló and Ciril. The watch tower is set on the hill, facing south, but in sight of both river crossings."

Mírra leaned over the page to better take in the details in the illustration.

"But there is a road there, it goes right through Calembel and up toward Erech. Could we not just as well go that way?"

"I think so, but it would mean first following the Anduin far south out of Minas Tirith, before we could join with the south road. It would extend our journey by at least four days."

"The West Road is more direct, then."

Eldarion nodded.

As they continued to pore over the pages, they were soon joined in the study by their father, whose entrance was followed by a delivery of letters.

The King greeted his two oldest children, and sat down to look at the newest pieces of correspondence.

Eldarion's gaze drifted across the room. He could not help noticing his father frowning at the paper in front of him.

"Is there bad news?" he called out.

Aragorn looked up, as Eldarion left Mírra to join him at his desk.

"No, nothing bad. But the communication with Éomer is becoming more pressing. I begin to think that it will only hold things up, to wait until spring to meet with him."

"You're not reconsidering?" Mírra, listening intently, crossed the room to join the two men. She had been looking forward to seeing Edoras for months now.

Aragorn tried to answer as simply as he could. "Not reconsidering, but I would not have you travel while the weather is so unfriendly."

"But I went with you to Ithilien last year, while it was still winter."

"I know it, mír nîn, but crossing the Anduin to see Emyn Arnen and crossing country to go to Rohan are different matters entirely."

"But if you do need to go to Rohan now," Eldarion interjected, "would it not be possible for Mírra and I to follow in a month or two, when the weather warms?"

Aragorn scratched his beard as he looked up at his son and daughter - grown now, but still able to unite for their own interests as they had done as children.

"That is certainly an option. I had intended to be there for a few months, at any rate."

Mírra brightened. "I would not mind it at all."

"Alright, I will consider it," said Aragorn, having a hard time keeping his face straight. "Now be off with you, or I can see I will get nothing done."

"Anything you say, adar," said Eldarion smoothly.

Mírra took up the atlas before they left the study.

"Do you think he will permit us to have our own excursion?" she said conspiratorially after they were well out of earshot.

"If I can lead my own patrols in Ithilien, I see no reason why I cannot escort you to Edoras," Eldarion replied, out of the corner of his mouth.

Mírra could not help smiling. "This may turn out to be more fun than I thought."

* * *

Even after all was set in order, the letters sent and the arrangements made, while Aragorn lay in bed he still could not let his mind release from the plans that had been made over the last few days. It always seemed to be like this, before he left on long journeys.

Arwen's voice brought him away from his thoughts.

"You are wondering if you have forgotten something?"

She stood from where she had bent near the fireplace to add one last piece of wood to the fire. The warmth it passed about the room was almost enough to make them forget winter's remaining cold.

He let out a sigh, rubbed one hand over tired eyes.

"I do not know what I am wondering about. I know everything has been well planned, I should stop thinking on it."

Arwen came over to the bed, having already undressed to only her robe. She stepped on her knees across the covers, before laying herself comfortably against him. He could discern the familiar scent of lavender as she came close.

"It is what Eldarion and Mírra will do without your supervision, perhaps?"

Aragorn pondered this question for a moment. He brought down the hand that had been resting behind his head, to finger the sleeve of her robe.

"They will be up to something in my absence, I am sure." He was only half teasing, knowing full well how pleased their two older children were to be planning an expedition of their own. "But I wonder if they are disappointed that I asked them to wait."

"They will be happy to see Edoras, even if they will not go with you yet."

Arwen crossed her arms on his chest, chin resting on one hand, while the other began to stroke lazily across the skin exposed by his open night-shirt. With the tip of an index finger she traced a small scar just near his shoulder. It had come from a knife-blade, years ago, he told her once.

For a quiet moment their eyes met, depths of smoke and slate.

Aragorn reached both hands out to the sides of her face, touching silken dark hair. He felt how calm she had become.

"You would rather I did not go," he said after a time.

"I have not said that," she replied, blinking heavily.

He tilted his head slightly, unbelieving.

"I suppose it is only that, in the last year, things have been so good here, so settled. I've grown so accustomed to you being here."

"You could come as well, join me with Eldarion and Mírra?" Though he offered, he knew what her answer to this would be.

"Ah, I fear Lúthea and Elenna would not forgive us if we both left them for three months," she smiled leisurely, "And I would miss them terribly, I cannot deny it."

"More so than me?"

"Hmm..." she pondered jokingly, fingers still teasing across his skin, "it is debatable."

Dark eyes looked back at him as his fingers drifted down to push hair behind her ears. Letting his fingertips linger there for a brief moment, he traced the delicately pointed tips - the features he hated to see hidden.

"You've become serious on me now," said Aragorn quietly.

She slid her hand underneath his open shirt, across his rib cage. Beneath her touch, she felt his heartbeat begin to quicken ever so slightly.

"Not so very serious."

Regarding her for a moment more, he took her face in his hands and guided her lips forward to meet his. As he released her, she let her tongue slide over each of his lips in turn, feeling the soft skin outlined by the rough contrast of his beard.

After a languid pause, Arwen made to put out the candle on the table beside the bed, but was stopped by a quick motion from Aragorn.

"Do not put it out yet, meleth-nîn."

Arwen turned back to him with a little curiosity. She thought she caught a glimmer in his eye, but it could have been the candlelight.

"No?"

"No, for I want to see you." He smiled invitingly.

"I think it will be warmer for me under here," she whispered, turning up the edge of the coverlet, "...for both of us."

As he drew back the covers, Arwen crept underneath to nestle close to him, his body warm next to hers.

"Mm, how right you are," he replied, wrapping her in both the blankets and his own arms.

Arwen pressed her lips briefly to his neck, taking in the pleasant muskiness of his scent. Searching with her fingers, she again found his heartbeat, still just as strong.

Soon enough, secluded between linen sheets, comforting hands turned to questing hands, as garments were tugged away to reveal bare skin.

Then a moment of delight, when at last skin met skin.

Lying beside her, Aragorn began to explore her body with his lips, while Arwen freely moved her hands over his bare skin. Even underneath the sheets, hidden from the candlelight, her fingertips recognised every section of muscle and curve of flesh.

He could still perceive her familiar floral scent as he nuzzled against her, moving his lips, one kiss at a time, from her shoulder across to her throat. To Arwen, it was as though he would steal breath from her, and she welcomed it.

She could feel her pulse begin to quicken just as his had, as desire awakened.

Turning her face toward him, breathlessly seeking his kiss, Arwen was soon rewarded with his mouth smothering hers, and she tasted at last the heated breath she had felt on her skin. Aragorn's jaw flexed and slackened as his lips repeatedly found and released hers.

For an instant they paused and their eyes met. His shadowed eyes were fierce, reflecting the burning urgency in his body. She pressed herself invitingly close to him, bidding him forward, and with a firm kiss he moved over her, cradled between her thighs.

Her breath caught, just slightly, as their bodies met, and she closed her eyes as she gave in fully to sensation.

It did not surprise him that at first she was quiet, for it was all too easy to forget that it had not always been so familiar between them, as comfortable as it was now.

In times of deepest desire, it was not uncommon for Aragorn to grow serious, almost dark in his expression of passion, but tonight it was Arwen that had grown calm.

It was not restraint, though, that calmed her now, only a desire to sustain, to prolong the warmth that was nourished by his touch, the growing sensation that flowed outwards from deep in the core of her body.

What Aragorn could sense was the subtle change in the pace of her breathing as she responded to him. The slender hands that had at first held hair off his face now clutched at skin on his back as their union intensified.

It was all he could do not to give himself over to her, to become fully enveloped in the intoxication. In his eyes she seemed almost to glow, fairly radiating with elation.

As their passion deepened, movements quickening with urgency, she tilted her head back again to open herself completely to him. Warm exhalations on her neck were broken by one more hasty meeting of lips.

At this she softly moaned, almost whimpered. Taking it as the sign he needed, he shifted his weight to one side, to wrap one arm beneath her, to bring her hips even higher, trying to deepen his connection...

"Closer, undómiel-nin," he whispered hoarsely.

In response she wrapped him even more tightly in her limbs, taking his body wholly with her own.

Arwen shivered with pleasure. Would it ever stop, this need that only he could satisfy, these flames beneath her skin that leapt higher in his caresses?

Though their passion would always reach an end, such a wonderful end it always was... She could not help but moan aloud, pressing up against him, her back arching, her body at once stretching and tightening as her release came.

At the last, as ever, he yielded to her, and with a final merging of hips it was so.

From habit, her hands went to his chest as Aragorn's body relaxed, and he sank beside her. Laboured breathing began to soften, but caged hearts continued to beat just as ardently.

Lying next to him, Arwen hardly wanted to speak, could barely move but for the rise and fall of her chest. The delight of their coupling resonated in her body.

Aragorn saw how she lay quietly, so reluctant to let go of the sensation that had gripped them.

When he reached out to lay his hand beside her cheek, he felt warmth underneath her skin. And when she did turn her eyes to him, the dark irises were as clear and deep as a starless night.

"Tegich enni glass, mellwain hiril-nîn,"

Arwen's lips stretched in a smile as she covered the back of his hand with her own. She closed her eyes only briefly before she found simple words to respond.

"And you to me."

 ada = dad/daddy (adar = father)
sell nîn = my daughter
navaer = farewell
mír nîn = my jewel

Tegich enni glass, mellwain hiril-nîn = You bring joy to me, my dearest lady

[Ardalambion says the only known superlative construction is iarwain = oldest, so I'm taking -wain as a superlative suffix. mell (=dear) + -wain = dearest.]

Ephel Duath = Mountains of Shadow, on the border between Gondor and Mordor
Poros = a river running through the lower portion of South Ithilien

The road through South Gondor joining Pelargir, Linhir, Calembel and Erech is unnamed, so for now I'll just refer to it as the "South Road". :)

About the games they're playing in the first scene: Dominoes may be stretching things a bit, for Tolkien's world, but as a game it's been around in some form or another, since the time of the Native peoples in North America. And since the medieval period is the closest approximation to Middle-Earth, I'm willing to stretch it. And chess seems to be one of those classic strategy games that would be around, even if they don't play with exact pieces like rooks and bishops per se.

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Chapter 8 - Swiftly

<><><><><><><><><><>

Eldarion rose from his seat in the study, to return the volume of Rohan history that he had been reading. For the last few weeks he and Brennan had discussed plans for the coming journey, possible routes to take.

He knew how unusual it was, to be taking the South Road. The regular path was much more predictable, with towns regularly spaced along the northern side of the White Mountains, well accustomed to hosting travellers. But the south way seemed more adventurous, and Mírra even seemed excited at the prospect of striking camp, instead of lodging at the formal resting places for Royal parties.

Although, it was to see a certain place on the southern route that was first in Eldarion's mind, even if he did not admit it aloud.

As he returned to the table, his eyes went to the same map that had been open all afternoon and evening, the one with Erech at the center.

He wondered about the shadow-men, if the tales were true. He wondered if the stone really was as round as a globe, and if it had come indeed from Númenor, from the sky as was passed down in the tales.

At length he closed the book of maps, and set it aside, collecting the miscellaneous papers into their leather folders. The quill pen he set back on its wooden rest, and he stoppered the ink bottle.

Eldarion turned down the lamp-lights, leaving only the torches burning on the walls. He took a brief glance at the study that had been his alone for the last few months. It was strange, thinking of it as his space.

Though he was perfectly well aware of the late hour, he had no desire to go to his chambers yet.

Occasionally a guard nodded in respect as he passed them by, but for the most part the city was quiet after nightfall. Eldarion enjoyed the quiet. Walking through the Citadel, he realised how cool the nights still were, even with the new days of spring.

He found himself heading towards the centre of the Citadel, and whether it was subconscious or no, his path took him to the garden of the White Tree.

Upon arriving, he found he was not alone.

"You do not wish to retire early either, I see," said the Queen as she saw her son enter.

If Eldarion was surprised to see his mother, he did not show it, but calmly smiled as he sat down amiably beside her on the bench. Arwen was wrapped comfortably in a heavy mantle, warm against the cool evening air.

"What is it about preparing for a journey that keeps me from being able to relax?"

"Things look well, then?"

Eldarion nodded. "They do. If the weather remains fine for the next week, I think it will be safe to depart."

"Mírra has talked to me of almost nothing else lately, she is quite anxious to see the rest of the country."

"Oh?" Eldarion lifted an eyebrow. "She has not seemed interested in the planning of it, although I have often invited her to contribute."

"I think it is not the planning, but the doing that most interests your sister." Arwen shrugged a little. "But she knows you are capable. She trusts you."

Eldarion accepted this with a nod, and folded his arms as he settled back.

Arwen glanced sidelong at her son. He was so like his father, so very like him; already as tall as Aragorn, perhaps even a few inches taller. Even more pronounced was the air of contemplation that hung about the prince as he prepared to travel.

Mother and son both turned dark grey eyes to the tree in front of them, watching it glow softly with silver light. It was indeed quiet in the Citadel, even peaceful. Arwen slipped an arm though Eldarion's. If contemplation was in order, then two would certainly be better than one.

* * *

As warm days of spring arrived, so did the day of departure. Mírra's belongings were already set, and she lingered for a few moments in her chambers, caught up in small details at the last minute.

She still had done nothing to tidy her hair, and rushed to find something on her dresser that would do.

Pausing in the middle of the room, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. Suddenly she wondered why she had been rushing so much.

She had let her hair become even longer, and though it could still be just as difficult to contain, somehow she did not mind the lingering untidiness anymore. The young woman she saw in the mirror did not seem to mind it either, and let her dark hair fall over her shoulders, over her equally dark, sable-black cloak. How finely dressed she was.

Mírra smiled, to herself. Her mother was right; clothes were simply clothes, hair was simply hair. No matter where she would journey, none of those things needed to be important.

Just then there was a knock at the door, a reminder.

"I'll be right there, I'm almost ready."

Just before she made ready to leave, Mírra crossed to her dressing table and took up a leather tie. In a brief moment her hair was secured in a queue behind her head. It was not exactly sleek, or particularly tidy, but practical enough for a long day of riding.

"This is who you are, what are you afraid of?" She told the mirror as she turned.

As she took up her gloves, she caught another glimpse of her reflection.

Before she left, she saw her reflection smile back, a faint blush of pink on her cheeks.

* * *

Brennan gathered with Eldarion and Mírra and the remainder of their escort near the city gates, as the stable hands made ready the horses.

"Ah, hello my speedy friend," Mírra greeted her horse, a black mare.

"Are you sure you would not like a different horse?" Eldarion asked his sister, a little bemused.

"No, I am happy with this one. She will take me swiftly across country," the princess replied as she stroked the horse's dark mane.

"Fast is not always best, you know."

"It suits me just fine, thank you," came the slightly haughty response.

Just then Lúthea arrived with Arwen, to say her goodbyes. Eldarion leaned down to hug his littler sister.

"You shall remember everything you see on your way?" Lúthea asked him. "Promise to tell me all?"

"We shall," Mírra replied.

Arwen kissed Eldarion on the cheek, and held him at arm's length for a moment. "Watch out for your sister?"

"Of course, naneth," he smiled.

Goodbyes said, the riders mounted, and waved.

Mírra looked up over her head as they passed through the great gate, watching the city fall behind them. She could feel her heart beating unexpectedly quickly, suddenly feeling a rush of exhilaration.

"What direction now, Eldarion?"

The prince sat up tall in his saddle and motioned with a straight wave of his arm.

"Let us go south."

* * *

The beginning of their journey was favoured with bright skies and warm sunshine. It had not rained for weeks, and only recently melted snow had dampened the ground. Green grass was everywhere, and the trees proudly displayed fresh new leaves.

Though some formality was kept by the small escort, with one or two men carrying simple banners of the White Tree, an air of relaxed calm settled over the group as they rode. The prince and princess most often stayed side by side, and although Mírra seemed eager to keep up a fast pace, she contributed to steady conversation whenever possible.

"Spring truly is the best time to ride. I am now so glad we did not go all this way in the snow."

"I agree with you easily on that count," replied Eldarion. "I hope that Edoras will appeal to you, when we arrive."

"It appeals to me already - Rohan is a country of horse-lords, is it not?" Mírra winked.

"How could I forget?"

"But I still do not understand how we are different from the Rohirrim. We share such close borders with them, and Arnor too, yet they are not of our descent?" Mírra wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.

"Did you not learn this by now?" Eldarion said in surprise.

"That is easy for you to say, it is your job to know these things."

"And how, pray tell, should that make it easier to remember?"

Mírra clucked her tongue once in mock exasperation at her brother, and turned to their companion.

"Perhaps you can enlighten me then, since he is unwilling?"

Brennan shook his head in a smile before replying.

"It is not entirely true that Gondor and Rohan are not of the same descent," he said evenly, "Éorl was of Rhóvanion, but of Eldacar's line, so there is some common blood between us."

Mírra did not seem assuaged. "But Rhóvanion is far north, nowhere near the borders of Rohan."

"Éorl and his folk came from there in aid to Gondor," Eldarion added. "Not very long ago in history, if I recall my dates correctly."

"Yes, it has been little more than five centuries," Brennan interjected. "At that time Gondor was invaded by Easterlings, and also Orcs out of the Misty Mountains. Éorl came to Gondor's aid, and in gratitude his people were granted the plains of Calenardhon."

Mírra began to work this out in her head. "The region between Anduin... and the Isen?"

"Exactly," smiled Eldarion. "You might just be a student yet, Mírra."

"Ah, I think I will leave that to you and Lúthea, if you please."

The princess took a firmer hold of the reins in her hand, taking a moment to scout out the countryside around them. They had moved into a more open section, with trees distributed fairly sparsely near the road.

Eldarion saw his sister's heightened observation, as she separated herself slightly from the party.

"Do you see something?"

"No..." she replied, "only that large oak, that is a nice distance away, for two horses to race to?"

Eldarion raised an eyebrow. "It could be..."

"Come on, just once? After that I promise to fall in with the party."

The prince, despite all his attempts at formality, could not resist the challenge. Soon the two horses galloped swiftly away, their riders laughing on the wind.

Brennan chuckled to himself, as the pair of them took off.

"And we haven't even made it to Edoras yet."

* * *

After a little more than a week of riding, they at last arrived at Calembel upon Ciril. Though the settlement was little more than a watch tower, many folk now lived below the hill, near the river.

Some eager faces appeared from houses to observe their arrival; they were not an imposing group by any means, yet still easily identifiable by the silver and sable dress of the Royal City.

On the second morning, their last morning there, Eldarion woke early, just before the rise of the sun. He did not truly need to be up for another hour or more, but his mind would not seem to let him rest. There were only three days of riding left for their journey, but he did not think he would truly relax until they reached Edoras.

Dressing warmly against the cool morning air, Eldarion stepped out to the long walkway that joined the two parapets of the watch tower.

One there, he saw his sister had also risen to watch the sun rise. Mírra was sitting at the top the staircase leading down from the walkway. She sat on the top step with her knees tucked up, her cloak wrapped comfortably around her entire body.

There was a touch of fatigue around her eyes, but she was noticeably content and calm as she looked out at the early morning sky.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who was eager to start the day," Eldarion called out as he joined his sister on the steps.

Mírra's mouth curled in a half-smile.

"I could not miss the sun, with such a view." She gave a nod to the countryside before them. "You're right, you really can see both river crossings."

The town was situated below them, closer to the water, but from the elevated position on the hill, the tower at Calembel indeed offered an excellent view of the river Ciril as it flowed to meet Ringló.

The rising sun cast a soft, rose-orange glow throughout the sky, highlighting the clouds that hung low on the horizon.

"The clouds make the sunrise so lovely."

"Yes..." said Eldarion slowly. "As long as they do not bring rain with them."

"That would be unpleasant to ride in, I think."

"Aha, so your enthusiasm for the outdoors is not boundless, after all," he teased. In return he received a hard elbow to the arm.

"I am most definitely enjoying myself," she grinned. "I am so glad we came this way."

"I am, too."

"Will we make it to Erech by tomorrow?" Mírra asked her brother.

"Most likely. We will certainly be at Edoras by the third night, barring any bad weather.'

"It is just as well we are leaving so early today then, to get a good start for the last leg."

"Mm."

Almost involuntarily, Mírra yawned deeply. She blinked quickly a few times, shaking herself into alertness.

"Well. We should make ready to leave then, if we have such a long ride ahead of us."

"Oh, there is no need yet. Stay for the moment." Eldarion held out a hand just as Mírra began to rise, but she settled back down again. "Really, I don't think I've paid attention to enough sunrises lately."

He rested an elbow on his knee, holding his chin on one hand. As they watched, the sky brightened noticeably.

Eldarion absentmindedly scratched his cheek. He had not shaved since they'd left home, as often happened when he travelled. Somehow he had become accustomed to it, though it was for practicality more than anything else.

He suddenly caught Mírra looking at him with a wry smile. "What, what are you looking at?"

"Nothing," she replied, eyes sparkling, "You just look different with a beard, that's all."

"Bad?"

"No. You look more like father."

* * *

The ride towards Erech was fairly uneventful. It was only as they went through the pass of Tarlang's Neck that the terrain became steeper and rockier, but on the second day it again became green and temperate. That night they again struck camp near the mountains, just before coming to the hill of Erech.

The third morning dawned with a dim, grey light. More clouds had drifted in overnight, and where there should have been sunrise there was now only haze.

As the final day of their journey began, there was a mixture of calm relief and excitement amongst the small company, and all rose early. Only Eldarion remained quiet, as they saddled the horses and made ready to leave.

Brennan knew of the prince's interest in the nearby site, but was cautious in raising discussion of it. It was unspoken, yet understood, that the morning would bring a visit to Erech.

As they rode to the hill, Mírra observed her brother's expression, but she could not read it. He seemed more intent than she had ever seen him, but only as if masking thoughts he was afraid to let surface.

The hill was high indeed, rounding up out of the ground, a precursor to the mountains nearby.

The prince dismounted, leaving the company to wait below. Mírra and Brennan approached also on foot, but kept their distance.

"Isildur's stone," Brennan observed quietly, with a nod in its direction.

Unearthly it did seem, impossibly round, and as tall as a grown man were it not sunk part way into the ground.

But there were no shadows here, only green grass that rippled in the wind, only silent sky. There was no mystery in such an open place.

Mírra watched Eldarion put a hand out to the stone's surface. Its texture seemed like granite, and yet darker than anything she had seen. The prince seemed transfixed by it, until he let go, and stood back. She could not help but approach him then, her voice soft.

"What is it, Eldarion? You look strange."

He turned away from the stone and took a deep breath in pause, raising his hand briefly to his forehead.

"I cannot explain it, but now I do not know why I wanted to be here so much."

Eldarion went a few paces down the hill, taking in the sight of the town below. His expression was unreadable but for the knot in his brow, and his dark eyes were doubtful.

"I do not know anymore, what I expected to find here."

Mírra stepped forward to go near him once again, but something in his posture made her hold back for a moment.

The wind was beginning to pick up again, blowing cool air in her ears. What should have been blue sky was covered in clouds that were still light, but threatened to darken. She thought she felt a speck of water land on her cheek, but none followed it.

She pulled her hood up over her ears and went to lay a hand on her brother's arm.

"Eldarion..." He did not turn immediately, still distracted by his contemplation. The wind blew strands of dark hair over his face. "Should we not depart?"

He regarded her for a moment, and gave a nod in assent. They made their way back to the horses, a pall of something uncomfortable having descended on their company.

* * *

"The rain is coming heavier, we will not be able to avoid it," Eldarion called out. A gust of wind came up just then, so that they had to keep hold of their cloaks.

"You're not suggesting we should go back to Erech?" Mírra asked. "It has been open country for the last ten miles, we will fare no better if we do."

Mírra shivered. Although she had found little to complain about until now, the weather was certainly not on their side.

Brennan brought his horse around to come closer to the prince and princess.

"No, I would not advise that. But the Morthond is very near. If we can cross now, then the mountains may shelter us for the rest of the ride."

"That is precisely what I would suggest," Eldarion added in agreement. "If it means we make camp there until tomorrow, and delay our arrival at Edoras, then so be it, but we must make it to the mountains."

Brennan almost spoke again, but held back, still thinking on something.

"Does something concern you?" The prince asked him.

"It is only the matter of where to cross. We could ride north, closer to the Vale, or go slightly farther south."

Eldarion considered their options.

"The southerly crossing would be farther out of the valley, and not as steep an access." He saw Brennan nod. "I think I would prefer that, although it is perhaps five miles out of the way."

The three of them were all squinting against the rain. Mírra raised the cuff of a sleeve to wipe her wet face.

"Well, we are certainly not getting drier, the longer we debate it," she said firmly, trying not to let her discomfort show, though it was growing difficult.

Eldarion nodded to the two of them, and looked around to rally the rest of their small party.

"Right. The Morthond should not be far from here. I shall lead."

They made as good time as could be expected, but the rain continued unabated. Although it was only midday, the sky was covered with unfriendly grey clouds, that only grew more unfriendly with each mile they gained.

"The sky seems to grow darker by the minute." Mírra felt her cloak heavy on her shoulders, now soaked wet.

Eldarion remained austere. "If we can just make it past the river, then things will improve. Storms often pass quickly."

"I hope so."

As if to spite them, the quickest flash of white light spread across the horizon. It was followed by a low rumble, signifying that this storm had no intention of passing quickly.

Mírra's shoulders sank, and she could not help letting her forehead fall into her gloved hand as she dipped her head. Would nothing go in their favour? Her horse, startled by the flash of lightning, shook its bridle awkwardly.

"I only wish right now we could be of this weather, Eldarion," she said weakly, no longer able to hide the frustration in her voice.

"I know." Surprisingly, his voice was gentle, and it made her turn. She began to realise then, how much must have been resting on his shoulders, for the last leg of their journey. "That is the only thought in my mind at present, but all that is left is for us to make it over this crossing, and then the mountains will shelter us."

Mírra drew in a breath to steady herself, and wiped rain off her face again. "Alright."

* * *

When they reached the crossing, it was apparent that the bridge itself had not been maintained in recent years. But although the railings looked shabby in places, there was nothing to suggest it was unsound.

The Morthond was deep and flowing fast, the water level already high from melted snow and the quickly falling rain.

"I shall cross last, after everyone else is safe on the other side," Eldarion called out, his voice loud against the wind. Brennan and Mírra seemed to hesitate, but the prince remained firm. "Go now, the longer we wait, the worse this storm becomes."

He kept his voice steady, not revealing the tension that filled him, the knot that formed tighter in his stomach with each flash of lightning that appeared in the sky. The rumbles of thunder were coming more quickly.

One of the Gondor guards in their escort crossed first, and it was evident that going one horse at a time was the best option. Brennan went next, and called for Mírra to follow as he reached the other side.

"Quickly, my lady!"

Mírra took a firmer grip on her reins, though her gloves were now wet and slick with rain. She brought her horse forward, but just as she approached the bridge, another burst of lightning flashed through the sky.

The black mare was startled even more by the brightness and the rumble that followed. Mírra tried to keep herself steady as the horse whinnied and shook.

"It's alright, it's just across the bridge, we can make it," she whispered, half to herself, trying to calm both of them.

She steered the horse cautiously across the bridge, the hooves clopping loudly against the wet stone.

Brennan dismounted to assist the skittish animal, but not in time. As suddenly as the last one had come, another flash of lightning blazed through the horizon, causing the black mare to rear up on her hind legs.

Mírra hung on, but just barely, as the horse came back down. But when the thunder struck, louder and closer than before, the horse reared up again and whinnied, throwing the rider off her saddle.

Mírra was tossed aside over the railing, and she grabbed on, hardly processing in her mind what was happening.

Brennan immediately ran over, and met up with the princess just in time to catch hold of her arms. Mírra's face was ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief.

But their gloves and clothes were wet, and neither could hold on tightly.

"NO!" Brennan yelled, just as Mírra's grasp slipped... He leaned farther over the railing, holding her arms, her sleeves, anything he could get a hold of.

Eldarion, who in shock had seen his sister tumble from her horse, ran over to get to her, but in vain.

Mírra began to slip further down, as Brennan's balance faltered. She screamed, as they both fell over the side, to the rushing water below.

"MÍRRA!"

Possessed by something, he knew not what, Eldarion leaped off the bridge, following his sister into the water of the Morthond.

As he surfaced he looked around, squinting against the wind and the rain.

He saw her, fifty feet away, bobbing desperately against the swiftly flowing current.

"Mírra!" he shouted after her.

But soon she was pulled under yet again, and did not surface.

Looking out over the waves as he himself fought the current, Eldarion searched frantically for his sister, but she could not be found.

I estimate the travel-time between Minas Tirith and Edoras as roughly a week, or slightly less, along the Great West Road. Eldarion, Mírra and Brennan take a less direct route that would take ten days or more. For my guide I'm using the information in Appendix B, and Aragorn's travelling in ROTK. 

Most of the information on Erech comes from Chapter II of ROTK and Appendix A. Spooky-cool. :) The Rohan history is also taken from Appendix A, and the Silmarillion ("Of the Rings of Power"). I refer to the notes in Chapter 6 for more on Erech, the Paths of the Dead, and Eldacar & Valacar.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 9 - Swept Away

* * * * * * * * * *

The only thing she could sense was water, all around... dim coldness all around...

She struggled with the flow of the river, not knowing at first whether she was directed up or down. The pressure on her lungs was unbearable, the tightness burned...

Until somehow, daylight emerged and she found the water's surface.

Gasping, Mírra tried to catch air, but coughed and spluttered against the spray of lingering rain. She treaded with her arms, attempting to keep steady, but it was no good. The riverbank flowed quickly past as the water continued to sweep her away. Her dress and cloak were heavily waterlogged, and only seemed to want to pull her down further.

Once again the current dragged her under, and once again she managed to find the surface.

Just float... do anything to keep breathing, she told herself.

She had thought she heard her brother shouting, but not any more. She could not see Brennan either, though he had fallen beside her. There was no one but her.

After a while she was able to observe what was around her, but the riverbank seemed too far away. There were a few low-lying trees that looked promising.

She tried to swim closer to the bank, finding it difficult to move in the deep water. A piece of driftwood came into view, but as she swam to reach out for it, a rush of water pushed her aside, and her arm slammed into the edge of a large rock that jutted out at the water's edge.

Mírra gave a shout in pain and grabbed at her arm with her free hand, which diminished her ability to manoeuvre in the water. She felt her bruised arm stinging, and she knew it must have been cut against the rock.

Before she could collect herself again, there was an abrupt pull on her cloak... An outlying branch had caught part of the hood.

She reached back awkwardly, trying to release the fabric, but could not catch it. As her cloak held her back, the current tried to bring her forward, nearly choking her.

Since she could not untangle the cloak itself, Mírra instead grasped at the clasp at her neck, and almost as soon as she had been caught, she was released again.

Just float.

She lay on her back, looking up at the grey sky, too exhausted to fight the river any more. It would carry her where it wished.

* * * * * * * * * *

Eldarion swam to the place where his sister had surfaced, but found nothing. He fought for a moment, trying to tread water, but soon dove underneath to find her.

He surfaced yet again with nothing but water in sight, the rain and waves obscuring his vision as the wind only worsened the conditions. He swam further ahead, but as soon as he dove under once more, two pairs of hands reached underneath the water and pulled him up.

Two of the other men managed to take the prince to the riverbank. Eldarion caught his breath in surprise, not even realising he was resisting.

"Why have you stopped me?"

"My lord, you will harm yourself, or worse," came the panicked explanation, "The current is fierce, we could not risk you being pulled under as well."

Looking back, Eldarion saw that the bridge was now nearly a quarter mile away. The current was indeed strong to have pulled him so far in such a short time.

Feeling his body suddenly heavy over his legs, Eldarion slowly stepped up on the wet grass. His clothes were soaked through, but the cold of the river water was the least of his thoughts.

The three men made their way back to the bridge, where the horses were being gathered. A feeling of shock ran through the whole company, no one knowing exactly what to do or say.

There was one thing to deal with, Eldarion soon saw as he approached the group.

Brennan sat to the side, having been dragged from the water as well. His face was pale, and he cradled his left arm.

"What has happened?" asked Eldarion as he came to the older man's side.

"I was lucky enough... that I did not fall in the middle of the current..." Brennan replied with strain, "but in landing, my arm struck a rock nearer to the bank."

Eldarion gingerly examined the forearm. Damage would have been noticeable enough, were it not for the grimace of pain on the man's face. He tried to hold back from shouting as the prince tried to ascertain the damage.

"I believe it is broken," he concluded, his voice sounding far away.

One of the men who had helped Brennan out of the water gave assistance as Eldarion tried to bind the arm as best as possible.

After finishing, the prince stood and stepped off to the side, turning away from the others. He pushed slick hair back off face with both hands, and momentarily held them at the back of his neck as he tried to find reason in the rapidly mounting confusion of thoughts.

There was a faint flash of lightning in the distance, and a quiet rumble of thunder. The storm was diminishing.

It had been ten minutes ago. Fifteen at the most.

Having composed himself as best he could, Eldarion returned to the group, turning first to his injured companion.

"My friend, do you think you can sit in the saddle?"

Brennan took a few shallow breaths, and nodded. "I can manage it."

"We lose crucial time already." Eldarion motioned to three men. "You must ride to Edoras with Brennan, as quick as can be managed, and get help. The rest of us will search the river, as far as we need to."

"You wish us to go now to Edoras?" Brennan questioned.

"Yes. You require care, and we will need help. My father is there."

Eldarion turned away again, for a brief moment, contemplating once more their course of action before looking resolutely to the group.

"We must send for the King."

* * * * * * * * * *

At some point, Mírra felt her feet touch ground, and she was washed to the side of the bank. It was shallower here, the bottom covered with small stones.

Finding her way to the edge of the water, she coughed violently, spluttering water and shaking.

Finally she was still, anchored at the river's edge. The cut on her arm still stung, and her cloak was gone. Turning over on her back, she looked up at the sky. Suddenly she realised she no longer felt rain on her face. The clouds were lightening, even beginning to disperse.

It had all happened so quickly, and now she was somewhere unfamiliar, alone. She shivered; her clothes were soaked and cold, her long hair matted wet and heavy.

I will find no safety near the water, that at least is certain.

Raising herself up on hands and knees, then a sitting position, Mírra looked around her. Near the riverside the trees were fairly dense. If any sunlight at all was to reach her, then a shaded would do no good.

She managed to stand and walk, and stepped heavily forward, stopping occasionally to lean on a tree trunk. At length the trees dispersed to reveal a wide open space of grass.

Mírra stopped, feeling exhaustion overtake her. She collapsed on the grass, worn to the core, and hoped for sunlight to take the cold from her body.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Adair! Come quickly!"

"What is it?"

Mírra felt herself awaken, hearing voices, of two men. Vaguely she could hear them draw near, hushed in alarm.

"A young woman, but I cannot tell..."

"Is she alright, who is she?"

Mírra moved her lips, wanting to answer, but trying to focus on what was happening. She did not know how long she had lain there, but she thought it was still afternoon. Harsh daylight made her wince as she began to blink her eyes open.

"Miss, can you hear me?" He touched her arm, trying to wake her.

Mírra thought it was the first man speaking. His voice was low and even, concern evident.

"She's alive," spoke the second man, exhaling in quiet relief.

Mirra managed to voice two words, as her lips trembled from the chill that remained in her body.

"Help me?"

It was enough to utter the request, to make her realise how desperately she was in need of help. And there was nothing to do but put her trust in the strangers before her.

"We must take her back with us. If she is sick, Doreth may be able to help."

"It is still a few miles ride, Doran, can she bear the journey?"

"We cannot leave her here."

Still blinking against the daylight, Mírra reached out. Thought she did not truly know what she was reaching for, her fingers touched a sleeve, then a hand.

"Please."

There was a moment's pause, but she thought to perceive a nod of assent from the man next to her.

She was lifted up off the ground, and carried. Then somehow she was seated in a saddle, leaning against the rider, a pair of strong arms around her.

The horse began to ride, and she did not know where they were headed, or even care, so long as it was shelter.

* * * * * * * * * *

Abruptly Mírra awoke, for the second time that day. There was a pillow beneath her cheek, and she was lying in a bed. Her first thought was to wonder where she was, when a woman spoke to her in a gentle voice.

"Miss? Can you hear me?"

Mírra swallowed, and was able to find her voice through dry lips.

"How... where am I?"

"My husband and my brother found you while they were riding home, and brought you here. It's alright, you're alright."

Mírra fully opened her eyes to look at who was speaking.

"My name is Doreth," the woman told her.

Doreth had deep brown eyes, and smiled with nervous expectancy at the young woman before her. Mírra saw that her hair was light blond, covered with a plain kerchief.

"I was... I was riding with my brother," Mírra started, as she tried to sit up, "But we were caught in the middle of the storm."

She frowned in confusion, trying to recall the events of the middle of the day. Had it truly been only a few hours ago? It all seemed to defy comprehension.

"The storm frightened my horse... I was tossed aside," She looked up and met Doreth's eyes, recalling the moment with some confusion. "I fell in the river."

The blond woman next to her took in a slight breath, the expression in her brown eyes softening.

"You were taken up in the river, separated from your companions?"

Mírra nodded. Looking down she saw her arm had been wrapped in strips of clean cloth. For a moment she brought her free hand to touch the bandage, and she was struck by the full weight of the situation in which she now found herself.

She suddenly brought a hand tightly to her mouth, as she squeezed her eyes shut against sudden tears.

"I could have... I was nearly..." She did not want to think what might have happened.

"Oh, there now," said Doreth, rushing, to sit facing the younger woman on the bed. She placed her hands lightly on Mírra's shoulders, in an attempt at comfort. "Please do not worry, you are alright now."

Mírra drew in a breath and slowly exhaled, blinking against the lingering wetness on her lashes.

"My brother will be looking for me, how worried he must be."

"I know. Tomorrow we will think on what to do next. But for now, it is late in the evening. You must try to rest, for you have been through quite an ordeal, I can see."

Mírra nodded. She was right, there was nothing that could be done now, and she felt undeniably weakened. The next day they would send word.

She formed her best attempt at a smile, and extended a hand to the woman next to her.

"My name is Mírra."

Doreth sat up a little straighter, and raised her eyebrows in slight surprise, but smiled brightly as she extended her own hand to Mírra's.

"It is good to meet you."

* * * * * * * * * *

Doreth left the spare room, pressing her free hand to the door as she shut it as quietly as possible.

Returning to the main room of the house, she found her brother sitting at the table. A small girl of about five or six sat on his lap, but jumped down as soon as she saw Doreth enter.

"You are still up at this hour?" She crouched next to the little girl, who had hair the same colour as her own.

"Mama, who is the stranger?"

"She is our guest, and you may meet her tomorrow, I am sure." Her daughter seemed to accept this. "Now be off to bed with you.'

With a kiss from her mother, the little blond girl hurried down the hall.

"Is Adair at the barn?"

"Yes, he said he would return soon. My niece asks a good question though," said Doran, as his sister joined him at the table.

"I know. But I did not want to press her now."

"How is she?"

"She sleeps," she said simply. "I am not a healer, Doran, I cannot be sure, but... I think a night of rest will help. I suppose in the morning we will know more."

"I wonder if we should have brought her here. If she has friends searching for her, perhaps we have only made matters worse."

"How could it be worse for her to be in a warm bed, instead of in the wet remains of a storm?"

The light-haired man nodded, knowing they were right to offer help. But what would happen next?

"We still do not know who she is." He half asked the question of himself, not expecting an answer. "And how did we come to find her?"

"All I know now is that her name is Mírra, and that she was caught in the storm. She fell in the river, and was separated from her party."

"She was carried away by the Morthond?" Doran said with a note of surprise.

"You must have found her near to where she escaped it."

Doreth's husband Adair entered then from the outside. He removed his cap, and went to join the other two at the table.

"The sky is clear now, and I can see the stars." He set a reassuring hand behind his wife's shoulder, taking a seat beside her. "The storm has passed completely, I think."

"That bodes well," Doreth smiled, "for a brighter day tomorrow."

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 10 - Brighter Day

* * * * * * * * * *

Judging by the light that was just peeking through the curtains, dawn had already broken over an hour ago. But it was the sounds she awoke to in the morning, that first told Mírra she was not where she should be; the chattering of small birds outside, and bleating sounds of what could only be sheep.  Not to say that there was nothing to be heard in the morning in Minas Tirith, but the palace was well sheltered from the noise of the city. On each morning of their journey so far, it had been disconcerting at first, to awake to something more than silence, in such open country. Not better or worse, simply different.

Mírra sat up, groggy from so much sleep. Running her fingers lightly over the bandage, she could feel her arm was still tender. A few minor cuts stung her forehead and cheek, and her head ached, but she was relieved to discover that otherwise, she felt fine. She found her sable travel dress had been replaced with a plain beige frock, a nightdress perhaps.

For the first time since she had arrived here, she looked around the room she found herself in. It was simple enough, and fairly small. She wondered if it was a spare room, or perhaps that of a child, for aside from the bed the only furniture was a small wardrobe and wooden chair, and a small table beside the bed.

Curious about her new surroundings, Mírra stood, and stepped slowly over to the window that was on the same wall as the bed. As she pushed back the curtains, the brightness of the early morning sunshine momentarily startled her eyes, but she smiled as she saw that blue sky and friendly white clouds had replaced yesterday's storm. The house was surrounded by pasture, and the rain had made the grass green and bright. Just off in the distance there were sheep, grazing in small groups, all around the field. She noticed first one man, then two, tending the flock; she guessed them to be the men who had found her, as she remembered the friendly voice she had heard yesterday.

Yesterday.

Anxiety sank into her stomach at the recollection of what had happened. Eldarion. Where was he now? What would he be thinking?

Before she had time to dwell on it further, there was a knock at the door. "Come in?" Her voice was unexpectedly hoarse, and she cleared her throat as the door opened.

Doreth entered, her expression lively. "How glad I am to see you are awake!"

She rushed over, setting down a tray that held an earthen mug of some warm drink, and what looked to be bread and cheese. Mírra could not help but smile, albeit a little nervously, at her cheerfulness.

Although they had met the previous day, Mírra now took greater notice of her hostess. Doreth was of medium height and build, with brown eyes and light hair. By her looks Mírra guessed her to be slightly younger than her brother, perhaps in her mid twenties. Her hands and arms showed wiry strength, due no doubt to the work of keeping her home, but her face was bright and fair.

"You look well," she added. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think."

"I have set your dress out to wash, it was quite muddy. But if it does not bother you, I can give you a dress of mine to wear, in the meantime?"

"That is very good of you." Doreth's cheeks seemed to flush slightly. Perhaps she was as anxious as Mírra was.

Thinking then on her appearance, it was then that she realised, with a surprise, that her neck was bare.

Doreth saw Mírra gasp as she put her hand to her throat. "Something is wrong?"

"My necklace, it's gone."

"What necklace?"

"I did not have it, when you found me?"

Doreth only shook her head. "No, miss, I'm sorry to say. It was valuable?"

"It was a gift, so it was special to me…" Mírra answered, rubbing the side of her neck. "I lost my cloak when it became caught on a fallen branch. the chain must have broken then." She looked aside, and hugged her elbows with a touch of awkwardness.

Though by her height and stature she seemed mature enough, Doreth began to see that the young woman before was still so young, and simply anxious to be separated from her family, to be in such a strange place.

"Not to worry, miss. If all you have lost is a piece of jewelry, and a cloak," she said kindly, "then you are indeed fortunate."

Mírra gave a nod, briefly looked down at her folded arms. "You're right," she smiled weakly, looking up again. "If you please," Mírra continued, "I am quite concerned to get word to my brother. I know he must be looking for me."

"Of course," Doreth nodded.

"We crossed the Morthond, twenty miles or so from Erech. But how far we are from there, or the river, I do not know."

Doreth raised her eyebrows.

"Goodness, that is quite a few miles from here. You were taken far." Mírra knew not how to respond, but was indeed touched by her evident concern. "And to be as little hurt as you are…"  Unexpectedly, the blond woman put her arms around her guest, taking Mírra into a tight hug. "How frightened you must have been!"

Mírra pulled back after a moment, feeling emotion get the better of her. "Thank you… Thank you for helping me," she said quietly, her voice slightly choked.

Doreth gave another smile.  "The river itself is not terribly far from here. Either Adair, or my brother Doran will be able to go back to look for your party. Please, do not worry."

Mírra nodded, feeling more relieved. With everything this woman had already done, she felt now that there truly was no cause for worry.

"Come, you must be hungry. If you would like more to eat, I can find something for you. But please, if you feel well, you must now come and meet my family." Doreth took Mírra's hand merrily.

"Yes," Mírra smiled, brightness returning to her complexion, "that sounds lovely."

* * * * * * * * * *

Having eaten, Mírra felt much more refreshed. Doreth had found an extra shawl and dress for her to wear; the dress was a little loose around the middle, and a bit short in the sleeves, but perfectly suitable, and of a light blue colour. She had even brought a comb for Mírra to tidy her hair.

She found her way outside to see the older woman hanging wet laundry out to dry. Near the house, two boys were running after each other in a game of chase. A small girl sat on the grass, closer in, examining patches of clover. She looked up as Mírra joined Doreth, and ran straight to her mother's skirts.

"Oh, silly thing, you," Doreth teased her. "Meet my daughter Ailsa. She is being shy, suddenly."

The resemblance was apparent, as Ailsa had the same brown eyes and blond hair as her mother.

"I have a sister a few years younger than you," she said, smiling back at the little girl.

"Connor!" Doreth called loudly, turning.

The two boys stopped in their game, and ran over as Doreth gestured to them. One had a head full of short brown curls, the other was blond and light-eyed. They could not have been more than a year apart, perhaps aged eight or nine.

"This is my son Connor," Doreth gestured, to the darker-haired boy, "and this is Nolan. Children, this is Mírra, she is our guest."

Mírra gave a friendly nod. "Hello."

"Were you really caught in the storm?" asked the fairer boy eagerly.

"Nolan! That isn't polite," Doreth chided.

"No, no it is alright," Mírra assured her. She could understand the child's curiosity. "Yes I was. We were on the way to Edoras, when it happened."

"Oh…" added Doreth softly, a touch of awe in her voice. "I have never seen Edoras, myself. My husband has been a few times, for trading. Did your brother have business there, then? Someone to see?"

"Yes, I suppose he does have business there. We were going to meet with my father, in any case."

Doreth took this to mean that Mírra's father lived in the Rohan city. "Ah, how lovely. But you do not seem Rohirric, by your looks?"

Mírra shook her head, smiling lightly.  "Oh, no. My family's house is called Telcontar. My father has been meeting with Rohan for the last few months, he - "

She heard Doreth gasp silently, bringing her fingertips briefly to her mouth, as her eyes strayed briefly to the sable dress that was now hanging to dry in the sunshine.

"Good gracious." She seemed to sway slightly. "Your father is not the King?"

"That's right." Mírra was unsure how else to reply.

Doreth looked shaken. "Connor, go and get your father. Go now."

At her urging the two boys ran off together, to the nearby pasture. The girl still stayed by her mother, looking up with wide eyes at the two women.

"Have I upset you?" Mírra laid a hand lightly on her companion's arm, in what was meant to be a friendly gesture, but it caused Doreth to jump slightly.

"No my lady, of course not, I…" she held her hands out in near supplication, "Oh, of course I should have recognised your name, should have guessed by the colour of your dress, who you were. Oh, and how could I have given you such a plain thing to wear, why did I not give you a finer gown, oh…"

"It is alright, this is perfectly well, Doreth." Their conversation had changed abruptly, and now Mírra was the one taking a tone of reassurance. "Already you have done so much."

The older woman continued to fret. "But this changes things now, we must get you to your family… we must get you to his highness as soon as possible."

In a few short minutes the boys returned, with both men.

Doreth's husband Adair was also of medium height, and very lean. His brown curly hair matched Connor's and his beard was the same. The other man, Doran, was tall and of larger build. His straight hair was sand-coloured, and he had the same warm brown eyes as his sister. He was also older, perhaps in his early thirties, judging from the friendly creases about his eyes.

As Doreth explained the situation, an air of immediacy began to permeate the conversation.

"We should leave at once then," said Adair firmly.

"No, perhaps it is best if I go alone, if you are needed here, if the lady's party finds her before I find them," replied Doran. As he spoke, it was then that Mírra recognised his voice, as the one she had heard yesterday. Very low, almost gentle. At the time it had made her feel comforted, strangely enough.

Whatever was the proper way for her to behave in such a situation, she could not think of it. She therefore decided to speak as straightforwardly as possible.

"Perhaps I should go with you."

"Oh, no my lady," Doreth rushed to take Mírra's hand, "please, you must stay here. If we were to let you go before you were fully recovered and rested, I should never forgive myself."

Mírra could not help but be swayed by the sincerity of her concern. Not letting go of Doreth's hand, she turned to Doran.  "I know Eldarion will be searching the river. We crossed about twenty miles south of Erech, that is where I fell."

"That is less than a day's ride from here," he nodded. "I will go first to the place where we found you, and ride north along the river bank."  Looking to Adair for confirmation, the other man agreed to the new course.

Mírra became quiet for a moment, as the others saw her brow crease in thought. She crossed quickly to the laundry line and, as she found her dress, appeared to tear something from part of the fabric. Returning to the group, she approached Doran and held it out a scrap of dark fabric, meaning for him to take it.

"Here," she said, placing the fabric she had torn from the pocket of her dress in his palm. Looking down, he saw a figure of a white tree embroidered with silver on the black cloth. "You shall know the men you are looking for, by this symbol on their garments. And when you show them this, so shall they know you are a friend."

For a brief moment Doran looked to the young lady before him, and her dark eyes were clear and calm. Just as he withdrew, he felt her fingertips brush his palm, the second time he had felt her touch upon his hand.

"As you wish it, my lady."

With a simple bow of his head, he tucked the cloth into the pocket of his coat.

* * * * * * * * * *

Much earlier that morning, Eldarion found himself in much less calm a situation. Although the storm had cleared soon enough, their search efforts had proved fruitless. Night had fallen too quickly, and there was no choice but to stop and camp, at least for a few hours.  However, the brief rest had not prevented him from keeping awake, with a twist of tension in his stomach that he had felt since being pulled from the river himself yesterday. He had even needed to be coerced into putting on dry clothes.

At the first light they were off again, moving slowly down the riverbank, searching. The thought that Eldarion pushed away was that even if they did find something, it could very well not be a happy find.  It was still morning when a commotion alerted the attention of his party. Riders approached.

Father. The twist in his stomach tightened.

They must have travelled through the night, he realized. Eldarion saw the King at the head of the group, and riding fast. There was no reading his expression, except for a fierce intentness about his gaze. He reached his son with little difficulty, and dismounted to speak to him privately.

"Tell me."

Drawing in a breath to steady his voice, Eldarion related to his father the events of the past day. "The other half of the group is now searching the western bank, while we continue here," he finished.

"And you have found no sign?" Aragorn searched his son's face, but Eldarion continued to look, with a somewhat detached stare, at the ground.

"Only one." The prince went to his horse and collected a dark bundle from his saddlebag. "Her cloak, we found near the water's edge, caught."

Aragorn collected the heavy garment from Eldarion, looking it over carefully. "The clasp is intact," he noted, "little damage, except for water. You found it in the river?"

Eldarion nodded. "But it was many miles back, and there has been nothing since."

"I see." Aragorn folded the cloak over one arm, and stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, pinching a thumb and forefinger to his lips. He began to appear calmer. "What are your thoughts?"

Eldarion looked up slowly, considering his answer. He still could not read his father's expression, but Aragorn's voice had not been hard.

"I have contacted no one except for you, and I do not think yet that we should go so far as to send word to Minas Tirith. Presently there is nothing to indicate anything, one way or the other."

"Agreed," said the King, with a brief nod. Again there was silence, as the older man waited for the younger to continue.

"But, although the outcome is not certain, I worry… I… I regret."

"Regret?"

"Of course. To cross the Morthond during the storm? If I had not been so foolish we would not be here, Mírra would not have - "

Aragorn cut him off. "You must stop this worrying now, Eldarion, you must not blame yourself for what happened."

"But how can you say that, if you were not there to see it?" Unintentionally his voice raised. "You do not wonder at how it happened, at why we did not go by the West Road?"

"You are right, I was not there." The tone of the King's voice began to match his son's. "And indeed I did wonder greatly, when I received word of the route you had taken."

"Then how is it that you can be so calm?"

"Do you want me to blame you for this? I worry dearly for your sister, Eldarion, but our situation would not be improved by me showing anger to you."

The prince dipped his head again, as silence settled briefly over their conversation.

"You're right," he said numbly, "All we can do is search, and wait."

Eldarion turned to face the riverbank, one hand on his hip, the other scratching an eyebrow. Aragorn let out a deep sigh, and the weariness and anxiety of the night's ride were revealed in his face. He crossed slowly to his son’s horse, and tucked his daughter’s cloak back where it had been, in the saddlebag.

"I will take the western bank then." Turning, he received no response, as his son seemed to be peering at something in the grass, eyes fixed at one spot. "Eldarion?"

The prince stepped cautiously over the soft, wet ground, and crouched over the object. As Aragorn approached, he saw something shining in Eldarion's palm. It was a violet-coloured stone, roughly shaped, set in fine detail on a silver chain.

Eldarion caught his breath, realising what he had found. "It is hers." Looking back, he met his father's eye. "This must mean…"

"…she made it out of the water," Aragorn finished. For a moment there was renewed hope in both their expressions.

The two men rapidly began to examine the ground around them with careful scrutiny, suddenly aware of each crushed blade of grass or depression in the mud.

Eldarion gestured in front of him, away from the river. "Here, there are footprints."

Quickly they alerted the attention of their companions, as they followed the tracks. Before getting far, however, they heard a call being raised nearby. Two of the men of their party approached on foot, with a third man, a stranger to them.  By his dress, he seemed to be a man of the country.

"Your highnesses," said the first guard, "this man brings news."

Doran felt all eyes on him, as he gave a small bow from the neck. "I think I have found… what you are searching for."

Aragorn’s response was hopeful but carried the same intentness as he had given to his son, earlier.  His tone of voice indicated he was not to be toyed with.  "My daughter?"

The fair-haired man nodded to the King. "Yesterday as I was returning home, with my sister's husband, we came upon the young lady. She lay on the ground, quite cold."

Eldarion stepped forward. "How does she now?"

"Well, in my sister's care." Doran began to be more sure of his own voice again, the more he spoke.  The King and the prince waited on each word. Finally he remembered what he had been given, and reached into a pocket, pleased to reveal Mírra’s token. "She bid me show you this."

Aragorn took the scrap of cloth, and he and Eldarion relaxed visibly as they recognised the symbol upon it.

"I have not wished to offend, by keeping the lady from you until now," Doran began again, carefully, "It was only now that we came to know who she was, and my thought at the time was only to bring her to safety. So it please your highnesses, I will lead you back."

The King straightened.  He saw how honestly the man before him had spoken, and extended a hand to him. If Doran thought such circumstances unusual, he did not show it as he shook the King's hand.

"I am comforted by the aid you have given my family, good fellow," replied Aragorn. "We shall follow you at once."

The riders mounted, and departed in speed from the riverside.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Do you wish to come inside, my lady?" asked Doreth.

"Oh… not yet, if it is alright. I do so enjoy the sunshine, after the past few days."  Mírra shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up to reply to her hostess.

"Of course, so please you."

Sitting on the grass, Mírra watched Ailsa pluck segments from a flower in the clover. Doreth crossed once more to the laundry line, checking that sheets were dry. She seemed to be intent on finding a task, something the princess was also beginning to think on. An occupation would keep her thoughts from drifting to anxiety again.

"May I help you?"

"Oh, nay, please, you need not trouble yourself, my lady," Doreth flustered again.

"Please, call me Mírra,” she said gently, “And it is no trouble, not after all you have already provided for me."

Just then the two young boys came running past, laughing.

"We are going to the barn, mama!" called the dark-haired boy. Hearing this, Ailsa immediately leapt up, to follow her brother.

"Mind you keep out of trouble with your father!" Doreth called back. Turning back to Mírra, she explained. "There are two new lambs this week.”

"Exciting indeed," replied the princess, watching the children dash off. "Your younger son certainly favours his father," she added, at an attempt at conversation.

"My younger son? Oh. Oh, I see," she smiled, laughing away momentary confusion. "No, only Ailsa and Connor are my children. Nolan is Doran's son."

"Doran?" Mírra looked to her companion in surprise. "I had not realised he was married."

"He was," Doreth answered gently. "But his wife died, quite a few years ago."

"Oh."

"But we all still make up one family, all the same," the older woman explained, seeking to alleviate Mírra's discomfort at the subject. "Nolan spends so much time with us, and is so close with Connor, the two of them are almost like brothers."

"They are lively boys," Mírra smiled.

"If I may speak plainly, my lady, that is putting it mildly indeed," laughed Doreth. She gestured to the sheet next to them, on the line. "Come, will we fold this one, then?"

"Let's."

Mírra took up two corners. The linen gleamed bright white with sunshine, billowing briefly before they folded it into a smaller square.

"May I ask you something, my lady?" Doreth began, somewhat shyly. "I know it will sound simple, I'm sure."

"Yes?"

"Well, your mother, the Queen… she is an elf?"

"Why, yes," Mírra nodded.

Doreth came to stand beside her, still holding the folded sheet in her hands, toying with some loose threads at one corner. "This will sound silly, but… I almost did not believe it when I first heard it. It sounded like something that could only happen in songs."

"I confess I had never considered it unusual." She gave a gentle shrug of her shoulders.

"Of course," Doreth blushed slightly. "They must love each other a great deal."

"I believe they do." To her surprise, Mírra blushed back. The two women shared a smile.

As they began to collect the remainder of the dry laundry, Mírra thought she could hear the sound of horses approaching, hooves pounding in the distance. Turning west, looking past the house, she indeed saw a small group approaching, one rider finding his way quicker than the others.

Picking up her skirt, with no other thought in her head, Mírra ran toward them.

"Eldarion!"

As soon as he dismounted he put his arms around his sister in a tight hug.

"I am so very glad to see you," she said over his shoulder.

"You cannot be happier than I, trust me," Eldarion nearly laughed.

Mírra then saw the remainder of the search party nearing the house. In front of Doran, racing quickly toward them, was her father. Though unexpected, Mírra was suddenly relieved to see him.  The King quickly reached his children, paying little attention to the gazes of surprised observers. Adair had come from the barn, the three children huddled next to him, looking on in wonder at the sudden visitors.

"Ada!"

"Are you hurt? Tell me, how are you?"

With concern Aragorn looked from the bandage on Mírra's arm, then raised a hand lightly underneath her chin, to look carefully at her face. Mírra saw how his gaze scattered to take in the few cuts, and would not stay still.

"I'm alright, father," she said softly, laying her hand on his arm.

The King met his daughter's eyes then, pausing for a moment. He then drew his arms around her shoulders, as he bowed his head in emotional relief, now no longer calm.

"It's alright, ada," Mírra repeated, her own voice fragile as she let him hold her, "I'm alright."

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 11 - Reunited

* * * * * * * * * *

Eldarion placed a comforting hand on Mírra's back, and she finally turned out of her father's embrace, hugging her brother once more. Aragorn looked on quietly, as he himself began to relax.

"I was so frightened," the prince told his sister quietly.

"So was I," Mírra replied as she withdrew, composing herself again. "But it seems all is mended now."

"Indeed," he smiled, reaching into a pocket, "I am very glad to restore this to you."

In his palm was the violet stone on its silver chain.

"You found it!" she exclaimed as she took it up thankfully. The clasp had broken, but it looked well enough besides.

"Your cloak also," Eldarion added. "We had just detected your path, when we met up with the gentleman here," he explained, with a nod to Doran, who had dismounted, to stand next to his sister.

The three of them, blocking out all else in their moments of reacquainting, now became aware of the small audience around them.

"And here we find you well."

As he spoke Aragorn looked to his daughter, before turning his eyes to the folk that had drawn near.

Adair had emerged from the barn with the two boys and Ailsa. The few stable hands that had been with him also came out to see the newcomers.

Doreth stood at her brother's side, on her face an expression of mild awe at who was now before them. Before the King could meet her eye she immediately looked down, a sudden blush on her cheek, a hand rushing nervously to her mouth.

"Greetings," said Aragorn with a slightly formal nod, taking in their hosts with clear gaze.

Both men bowed, as Doreth fell to her knees, abashed in his majesty's presence. Mírra rushed to take her hand.

"I am very pleased for you to meet part of my family, Doreth" she told the fair woman encouragingly, helping her to stand. "My brother, Eldarion, and my father."

Aragorn took her hand in greeting, causing her to only blush more furiously. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady."

Doreth responded with a simple curtsy. "This is my... my husband Adair," she stammered softly, next introducing the three children, "and you have already met my brother Doran, I deem."

"We were most grateful for your direction, sir," said Eldarion.

"And I," spoke Mírra, "for I wondered if you would locate me, so far we are now from the crossing."

"What did happen, after we were separated?" Eldarion asked her. Aragorn was also curious, to hear her tell of the events of the previous day.

Mírra spoke, with only a little hesitation, of how the lightning had frightened her horse, causing her to fall over the edge of the bridge. She herself had been unsure at the time of how far she had been taken, but at last had found a shallower place to climb up on the riverbank. Adair and Doran had been riding back from a neighbouring village, expecting to return earlier, but had delayed to wait out the storm.

Doreth related how she was only glad to see the two men returned safely out of the weather, but then was surprised at the young lady's arrival. "I did not press you to tell us about yourself, that first night, not wanting to upset you further. But if I had, perhaps you would have been reunited sooner, and I am sorry for it."

"Your honesty," replied the King calmly, "speaks well enough for you, lady."

Doreth's cheeks turned even redder, but her smile was genuine.

"My only concern," said Eldarion thoughtfully, turning to his sister, "if you are well enough to return now to Edoras."

Though Mírra tried to placate them as best she could of her health, there was still the matter of travel time, for the Rohan capital was more than a day's ride away, and it was already afternoon. Even if they departed now there would be two nights of camp required.

"If I may suggest, my lords," Adair spoke simply, "you are welcome to remain here tonight. It would be an honour to host you, and the lady for one night."

It was strange that they had not considered it, but now that the offer was made, there seemed nothing to stand in the way of it. After more than twenty four hours of tension, the prospect of remaining in such country was indeed very calming.

"We shall stay here tonight, then?" Mírra asked her father, evidently pleased.

He set an arm behind her shoulders, still relieved to find her well. "Yes, we shall stay here."

Mírra's eyes twinkled as her expression softened. "Wonderful."

* * * * * * * * * *

For the rest of the afternoon, the King was pleased to receive a tour of the grounds, learning about his hosts and their occupations. Mírra herself had not even fully seen the entire property.

Adair, a shearer by trade, kept a substantial flock of sheep. With a small number of assistant shepherds, managed the barn and the pasture quite well. As they viewed the barn, the children were very pleased to point out two lambs, who were indeed new just in the past week.

Doreth worked with a few women, mainly the shepherds' wives, in spinning the wool they produced. As she had told Mírra the day before, Adair did go to Edoras for trade on occasion, and they made a sound living. Their house was not expansive, but more than large enough for their family.

The visitors also learned that while Doran spent part of his time with his sister and brother-in-law, he also managed his own small stable, keeping horses for their own community, and for some folk nearby. He and his son Nolan had a house to call their own, just within sight of the pasture, but spent much time with his sister's family, even more so since his wife's death from illness, soon after Nolan's birth.

If their parents were somewhat in awe of their guests, the children quickly grew excited at the task of showing off their home. And so while Eldarion and Adair worked to set up camp, a short distance from the house, the two boys happily went with Doran to show the King and his daughter the country side, and their favourite places to explore. The landscape north of the house was more hilly, and with more trees, that provided a pleasant walk to finish the afternoon.

As they returned from walking, the daylight was beginning to fade, bringing sunset closer. Aragorn went to rejoin Eldarion in setting their camp, as Mírra remained near the house.

Once again she could not help but take notice of the sounds she heard here. Although it was just beginning to turn to dusk, she was surprised to find a few crickets chirping distinctively in the grass.

She did not even consider that she must have looked odd, standing there quietly, until one of the two boys came by, on his way back to the house. Nolan saw her gaze, apparently fixed on something, but he could not tell what.

"Are you watching something?" he asked in a quiet, curious voice, as he came up beside her.

Mírra turned, only mildly startled, and smiled back at him.

"No, I'm just listening."

The boy flitted his gaze around them as he tried to hear what she did.

"But it is only the crickets."

"I am not used to hearing them," Mírra explained. "Do you like their song?"

Nolan shrugged, as if he was surprised by the question.

"They always sing so many at once. I never find just one."

"Hm." The young lady seemed to give this some thought. "Have you ever caught one?"

Nolan shook his head, full of blond hair that fell over his eyes.

"No. They always get away."

"Perhaps if we are careful." Mírra gave the quickest of winks. "...and silent."

The boy put a finger to his lips, in agreement, grinning.

She took a soft step forward in the grass, eyes and ears intent. There was a short chirp just in front of them, before the cricket went silent. Nolan followed her lead in crouching down.

Mírra cautiously extended a hand, and with care cupped her fingers over the spot in the grass. Bringing her hands together, the insect tickled her palm as she caught it. Within a moment it was transferred safely into Nolan's hands.

"Got it!" he exclaimed happily.

"Got what?"

Mírra looked up to see Doran coming from the house. He approached them calmly, observing their behaviour with quiet curiosity.

"Have you found something?"

Nolan rose and went happily to his father, hands cupped together over the insect in his hands, which let out a small chirp in ineffective protest at its capture.

"I've got a cricket."

"Well, shall I see it too?"

"Oh no, papa, it will get away if I do," said the boy. His light eyes brightened momentarily. "I will show it to Connor, and it will give him a fright."

His father laughed softly. "Do not blame me when your aunt chases you for your actions."

Nolan grinned and ran off to the house.

Feeling an unexpected need to neaten her appearance, Mírra pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, tucked a few pieces of hair behind her ears. Almost absentmindedly she fingered the edge of the cloth bandage on her arm.

Doran gave slight nod of his head in greeting, which Mírra returned. For the first time he was alone in her company, and at a loss for words. But the problem was solved when it was the princess who spoke first.

"I realise I haven't yet thanked you properly, for what you've done for me."

Doran smiled gently, giving a slight shake of his head.

"There is truly no need, my lady, I am glad to have been of help."

When he spoke in his low calm voice, it seemed to Mírra to be just as how he walked, never putting a step wrong. Each word fell carefully and evenly, in a pleasant efficiency of speech which gave the impression of revealing only as much as he needed to, and had yet hidden nothing.

Mírra wanted to say something more, something to acknowledge what he and his family had done. But any statement of thanks that she could give somehow seemed inadequate.

"Yesterday, when I think more of what happened, I realise how nearly you might have missed seeing me, if I had not wandered so far from the river's edge." He saw her fingers drift again to the bandage on her arm, fidgeting with the edge of the cloth wrapping. "The truth is, if you and Adair had not found me... I worry to think what could have happened to me, what could have been."

"But we did find you," he told her simply, "No matter what could have been."

Mírra gave a small smile, and felt her cheeks grow warm, despite herself. "I thank you all the same, my lord."

Doran gave another nod, in acceptance.

A young voice interrupted them, causing Mírra to take in a breath as she drew herself into alertness, aware of how comfortable she had been, alone in Doran's company.

"Papa!" Nolan came running up excitedly, taking his father's hand. "My aunt says we may have dinner outside tonight, since there are too many people to fit in the house!"

"She says that, does she?" Doran answered somewhat wryly.

"Yes, and we may sit 'round the fire, as well."

"Nolan," he began again, slightly dubious, "you do realise who our guests are?"

"You mean my father, and my brother?" Mírra answered for him, a bemused expression on her face, "and me?"

There was a twinkle in her eye that immediately set Doran's qualms at rest. "Yes, I suppose."

"Come along, papa, auntie says we must get things ready, before it grows too dark to see."

"So we must, then." He turned to Mírra, as Nolan attempted to direct him inside. "It appears we have plenty to make ready for."

"So it does."

She smiled brightly back at him, giving him a feeling of lightness that Doran had not expected.

* * * * * * * * * *

Although dinner had finished an hour ago, Doreth remained in the kitchen, finding another surface to clean, another bit of floor to sweep, anything to keep her busy. Her husband soon found her, wondering what still kept her from the merriment outside.

She turned away from the table she had been washing, her eyes uncertain.

"I cannot go out there," her voice was nearly a whisper.

"Why ever not?" At first Adair thought she was jesting with him, but the pale look on her face rapidly told him she was quite serious.

"It is the King himself... I cannot share company with him, I will surely look foolish and simple."

"You have shared the princess's company for two days now."

"It is not the same thing, and you know it. The things his majesty has done, Adair... You know how our parents spoke of what it was like to live near Erech, how changed that place was after his coming."

"It will be alright, Doreth, I promise," he could not help but smile as he crossed to take her hand, in an attempt at comfort. "Your presence is missed, darling, please come out with me. I will play, if you like," he added after a pause.

"Yes?" Doreth's expression brightened as she considered this. Her free hand flitted to the kerchief over her hair, to her apron.

"I still do not look suitable..."

She released her husband's hand and, with some lingering uncertainty, removed the kerchief from her head, and then the apron, laying it carefully over the back of a chair.

"Is this better?" She asked, trying to brush unseen dust from her skirts.

"You always look beautiful, Doreth."

Adair helpfully smoothed back a lock of his wife's light hair, waiting for her to finally look at him, and gave her his hand again. She clasped it tightly between both of hers.

She gave an optimistic smile as she drew in a breath. "Alright, let us go out, before I lose my nerve."

* * * * * * * * * *

Just as the afternoon had been warm and bright in the aftermath of the previous day's storm, so the evening was also fair. The sky was again clear, the stars brightening with the rise of the moon.

Shawls and light cloaks were enough to keep warm, as the mixed company arranged themselves around the fireside. A few benches had been brought outside for seating, which did not seem to displease the King. In fact he even seemed content, hearing the voices of men and women raised in merriment.

Seated next to her father, Mírra noticed his dress was not as formal as it usually was, even for travel. He must have departed Edoras in a hurry, of course, neglecting outward appearances. Though she could not explain why, he seemed more comfortable in plainer clothes.

Both King and princess saw their hostess exit the house, her expression bright enough, but still she clutched her husband's arm as if holding on for dear life. As Ailsa ran up to them, though, Doreth took the little girl happily in her arms, as they joined the party.

"Doreth seems quite nervous. Does my presence affect her, do you think?" Aragorn asked his daughter evenly, with a nod to their hostess.

"Well, it is not every day that one hosts someone of your stature, ada," she said wryly.

"It is very generous of them to do so. I see you have been in good hands."

Mírra smiled. "They have been most kind. Even without knowing who I was, they helped me without question."

Her father gave a nudge, as she went quiet for a moment.

"Go and speak with her, if you like. Do not worry to leave me."

Mírra laid a hand on his arm. "Alright, but only for a second."

Aragorn saw her cross to where the couple was standing with their daughter. Nearby Eldarion was deep in conversation with Doran.

Straying between clusters of grown-ups around him, the boy Connor noticed the King sitting comfortably near the fire. Curiously he neared, but becoming unsure he soon paused, observing him with quiet interest. For a moment the King was looking upward towards the stars, but smiled when he saw the boy approaching.

"Hello, young master," he said with a nod to the boy.

"Hullo," said Connor, somewhat timidly. The King did not seem all that imposing. His light grey eyes were calm and bright.

At Aragorn's invitation he came to sit on the bench.

"I was watching the stars just now."

"I like the stars too," ventured Connor.

"Do you know any of the patterns in the sky?"

"I know that one," said the dark-haired boy, creasing his brow in concentration and pointing high up over his head at a group of seven stars.

"It is called the Valacirca, which means the Sickle of the Valar"

"I can always spot it," Connor said happily.

"Then Varda has done her work well," replied the King.

"She is one of the Valar."

"That's right," Aragorn nodded. "She gathered the ancient stars and set them in the sky, as we see them now."

"Very long ago?"

"Even before the time of the Children of Ilúvatar."

"Oh..." the boy answered quietly. "But how do we know it was her that put the stars there, if it happened so long ago?"

Aragorn smiled gently as he sat up a little straighter. It was a good question.

"Because we have tales passed down, from many years ago. The past is always remembered, while there are people who tell it."

This appeared to please Connor.

"Then I will remember it was Varda who put the stars in the sky," he told the King.

"Ah, that is well then. So the tales will continue," Aragorn concluded, spreading his palms upward.

The boy tilted his head back as he looked up once again at the sky, his mouth hanging slightly open. The gesture made Aragorn smile, and turn his own glance upward, taking in the sight above, that he had not examined in quite a while.

"Oh, look!" said Connor as he noticed Adair approaching, a fiddle in his hands. "My papa is going to play for us."

"He plays well?"

Connor nodded his curly-haired head vigorously.  He turned to the King, as if considering something. "Do you like to hear it too?"

A low chuckle rose from Aragorn's throat, a grin spreading over his face at the boy's question. Apparently not everyone was quite so nervous.

"Very much. I think it will be a very merry evening, yes?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Returning to join his father, Eldarion showed a bemused expression as he regarded the two companions, the boy clapping his hands together cheerfully to join the celebration.

"A new friend?" he asked.

Aragorn replied with a wink. "Something like that."

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning seemed to come too quickly, for Mírra in particular. By all accounts she should have been pleased to be departing, completing the remainder of the journey that had been so disrupted. Until two days ago she had only been thinking of seeing Edoras.

But the welcoming comfort of her present environment had put those thoughts out of her mind, and now it seemed a disappointment to leave such a friendly place.

Early in the morning, as preparations were being completed for departure, she made her way to the stables, to see about her ride. It relieved her to find the black mare she had departed with was no longer with their party. Instead a grey mare had been made ready.

As she made her way to find her horse, she saw Doran himself finishing the preparation, tightening the saddle, adjusting the reins.

"Is all well?"

He turned to see the princess standing by him, a little surprised not to have heard her approach.

She was clothed once again in sable, her dress and cloak now clean and dry. The marks of her journey, the few scratches on her face and the bandage on her arm, were still evident, incongruous against the formality of her dress. She seemed unaffected by the imperfection.

"Very well, my lady, for a safe journey." The royal party's horses were indeed fine animals, too fine for his stable, he felt.

"I hope it will be more uneventful than the last," Mírra replied with a half-smile.

She stepped closer, gently raising a hand to let the mare take in her scent. The animal fluttered its nostrils, allowing Mírra to place her hand on the bridle, and stroke its nose.

"I always wanted to ride as fast as I could," she said softly. For a moment Doran was unsure whether he should respond, but she continued, voicing uncertain thoughts aloud. "But my choice of horse did not help me very much, on this last journey."

Doran placed his hand near the horse's mane, patting its neck.

"I think you need not worry this time, my lady," he said in his low, even voice. "You can trust her, I think."

"That is reassuring." She turned her eyes to Doran again, a trace of uncertainty having left them. "I trust you, as well, my lord."

* * * * * * * * * *

Soon enough, all were again gathered near the house, as farewells were made.

"I shall not forget your generosity, your kindness," said Mírra as she hugged Doreth farewell. "We shall see each other again, I hope."

"I hope so as well," replied the fair-haired woman, with an effusive smile. "Take care of yourself."

Not sure of what other gesture to make, Mírra extended a hand to Adair, who gave it a quick kiss.

"We wish you a safe journey, my lady."

She shook Connor's small hand, and Nolan's, and gave a hug to Ailsa, who swiftly rejoined her mother with a shy smile.

Coming to Doran, she again held out a hand. Regarding it for the briefest of moments, he took it. Mírra felt the pad of his thumb rest gently above her knuckle, a touch so unexpectedly light.

"I hope you keep well, my lady."

Doran pressed his lips simply to her hand, and as he withdrew was once again confronted by her clear gaze that rested softly on him, unwavering, and again he had to remind himself who she was.

"And you, my lord," she replied softly.

Lingering only for a second, only the barest fraction of time, Mírra released his hand, and turned to find her horse, her cheeks unexpectedly warm.

The King and his son, having made sure all was ready, came to give their own gestures of thanks and farewell. Aragorn shook hands with Doran and Adair, but came last to Doreth, who he knew had done so much.

"You gave my daughter a safe haven, and for that I am truly grateful. You welcomed her into your home, and so you will be always welcome in mine." He turned and looked to Adair and Doran, as he finished. "The gates of Minas Tirith shall always be open to you."

After curtsying, Doreth felt as shy as her daughter, and huddled close to Adair. He put an arm around her, with a knowing smile.

At last the riders were gathered, and all preparations were complete, all farewells made.

As Mírra was seated comfortably on her horse, she gave a wave to her hosts.

"Thank you," she called out at the last.

The children as well as their parents waved in return, watching the riders turn about.

As he watched the party move off into the distance, Doran's gaze was fixed on one rider in particular, the young woman and her grey horse. Even still, he did not realise his distraction until his sister's voice brought him out of it.

"Oh, how simple our life will seem now, without such company," she said dreamily. "I wonder if we shall ever see such folk again."

"Indeed," Doran replied softly, as he joined in turning to go back to the house, Nolan at his side.

The group of riders had just made their way beside the pasture, heading north.

As she rode, Mírra looked back, thinking to catch a last glimpse, but Doran had already turned, and did not see.

 As Aragorn describes: "And high in the north as a challenge to Melkor [Varda] set the crown of seven mighty stars to swing, Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar and sign of doom." (The Silmarillion, p 45)

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 12 - Travellers Return

* * * * * * * * * *

Arwen was already awake when dawn came in Minas Tirith, as if her mind anticipated the coming daylight even while she dreamt.

She rolled over to the other side of the bed, which had been empty for the last many weeks. Nestled under the covers, for a long while she lay quietly, watching as a faint beam of light peeked through the curtains. Moments passed slowly as the room became filled with the dim brightness of early morning.

Why do you linger here, when the day awaits you?

Arwen chose not to answer that thought, and only turned over again onto her back, closing her eyes contentedly as she lay against the pillow. It was simply too tempting to stay in the comfort of the bed for as long as she could.

She stretched lazily, and as she relaxed once again, hugged her elbows above her head. The room was getting bright now. Pushing back the covers, she discovered the room was not as chilly as she expected. The weather was warming, with the onset of late spring. On a whim, Arwen decided against her slippers. As she stepped over to the balcony doors she felt the coolness of the marble underneath her feet.

Opening the curtains, she realised yet again how wonderful it was that their chambers faced east. Arwen smiled at the welcoming picture the sky gave her.

She gave a small shiver and rubbed her bare arms, having also neglected her robe. There was still a smile on her face as she went to dress, recalling who was returning to the City today.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Please, nana?" Lúthea pleaded, resting her hands on the front of the desk.

"I am almost finished, darling, just wait one more moment," Arwen replied, suppressing a grin.

The Queen sat in her study, completing a last bit of correspondence; it was to the Lady of Ithilien, and she did not want to leave it waiting.

Lúthea was eager for her mother to go with her to the library, as she had been all week.

Just nearby on the desk there was a small stack of letters, the ones that had not been diverted to Edoras. Among the stack were three letters, one for each of the returning travellers, from the Lords of Rivendell. They had arrived last week along with the rest of the delivery.

"There is always more for me to do when your father is absent, I cannot help it," she finished, momentarily distracted from the last sentence of her letter.

"But he is returning today, so it will not matter now." Lúthea came around the table, twirling a bit of dark hair between her fingers, and leaned on the back of her mother's chair.

"Hmm, yes..."

Arwen reached for her teacup and took a quiet sip as she waited for the ink to dry; Lúthea assisted the process by blowing softly on the page. After setting the cup down, Arwen folded the parchment neatly, only to find her daughter holding the sealing wax at the ready.

"Alright, I have taken the hint," the Queen chuckled.

As she at last pressed the stamp into the soft wax, the letter was finished.

"There." Arwen said, standing to leave.

Before they reached the door, Lúthea paused.

"You do want to look at the new books as well?" she asked apprehensively. "They are from your home, are they not?"

Arwen collected her breath, and gave her daughter's hand a squeeze.

"Of course." She smiled carefully. "I'm glad you are interested in them, darling."

This seemed to relieve the young princess.

"Oh good," she answered, somewhat pleased. "We can finish organising them on the shelves. When I read more, can you help me with any words in the Elvish that I do not know?"

"That I can do," replied Arwen, with a nod.

They soon reached the small section of the library where space had been made for the new collection from Rivendell. Elladan had been as good as his word, sending more than a few trunks worth of leather-bound volumes. One of the reading rooms had been made available, a more private setting.

Over half of the books were already shelved, and the others simply waited to be catalogued. But it did not seem to matter, as they had arrived only a week ago.

Arwen did not know what was in all of them, but she recognised some collections of poetry, and some fables she had liked when she was young. It seemed well enough for Lúthea though; the young princess's eyes were almost glazed over as she tried to take it all in.

After glancing through one or two books, the princess paused. She fingered one sleeve

"Maybe we should shelve them first, and then go through them more carefully."

"Alright," Arwen looked up from the sonnets she had found. "I can help you with that, if you like."

They decided to begin a separate shelf for the fiction, apart from the histories and journals that were also among the collection.

As Arwen took book after book from Lúthea, and added them to the shelf, she began to wonder why she had felt such uneasiness at the prospect of this gift from her brothers. Perhaps, in following her daughter's interest, it might be possible to go back, back to her father's things...

Fortunately she did not have time to dwell on the thought, because before long there was a knock at the entrance to the reading room.

Lúthea turned first. "Eldarion!"

She rushed over to greet her brother, who was still in his travelling clothes, his gloves in one hand.

"Now this is a friendly greeting," he chuckled, bending to receive a hug from Lúthea.

Arwen came down from her step-stool, and took her turn to embrace her son warmly.

"Suilad, naneth," Eldarion smiled.

"You did not return alone?" his mother asked with wry curiosity. "Or was Rohan simply not to your liking?"

"No, not to worry, I simply rode ahead," he reassured her. "Adar should be following with Mírra in just an hour or so."

"Everything is well, then?" Arwen asked quietly.

Eldarion noted the tone of her voice. His father had written to Minas Tirith to let his mother know of what had happened, but he did not know how much Lúthea was aware of. He related only as much as he needed to.

"It is," the prince replied cautiously, "there were some... unanticipated events on the initial journey. But all is well now. I am sure Mírra can tell you more."

Arwen laid a hand on his arm. "I will look forward to that."

Lúthea, looking from one of them to the other, piped up again.

"You must see what we have been doing Eldarion. Our uncles did sent the things after all, just as promised!"

"Ah, wonderful! But you will have a head start on me now, I think," he finished with a wink.

"It is not a race, you know," replied the princess in mock jest.

"Of course, how silly of me." The prince set his gloves down on one of the tables, and began to remove his cloak. He did not need to go to change yet. "So tell me, what is there to see here?"

* * * * * * * * * *

"Mmm," Mírra sighed with some satisfaction, as she began to work a comb through clean, damp hair, "As exciting as travelling is, I will never grow tired of returning to hot baths."

Arwen chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed in her daughter's chamber.

"I am glad there is something in the city that still tempts you," she said with a wink. "You enjoyed seeing some of Rohan, then?"

"Oh, what wonderful country it is. So different from here. There is plain all around Edoras, except for the hill of the city."

"Perfect for riding, but windy, as I recall."

Mírra nodded. "The plains do not have nearly so many trees, though, to make chases as interesting," she finished with a laugh.

Seeing her daughter begin to finger a section of her hair into a braid, Arwen extended a hand. "Come, let me do that for you."

Mírra came over amiably beside her mother. The two women sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, as Arwen formed one long, tight braid in the dark hair. It was simple and neat, which was all Mírra wanted.

"There, that should stay," Arwen said as she finished, smoothing a hand over the dark queue of hair.

"Thank you," Mírra smiled.

The princess sat in her robe. In front of her on the bed was her sable travelling dress that she had discarded before bathing. She took it up on her lap, noting the torn pocket on the front. There had seemed to her no reason not to continue to wear it, despite its present condition.

"How I used to hate wearing dresses for riding," she said with a sigh, "The skirts would always be in the way."

"This garment has certainly seen better days," observed Arwen.

Mírra at first only nodded in response. "I hope you were not too concerned... when you received word?"

"I was of course, sell-nîn," said Arwen softly as she drew an arm around her shoulders, "But then I was only glad to hear you were safe. And to hear you found help, from friendly folk."

Mírra ventured a smile. "They... they were so very kind to me. Even before they knew who I was."

"A family?"

Mírra nodded, telling her mother of the people who hosted her for two nights. But Arwen could see she did not want to dwell on such tales. After a short while Mírra drew in a breath, and blinked as if bringing herself out of reflection.

"I should perhaps dress, for dinner will be soon."

"Of course. I should like to hear more tales from your adventure tonight."

Arwen hesitated before rising to leave, and as she drew her arms around her daughter once more, Mírra hugged back.

"I'm alright naneth, I promise."

"It is still good to have you back," whispered Arwen.

Mírra only silently embraced her mother in reply, not wanting to admit, despite the excitement of the Rohan capital, how much she had wanted to return home.

Arwen kissed her daughter's forehead, and with another squeeze of her shoulder, rose and left the chamber.

Now alone, Mírra looked down at the dress on her lap, fingering the torn section of fabric. She could not explain why she had wanted to keep it, nor could she explain why she had kept the scrap that had been torn.

Crossing over to her dressing table, Mírra found the small piece of sable cloth that Doran had given to the King, at her urging. Her father had returned it to her, when they had met up again, along with her lost necklace.

She ran her fingers over the figure of the white tree, over the texture of the embroidery. She still remembered how it had felt to press it into his hand, and how warm his eyes had been when she had met his gaze.

It had been over a month ago, and despite the weeks at Edoras, the part of the journey that was foremost in her mind were those two nights in the country. Is that sensible? she chided herself. It certainly was not expected.

But then, there were so many aspects of the journey that had been unexpected.

Reluctantly Mírra tucked the scrap of fabric into the pocket of her robe.

Through the windows she could see the last hour of daylight fading from the sky. She stepped over to the casement, and opened one window to let in a faint breeze of early evening.

Far below the palace was the city, but there was not much sound to be heard. She knew she would not hear any crickets tonight, but she strained her ears all the same.

* * * * * * * * * *

Supper passed with enthusiastic conversation from all sides. They were content, the six of them.

It surprised Mírra to hear so much conversation from her sister, as Lúthea explained all the things that had happened over the last month - the new addition to the library not the least cause of her excitement.

The drama of Mírra's accident was soon forgotten as she and Eldarion told of the family that had so kindly hosted them.

Aragorn was happy to keep quiet, contributing his own tales when necessary, but for the most part enjoying Elenna's company. The youngest princess sat on her father's lap, and even as her bedtime drew near, she shared as much laughter as she inspired in her family members; trying to keep up with the conversation was easy enough, even if her words made sense to noone but her.

Following the meal, the King returned to his study to find what waited him, and he found that the prince was equally eager to get to his own correspondence. Despite the ease in Eldarion's posture, an ankle resting on one knee as he read, Aragorn saw his son concentrating intently on the letter in his hands.

"Is there much news?"

Eldarion looked up to reply.

"Lord Faramir tells me of the White Company's plans for this year." Seeing his father nod, Eldarion continued slowly. "And... my uncle Elrohir writes again. He is curious about recent news from Ithilien."

"That is all?" Aragorn knew of his brother's interest in the prince's travels.

Eldarion let out a breath. "He also invites me again to come to Arnor, if I wish."

"…But you have not decided yet."

"No." Eldarion scratched his cheek, which was once again clean-shaven. "Should I go?"

"You are asking me for advice, after your last journey?"

"I ask you for advice, especially after what has happened on my last journey." He straightened, setting both feet on the floor. "I thought I had done everything right, planned it all well."

"You could not have expected Mírra's accident, Eldarion, no matter what your previous experiences had been."

"I fear though, it will still sting my memory for some time," the prince sighed. "I should have seen the storm coming. I would have, if I had not been... preoccupied."

The prince fell silent a moment, as Aragorn began to understand.

"You still have not said, why it was you went to Erech. It was the reason for taking the South Road, was it not?"

Eldarion nodded in confirmation. His only surprise was that this conversation had not come sooner, but he had been too careful about raising the issue himself.

"At the time, I was not even sure, myself," he began slowly. "But I only wanted to see the place for myself, people speak of it with such reverence. People speak of your deeds with such reverence."

He saw his father shift in his seat, sit up a little straighter as he folded his arms.

"What I mean is, people do tell such tales," continued the prince quietly, "but I never had a sense of the place itself, and I suppose I wanted only to lay eyes on it. But then when I did see it, it was somehow not what I expected." Briefly he paused. "The tales are not incorrect, are they?"

"No, I do not suppose they would be," said his father. "You did once ask me, and I should have been more forthcoming about it."

Eldarion leaned forward, silently encouraging him to continue.

"It was dark, when I came to Erech. Almost midnight." Aragorn's face was a mask, though his voice was calm enough. "At that time it was such a very strange country, there was so much uncertainty surrounding everything we did."

"Not knowing if the ring-bearer would succeed?"

"And how much Sauron himself was truly aware of. The Battle of the Pelennor could have ended very differently, had we not arrived with the fleet. Truly, there was no other path for me, no other choice but to seek that way, difficult though it was."

Eldarion shook his head, thinking. "Still, I cannot fathom it... the Dead."

"Neither could I, to tell the truth. It haunted me for a great while. But I remember at the time, being so focused only on completing the journey." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I think now, you must have had a better sight of it than I did."

Eldarion met his father's eye.

"It is not shadowy, or ill-favoured. In fact the place is green with grass, and very quiet, but for wind. Even the great stone seemed calm."

Aragorn gave a curious smile. "These are indeed two different places, that we speak of."

"Yes... and I think I wanted to see what you saw, the way you saw it. But that is impossible, I now realise."

"I am glad you see it that way. I cannot tell you how to face your future, Eldarion, but it will be your experiences, not mine, that shape who you will be."

He nodded in recognition. "I know this now. I only wish it had not taken me so long to understand."

"The influences on your life may not be the same as mine," said Aragorn, "but you have one thing that I did not, the freedom to decide your path."

Eldarion let this sink in, feeling as though a gap had been bridged between them, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

"Then I will make the choice I desire." He laughed, glancing back at his uncle's letter. "What ever it turns out to be, at least I will make it freely."

* * * * * * * * * *

It was not long after supper when Arwen returned to their chambers, having paid a last goodnight to her daughters.

She found Aragorn on the balcony, hands folded, elbows resting on the railing. His gaze was vaguely directed down, in the direction of the city, but she could tell there were other things on his mind than the activity below.

If he was pensive before departing on a journey, he was no less so upon returning. As Aragorn turned to see his wife come near, she was shaking her head, bemused.

"Will there never be a journey," she asked as she came to stand beside him, "when you do not return with more questions than answers?"

The King turned light eyes to his wife. Arwen pressed her palm over his, and they laced together their fingers.

"I think you know me well enough to predict the answer to that," he replied wryly, "but in this case it is our son that returns with the questions."

Arwen considered his expression, which had the unforced calm of heavy contemplation.

"You mentioned Erech in your letter..." Her voice was soft. "But you did not reveal everything, I could tell."

He held her gaze for a moment, and drew in a slow breath, exhaling with the same measured pace.

"I had not thought about it for many years. But I should have expected Eldarion's curiosity."

"You are not unhappy, that he and Mírra saw it?"

"No." He gave his head a shake. "No, as strange as it may be for me to remember those deeds, the War is part of their history. And I think that Eldarion rather blames himself more for taking Mírra into danger, than anything else."

Arwen frowned at this mention. "I should have accompanied them."

"No, you were right to stay here with the girls, to help Lúthea with the new collection." There was a reassuring glint in his eye. "Next time."

"Of course, next time."

Arwen bit her lip in a smile. She turned to face him, their linked hands falling between them.

"There is one thing though, that I love about when you go away."

"And what is that?" said Aragorn, bending his forehead to her. She could feel his heavy air of contemplation begin to lift.

"Welcoming you back, when you return."

His own lips stretched into a smile, against hers. "Ah, yes," he replied softly, bringing his free hand to rest lightly on her waist.

Neither one had yet ventured to bring the kiss to completion, as they hovered so very near to each other.

Silently grinning, Arwen's smile only widened as each time she tilted her head, he found a new position to match it, attempting to ply her lips nearer to his, but without success.

"Do you toy with me, lady?"

"Oh..." She rounded her lips around the syllable in mock pity, stroking her fingertips across his forehead. "Is not my lord happy?" she teased.

"Hmm," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I think I would feel more welcomed indoors, perhaps."

Aragorn bent slightly at the knees, only to wrap his arms tightly around Arwen's waist. She felt the pace of her heartbeat increase, as it always seemed to when he held her so securely.

As he stood, she was lifted just off the ground, and giving a small sound of delight, Arwen comfortably set her arms around his shoulders.

"I believe the bedroom is very welcoming, this evening," Arwen replied low, with a serious nod. Her husband's only response was a quiet growl, and again a teasingly lifted eyebrow.

Glancing behind him once, to be sure he was headed in the correct direction, Aragorn slowly stepped back in through the balcony doors, into their chamber.

When they came to the bed Aragorn sat down, only to be pushed farther back on to the mattress by his wife.

"You were saying?" he prompted, pushing hair away from her face as she settled herself atop him.

She only smiled again, her eyes dark. Bending down, she finally kissed him, his warm breath mingling with hers, between parted lips. Aragorn continued to hold her face as they tasted of each other, combed his fingers deep past her hairline.

Parting at last, his gaze was locked with hers.

"And about that welcome?" said Aragorn with a wink.

"Hmm," Arwen murmured, "I do not think I can tell it to you."

"No?"

He felt her hands smoothing over his chest, finding the fastenings of his tunic. When she looked back at him there was a renewed glimmer in her eye.

"No, indeed I will have to show it to you..."

Just as she began to slip her hands underneath his tunic, Arwen felt Aragorn's hands moving over the fabric of her dress, one on her thigh, as the other went over her back.

Their mouths met again, as Arwen leaned in, fitting her body over his, feeling Aragorn unclasp the back of her dress, making way for far less innocent, far more intimate caresses.

Suilad = "greetings"

<><><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 13 - Books and Letters

<><><><><><><><><><>

Although neither the King nor the Queen could tell who woke first, it was with the first light of day that Arwen drifted out of sleep, to feel her husband's arm resting about her waist.

With sleep still blanketing her consciousness she turned to face him, and in response Aragorn encircled his arm a little closer around his wife's body.

After a time, it was the King that dared speak first.

"Shall we admit that we must awake?"

His voice was lazy, his eyes still unopened.

Arwen buried her face against his bare chest, murmuring, "Never, if it means moving from the comfort of this bed."

If it had been hard for her to rise the previous morning, it was even more so now that he was here again. She felt his chest rise as he took a deep breath in, comfortably wrapping his arms around her back, which was also still bare.

After lying in silence for a few moments more, Arwen looked up to see him blinking heavy eyelids.

"Mmm, perhaps we must admit it."

She rested her cheek on her forearm as she watched his face, realising they were indeed both awake now.

"Tell me about the days of your journey," she asked calmly.

"You truly wish to begin the morning with this?" said Aragorn bemusedly, rubbing one eye.

"Well, we did end the evening with it, before we were, ah, distracted..."

"True enough," he smiled, "but I thought you would have had an earful last night."

"Eldarion and Mírra did talk of Rohan, of course. But as to the rest, I think they do not wish to alarm me, somehow."

Aragorn sat up a little against the headboard, causing Arwen to do the same, pulling the sheet up around herself.

"I take it that my business with Éomer at Edoras is not what you wish to hear more about." There was a knowing tone in his voice.

Arwen shook her head.

"I know it all worked out for the best, and it was over a month ago now, but... I still wonder how Mírra is, with all of this."

"I believe it was only later, that she realised how serious things could have been. It may have distracted her somewhat from the remainder of the journey."

"It was lucky that she found the help she did."

Aragorn smiled. "That is likely part of the reason for our calmness, in the end, for she had very welcoming hosts for those few days. They were friendly to us all, really."

"I am so very glad it worked out for the best."

"I think it did."

Aragorn ran his fingertips underneath Arwen's hand, lightly tickling her palm.

"But all this time I have hardly heard of your days here. What of the things Elladan sent?"

"From Imladris' library, you mean?"

"Of course. I thought you would have had much to tell me about it."

Arwen remained quiet, smiling somewhat awkwardly and rubbing one arm as if from a chill.

"I will, certainly. Let me first get my robe."

She quickly slipped out of bed to fetch the garment, slipping the ends of the sash tightly together as she put it on. Inwardly she chided herself, at feeling so wary of this.

When she came back to the bed, Aragorn was sitting up, hands folded in his lap. His expression was intent, fixed on Arwen.

"You were pleased to receive the collection, I thought?"

"Of course I was." She knelt beside him, over the covers.

Aragorn was aware of the measured tone in her response. If she was avoiding the subject, it did not entirely surprise him, but neither did it comfort him.

"How much of it... is his?"

Arwen bit her lip softly, meeting Aragorn's eyes.

"There are some log books, journals. Maps as well. But in truth I have looked at very little of it yet."

He noticed her beginning to rub her arm again.

"Has Lúthea asked questions?"

She shook her head.

"No, and I am... a little unsure of what I would say to her, beyond what the children already know." She met his eyes again, and spoke abruptly to reassure the flicker of concern she saw in them. "In time, I will, but perhaps not yet."

Their children did know that Arwen's parents had passed away. But since Aragorn's parents were no longer living, from their perspective there was little difference. Their grandparents were simply a part of the past.

"I had thought it might be an opportunity for you to share with them..."

"I know, but not yet."

Her voice was firm, and it surprised both of them. The intentness in Aragorn's eyes gave way fully to concern.

"Forgive me, dearest. I will not press you."

"I am sorry, it is just..." Arwen swallowed, as she began to stumble over her words. "I know they will want to learn, Lúthea especially. But I am not yet sure how much I can... handle just yet. She is free to explore what she wishes, certainly."

Aragorn regarded his wife for a moment, considering this. It was plain that the subject was difficult for her, and they had been reluctant to broach it in the past. He took her hand again, gently.

"You know you may always speak to me. Of anything, meleth-nîn."

"I know it." She nodded again, meeting his eyes with a faint smile. "Ah, perhaps you are right," she whispered, trying to collect herself, "Perhaps we should have begun the day with something else."

He became quiet again briefly, but then began to rub his thumb over the back of Arwen's hand.

"It is not too late to start over."

She smiled gradually, reflecting her husband's expression.

"You had something in mind?"

"Hmm, nothing at present. But perhaps if we lie here long enough, we might think of something."

Slowly Arwen eased herself on to Aragorn's lap, placing her arms lightly around his neck.

"Perhaps this may help..."

As she pressed her lips over his, Aragorn moved his hands over her back, drawing her towards him. He released her from the kiss, only to begin anew, lips merging delicately, delightfully.

Just last night it had been her who had drawn him out of his pensive state, and now it was the opposite, Arwen realised. It was so easy to forget all else, when she settled into his embrace.

"For my part, I would much rather stay here with you, than think about the meetings that wait for me," he murmured against her cheek.

"Then shall I sit with you this morning?" she offered.

Aragorn withdrew a little. "Would not Lúthea mind the absence of your company?"

"I think she will understand. But then, it is you who have been absent from my company for the last few weeks, and I am reluctant to let go of you."

"Ah. Then it seems I am at your mercy, for today."

She gave a small chuckle, kissing the side of his neck. "As you say, my lord."

* * *

Later in the morning, the sunshine was growing high and warm over the south garden of the palace. Mírra lay back on the grass, eyes closed, utterly relaxed.

She could hear a young child giggling nearby, but continued to feign sleep.

After only a minute, the oldest princess was greeted with a small body landing next to her, hands clutching at her skirts.

"Got you Mírra!" Elenna shrieked, grinning widely.

"So you have, you silly thing," Mírra said as she sat up, quickly grabbing her little sister into her arms.

The little girl continued to giggle, and soon squirmed free.

"And where do you think you are going now?" Mírra teased again, one hand on her hip. She raised the other, and curled an index finger, beckoning. "Come back here, you."

"Uh uh!" Elenna fairly bubbled over with laughter, and swiftly turned a few steps away. She stopped, as if to make sure her sister would follow. Sure enough, as soon as Mírra began to take some exaggeratedly slow steps forward, the little girl ran farther, shrieking with delight.

"You cannot run forever!"

Elenna made a circuit of the garden, carried forward by her swift little legs, and eventually found her other sister.

"Help!" she laughed, grabbing Lúthea's arm.

The second princess had been, up until that point, calmly reading at one of the benches in the garden. She knelt on the grass, a book spread open before her on the bench as if it was a table.

"I do not think I can help you here, Elenna," Lúthea said with a trace of amusement.

Mírra came up as well, a little breathless.

"I'm sorry we distracted you."

She sat down next to the bench as well, and pulled her littlest sister into her lap. Elenna seemed to have happily tired out, and sat quietly. Mírra found a stray bit of lavender that had fallen next to the bench, and tucked a blossom behind the little girl's ear.

"What are you looking at today?" asked the oldest princess.

"It's one of the new books, an annotated atlas of Arnor," Lúthea explained, "The illustrations are so unlike the ones here, so many lovely colours and styles of line."

"Oh yes?"

"I like this section the best," Lúthea pointed to a page heading. "It has all about the Bruinen valley, and Imladris, where our uncles live." She turned a few pages eagerly. "The river ends in a large waterfall. It is the biggest river in that part of the country, and very fast flowing..." suddenly Lúthea stopped short, with an awkward glance to her sister, realising what she was talking about. "Oh... I did not mean..."

"It is alright, Lúthea, you may talk about rivers," Mírra said gently. "I shall not fall apart."

"I'm sorry. I only was not sure."

Mírra looked down at Elenna, sitting in her lap. The little girl had plucked another piece of lavender, and placed it into Mírra's palm, making her smile.

"I cannot help but think about the river, it is true," she said softly. "But I also think about the people I met there."

"Doreth seems kind, from what you told us yesterday."

"She was. Her brother Doran, as well." Mírra pursed her lips gently, trying not to give away too much. "I should very much like to visit with them again."

"Perhaps you will. One never can tell."

"True."

Lúthea looked back down at the pages in front of her, resting her cheek on her elbow.

"I've been here all morning, and Eldarion has still not come to meet me." She began to look a little glum.

"He was supposed to?"

"Yes, when I told him last night that I was going to look at this atlas, he said he was curious about it as well. But I guess his sword training took too much time."

"Well." Mírra rose, setting Elenna down next to her sister. "Then I shall go and find him."

* * *

"Have you really been here all morning?" Mírra called out to her brother, upon reaching the training hall.

Eldarion saw her, and after nodding to his opponent and setting down his blade, came over to join her.

"Lúthea's been waiting for you."

The prince winced a little. "Ah, I forgot."

"What's going on?" Mírra asked curiously.

"Let me just say I needed some time to work things out, for myself." He began to catch his breath as the two sat down. "I had been staring at letters and papers for too long, I think."

His sister shook her head. "We've hardly been home for a day, and you already have concerns."

Eldarion grinned sheepishly, but his eyes were still alert.

"I have been thinking on it for quite a while, I now realise. But it is time to stop thinking and just go."

"Go?"

"North," he said firmly. "I have decided to accept our uncle Elrohir's offer."

Mírra looked to him with surprise evident on her face.

"Truly? You are going to Arnor?"

The prince nodded. "I will leave as soon as everything can be made ready, I think."

"Do naneth and adar know?"

Eldarion shook his head. "I only just knew myself, I think."

"Hm."

It was only after Mírra did not respond further, that Eldarion wondered how much his decision had taken her aback.

"I'm aware this must seem sudden," he admitted.

Mírra gave a half-smile, turning up one corner of her mouth. "I had been so used to you going to Ithilien every year. It will be different to have you so far away, is all."

"I wondered if you might be envious."

"Oh, well, you need not worry, Eldarion," Mírra began slowly, "Perhaps I was a little more anxious to travel than I should have been."

"Mírra... you are still alright, after all that has happened?"

The princess let out a breath in exasperation.

"Why does everyone keep asking that? I am fine, please, stop worrying." She saw Eldarion nod, but it was his turn to remain quiet in response. Mírra quickly returned to the topic at hand.

"You will be able to see much of the same country that father did when he was your age."

"Ah you would bring that up wouldn't you?" Eldarion gave his sister a nudge. "Yes, there will be much to do near Rivendell, I think. I will not be able to return for Midsummer, and the festival, but when I think of what could be accomplished in the meantime, I do not mind that."

"Midsummer... of course." Mírra's expression appeared as though an idea had just come to her.

Eldarion took her silence for disappointment, and continued teasingly. "Will you survive, being the oldest one of us present?"

The princess turned back to her brother, a sparkle in her eyes. "I think I may manage without you."

With that she bid him farewell for the afternoon, and left the hall with a renewed lightness in her step.

"Where are you going so fast now?" Eldarion called after her.

"To see father," she replied, turning around as she walked, "about an invitation."

* * *

In the country, far removed from the White City, the sky was just as bright with sunshine.

Doran had spent a busy day in the stables, a change from the last few weeks. Most of the early spring had been taken up with the sheep, and Adair had required more of his assistance than usual. Today was the first time in over a week that Doran had been able to spend the entire day tending to the horses.

It was not an expansive stable, by any means. That one week, when they had given some assistance the royal party, there had barely been enough room to house all the horses that had come with the guests.

There were, however, enough animals for their small community of shepherds and weavers, enough to make the ride to Edoras worthwhile, once every year or two.

He did wonder, from time to time, that the stables had the potential to be much more than they were now. But for the moment Doran's thoughts were solely occupied with the mud that was caked over the horseshoe at his fingertips.

He was tending to a chestnut brown gelding who was rather unenthusiastic at the attention he was receiving. The animal shook its mane impatiently and released its leg from Doran's grasp.

The man stood up to his full height and looked disapprovingly at the horse.

"You make this worse on yourself you know. I could have been finished long ago, without your impatience."

The horse remained unconvinced, and snorted once.

"Suit yourself," replied Doran, shaking his head.

He bent again, and with more gentleness than one would expect from a man of such large build, tugged at the horse's foreleg to raise the hoof for continued cleaning.

Doran thought he could hear one of the sheepdogs barking outside, but ignored it as he continued to pick at the horse's hoof.

Soon enough, the two young boys cheerfully ran into the stables to find him.

"Papa, papa! There is a messenger just come!"

As Nolan and Connor came running into the stables, a black and white sheepdog followed them. The dog wagged its tail happily, encouraged by the boys' excitement, and barked once as it came near Doran.

The noise was enough to startle Doran, and the tool at his hand slipped and hit the sensitive spot at the centre of the horse's hoof. The animal whinnied and dropped its leg, planting the hoof heavily on the tip of Doran's toe, making him let out a loud growl.

"Nolan, take the dog out of here!" he said sharply, feeling his foot begin to throb with pain.

"Sorry, father." The boy obeyed quickly, seeing Doran's reaction, and ran back out with his cousin and the errant animal.

Doran glared at the horse once more.

"It seems I will have to concede this one to you, but we are not done yet."

He set down his tools and exited the stables, grimacing a little. The boys waited just outside, a little expectantly.

"I'm sorry, papa," Nolan repeated.

"It no matter, Nolan," Doran sighed. "What is it you had come to tell me?"

The blond boy's face brightened again. "A messenger has just come, and there is a letter."

"A letter from the Royal City!" added Connor.

The fair-haired man regarded the two boys a little more closely. They had obviously been working hard to contain their enthusiasm.

"Is that so?" he inquired wryly, "From Minas Tirith?"

"Yes, and you must come to the house and see, so my aunt says," explained Nolan.

"Then so I will. Give me a moment to finish here, I will follow presently."

"Alright, papa."

The two boys hurried off across the pasture, back to the main house. Squinting in the bright sun, it took Doran a moment to collect himself as he watched them run off.

He walked slowly over to a nearby water basin in the shade of the side of the stable. His toe still throbbed, but it was fading. After cooling his face with a handful of clear water, Doran leaned back against the wall for a brief moment.

A letter.

Would it be what he hoped it would be?

* * *

After dinner that evening, activity around the main house settled into the normal quiet routine, but the day's news had certainly had an effect on the family. Doreth was not entirely surprised to see her husband, but she did not expect him to be so solitary on tonight of all nights.

Stepping outside to where Adair sat, pipe in hand, looking out over the small hillside. From where he sat on the grass there was often a pleasant view to be had in the evenings, with the stars and dark sky shrouding the green pasture.

"I thought you would be more excited than this, to receive such an invitation."

Doreth knelt down on the grass to sit close to her husband. It was a warm night, and she did not even need a shawl.

"To have an invitation from the King, for the Midsummer festival?" He shook his head. "It is certainly unexpected. I suppose I am only a little overwhelmed."

"Do you not remember," Doreth began, slipping her arm through her husband's, "His highness told us we would be welcome in his home?"

"I do remember that." Adair nodded, pursing his lips momentarily around the end of his pipe. "But what would folk like us have to do there? Would be not be out of place?"

"He does not seem to think so. Her ladyship, the princess, does not seem to think so either, or she would not have written her own message, along with the King's."

She watched her husband take another puff on his pipe, still thinking.

"It would mean a week's ride. What about the children? And who would tend to this place, while we are away?"

He met her glance sidelong, knowing this would do little to persuade his wife. Although it had been an entirely different matter while they had been in the company of the royal party, Doreth was now the most keen.

She shrugged her shoulders a little awkwardly, thinking as well.

"It is still a month away. You and Doran might make arrangements with the shepherds in the meantime. I could do the same for the ladies, and the spinners."

Adair was half-smiling now, all too well aware of how difficult it would be to dissuade his wife in this matter.

"I suppose there is nothing that the boys would like better, than to see more of the country."

Doreth's expression lightened. "Ailsa will be alright, we can help her along."

"Yes, I think so."

"Think of it, Adair, the White City..." Doreth said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Adair shook his head again, but this time pulled an arm around his wife's shoulders to hold her close.

"It is unimaginable."

* * *

Doran had looked at the invitation four times already, just to make sure he had not misread it.

But even as he went to check once more, the writing was still just as it had been, with the King's seal and signature to match. The princess herself had even added a note of her own.

"I should very much like to see you all again. I hope you will come."  And her name was underneath.

Doran ran his fingers over the page, smiling faintly to himself. He knew it was folly to think this way. But then, how many years had it been, since something had stirred him so? And how could they refuse an invitation such as this?

He set the letter down again on the table in front of him, just as Adair and Doreth entered the house again.

"I hope you do not need convincing, as well," said his sister with a broad smile as she came over.

"Well, now that surprise has subsided, I do not think so," Doran replied, his own smile a little fainter.

"I'm so glad."

Giving a stretch, Doran rose to his feet.

"I should find Nolan to leave, it is growing late."

"Ah, you need not worry on that, Doran," his sister reassured him. "He may sleep here at any time, you know that."

"I do." He stood briefly in silent reflection, rubbing his bearded chin. "I think I will head back myself, in any case."

"Nolan will not mind, I'm sure."

Doran paid his good nights, especially to his son, who had already fallen asleep in the sitting room.

As he started the walk down the hill to his own house, past the stable and the pasture, the moon and stars were enough to light the way.

He should not make too much of things. The invitation was for all of them, not him alone. But it was enough to pleasantly occupy his thoughts, as he walked in the warm night air.

There were some evenings when the walk seemed lonely, to leave a house of such constant activity, and return to another one, that was so much quieter.

But tonight, somehow, it was different.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 14 - Reacquainting

<><><><><><><><><><>

"You have everything you require?"

It was the morning before the prince's departure for the north, and the Queen was looking in on her son as he pored over some papers in the study. Her youngest daughter was on her arm.

"Of course, naneth, it has all been checked many times over," Eldarion stood and smiled as he saw his mother peering in from the doorway. "And Imladris' cupboards are certainly not bare."

Arwen set down Elenna and entered the room with her usual soft step. The little girl tottered forward to her brother's desk, her light eyes bright. She held her cloth toy, in the shape of a horse, securely in one hand.

"I know, but I cannot help it. I have fussed over you for twenty years, I shall not stop now."

"Then I suppose I shall have to let you." He looked down at Elenna, who had wandered up to the side of the desk. "Luckily there is still you to fuss over as well, tim-gwenn."

Elenna giggled as Eldarion tickled her cheek, but recovered well enough to begin playing again, letting her little horse gallop along the edge of the desk. She began a circuit of the large table, with faint sound effects to match.

Eldarion shook his head with amusement, and tapped the papers in his hands on the desk's surface, tidying the pile. Arwen watched as he set them back in their leather folder, grouping them together with another one.

"You will not be needing this correspondence then?"

"No, I was only giving it one last read over. Primarily letters from Annúminas, but I have most of the information I need."

"Your time will be divided between there and Imladris, I gather?"

Eldarion nodded. "From what I understand, when the borders of the Shire were extended, it caused Annúminas to be more isolated from the rest of Eriador. We need to secure better travel routes across the northern provinces."

"On his last visit, Elrohir said they had been hosting less Dúnedain than in the past," Arwen reflected. She leaned back against the edge of the desk, extending a hand to Elenna, who chattered happily to her equine friend. "And it seems that the northern capital is becoming stronger, even though Ithilien has needed the most attention recently."

"You are right about that. I cannot wait to see it all." Eldarion's face was bright and calm.

The Queen looked quizzically at her son. For the past few years he had been so dedicated to proving himself with the White Company, and now all that energy was being directed to an entirely different task. She knew he would only be embarrassed to have it pointed out to him, so she held her tongue.

"What is it, naneth, you are looking at me strangely," said the prince with a sidelong glance to his mother.

Arwen chuckled. "It is... just that usually you are so contemplative before departing on long journeys. It is a pleasant change to see you cheerful about it this time."

"Ah, well, I suppose I must admit to that." Eldarion sat back against the desk next to the Queen, folding his arms. "I think I was so intent on living up to father's experiences that I forgot about my own. I must simply accept that it is not the same country that he knew."

Neither the same that I knew, she thought to herself. "Has your father told you about Eriador? About the places he knew well?"

"Certainly about Bree," Eldarion grinned, "But of course that will not have much bearing on the political dealings of the Edain or Elves, to be sure." Arwen suppressed a laugh as she listened. "Adar did have much to say about the Misty Mountains, and also the North Downs, near Fornost. But I think he is never as interested in speaking of those places as he is of Rivendell."

"Yes?" Arwen's eyes sparkled just slightly as she waited for her son to continue.

"Indeed. He described the valley, and the roar of the falls. He said that because the place was so welcoming, his return from travelling was always that much better than the journey ever could have been."

"And so departures were always that much more difficult, as well," Arwen murmured.

Eldarion regarded her curiously, half-wondering if she would continue. He began to think it was not only his father's departures that she was referring to.

When Arwen turned her eyes back to her son, she was subtly struck with a memory of her brothers preparing to leave their home, as they did often when she had been younger. She placed a hand to the side of Eldarion's face, almost in a gesture of appraisal. Not only his father's son, but the son of all his forefathers.

Eldarion saw his mother's eyes growing damp, although her smile persisted.

"You are not unhappy, to have me go?"

Arwen withdrew her hand, to lay it on Eldarion's arm. Her light touch reassured him. "Of course not, mell ion-nîn," she spoke softly.

Elenna appeared at her brother's side, tapping at his knee with her cloth toy; apparently the horse had found a new landscape to ride across. Eldarion promptly lifted her up, which pleased her greatly.

"When you do reach Imladris," Arwen began again, feeling cheered by her daughter's playful gestures, "Do not let Elrohir keep you in the study and library too much. The valley is too beautiful to be ignored."

"Of course I shall see as much as I can. You must have favourite spots to recommend, surely?"

The Queen was silent for a brief moment as she pondered his question. "There is one path," she began gently, "That leads from the northern entrance to the house, up the slope of a hill. On that hill there are holly berries in the winter, but at this time of year the trees are very fragrant. After a short walk the path opens to over look the valley." Arwen moved her reflective expression to meet Eldarion's eyes. "The view of the river, the house, and the valley from that location is quite lovely."

The prince matched his mother's faint smile. "I shall not forget to find it then."

Still caught in reflection, Arwen moved a hand out to Elenna's head, smoothing over the waves of her brown hair. The girl reached out for her mother in turn, and happily changed places to sit in Arwen's arms.

When her brothers had visited last, they had asked the Queen when she would pay her next visit to Imladris. When you are grown older, Arwen thought, looking down at her daughter. That was my answer. It was an easy excuse to make, but she wondered if it was truly anything more than that, an excuse.

For now, it was enough to focus on the events at hand, to encourage her son's own exploration. It was the most confident she had seen him since beginning with the White Company a few years ago.

"Well," she said, her expression lifting, "Be sure to give Imladris my warmest regards, no matter what you do there."

The prince smiled, his dark grey eyes calm.

"Of that you can be sure, naneth."

* * *

Just a few weeks after the prince's departure, a few days before Midsummer beckoned, a different group was preparing to make an arrival in the White City.

Doran, Adair, and Doreth had been surprised and pleased to find a royal escort waiting for them and their children at Calembel. While they had never before embarked on such an expedition as a family, the weather had been kind to them. For the second half of the journey, the two boys had been quietly impressed by and curious of the royal guards that accompanied them.

Late in the morning of their last day of travel, the group made their final river crossing at Erui, and soon after their destination became visible.

Seeing the travellers' reacting upon first viewing the White City, the lead guard halted to allow them a moment of pause.

"That time when I saw you riding with the King himself," Doreth told her brother, her voice filled with awe, "it was certainly an unexpected sight. But this sight here is of an entirely different kind."

Before them stretched the final expanse of the White Mountains, and at the end was Minas Tirith, its gleaming towers set high in the base of Mount Mindolluin. The palace was highest of all the seven tiers, wrapping around the mountain with lookouts, courtyards and parapets.

"The city is as big as the mountain," said Nolan from his seat with his father, sounding as awed as his aunt.

"It does seem that way," agreed Adair. "Much bigger than our corner of the world, certainly."

"Then it is well indeed," added Doran amiably, "That we are not strangers to its entire population."

"True enough," Doreth agreed softly.

Sensing the group had taken enough time, the lead guard made ready to move again. "It should only be an hour more until we reach the city, and then his highness may receive your arrival. Come," he said with a formal but polite nod, "Please follow me."

For Doran, from the moment they passed through the city's enormous mithril gates, all pretence of familiarity seemed to vanish. With its impressive setting in the mountain, and so many inhabitants, Minas Tirith was far more expansive than Edoras. The day's high sunshine gleamed from the city's white walls and the silver helms of the royal guards that stood outside every entrance of the Citadel.

After leaving the horses outside the Citadel, the family was escorted to the palace, through many sets of gates and up several grand staircases. Doran could feel his son's small hand gripping his, as Nolan watched with curiously amazed eyes everything that they passed by.

They had naturally worn their finest clothes, and Doreth had even newly dyed dresses for herself and Ailsa, but it still seemed too basic for an audience with the King and Queen, and the princess royal.

When the King did greet them, however, Doran found him to be as direct as he had been at their meeting near the Morthond river, over a month ago.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith," said Aragorn as he rose from the marble dais where he was seated.

Standing next to his seat was a tall woman who could only be the Queen; an elf-lady with dark hair and a gentle expression. She closely resembled her oldest daughter, who stood with her.

The men and boys bowed, and Doreth and Ailsa curtsied as Aragorn came near to greet them. Doran shook his hand warmly.

"It is most kind of you to receive us, your majesty."

"Please, it is but little repayment for the help you have already given my family." He turned next to shake Adair's hand, nodding also to Doreth next to him. "I trust your journey was well?"

"Very well, your highness. The escort was very welcome."

"I am glad to hear it." Arwen and Mírra had approached as well, to make the acquaintance of the newcomers. Aragorn extended a hand to Arwen.

"Please meet my Lady Arwen."

The Queen extended a hand to Doreth first.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last, after hearing so much of you from my daughter."

"Oh, it was nothing, your highness." The blond woman blushed furiously.

"And Mírra you know well, of course," Aragorn finished.

The princess had already stepped forward to greet her friends, and immediately took Doreth into a warm embrace, a gesture that made both the King and Queen smile. The children seemed much more at ease as well.

"I am so glad to see you all again," Mírra said as she then curtsied to give Adair her hand.

"And you, my lady," said Doreth's husband with a friendly nod.

As she came at last to Doran, the princess felt strangely shy, and kept her eyes down as she let him take her hand.

"My lady," he said as he brought his lips briefly to the princess's hand, "It is good to see you looking so well."

Mírra recognised the low, gentle tone of voice that she had known since the day Doran had found her. Hearing it was enough to draw her glance upward, to meet his warm eyes. She felt her cheeks grow slightly flushed.

"Thank you for coming."

After all introductions were made, the Queen announced two attendants to lead the guests to their quarters.

"You must be in need of refreshment from your journey," Arwen spoke warmly. "Your chambers have been made ready. Please, take as much time as you need before dinner."

"We are most grateful, your highness," said Doran, giving a slight bow at the neck.

Nolan was still standing next to his father, having moved from awe to quiet eagerness of the new place he found himself in. Just before following to find their chambers, the boy looked back to Mírra.

"Will we sit with you at dinner tonight?"

The princess gave a broad smile. "Of course." She caught Doran's eye once more, slightly less hesitantly. "It would be my pleasure."

The tall, fair-haired man gave a nod in response, and although it was no different to any other he had given to any of the others in greeting, there was something in it that caused her smile to become much warmer.

"They seem to be quite fine people," said Arwen.

At her mother's remark Mírra found herself even more aware of every gesture she had just made, wondering if anything was out of place.

"They are, truly." Turning to her father, Mírra could think of nothing else to do than put her arms around his neck. "Thank you so much for inviting them, ada."

Aragorn chuckled. "You are quite welcome, mír-nîn."

* * *

"Is this going to be a dinner where I don't know anyone?" Lúthea asked her older sister as they walked to the hall.

"No, you know me and mother and father of course."

The younger princess frowned a little.

"That isn't what I mean." Lúthea was happy to meet Mírra's friends, but on such occasions she often sat quietly, thinking about what she could be reading, or something she could be stitching instead of sitting and listening to other people's important conversations. "I shall be too young to talk to the older people, and too old to talk with the children," she sighed.

"Oh, you need not worry too much about it." Mírra linked an arm through her sister's. "Doreth is quite friendly, and she is a weaver too."

"She is?"

"And she spins wool as well, since Adair keeps the sheep."

Mírra could see Lúthea beginning to cheer, even though she kept silent.

Dinner itself proved to be a merry affair, with the guests being alternately enthralled and excited by their new surroundings and royal hosts.

There was no shortage of conversation, as the men and women both found similar interests. The Queen stayed quiet for much of the evening, but listened attentively as Mírra and Doreth recounted yet again how the princess came to stay with them.

Sitting across the table from him, Mírra could not help subtly observing Doran over the course of the evening.

He was seated next to her father, and she caught stray fragments of conversation about the horses Doran kept, about their property near the Morthond river. Nolan sat on his other side, a good five years younger than Lúthea, watched the conversation eagerly, peeking out from blond hair that matched his father's. His fair blue eyes he must have had from his mother, Mírra guessed, but she knew little of Doran's late wife.

Doran calmly kept one hand at his wine goblet as he talked. There were creases around his eyes whenever he smiled. He laughed rarely, but Mírra liked the way his cheeks reddened when he did. It was hard to believe her time in his company summed to a matter of hours, and still there were so many things about him that she liked.

Her mother's voice brought Mírra out of her thoughts. "There will be much to keep you occupied this week, I am sure," said the Queen to the guests, "The upcoming feast and dancing, least of all."

Across the table Aragorn caught her wink. "Would you like to view some of the city tomorrow? Or perhaps some of the countryside?"

"Mírra knows the mountainside quite well," Lúthea added.

The oldest princess felt a happy twinge of nervousness in her stomach, hoping her friends would enjoy their time in the new place. "I could show you some of the mountain, if you like. We could ride out, and then go walking."

"Explore the mountainside?" Doreth sounded quietly eager.

"That would be quite enjoyable, I think," responded Doran.

"Then we shall venture it," said Mírra with delight.

* * *

"That seemed to go well," mused Aragorn as he walked back with Arwen, to their chambers.

"It did," she agreed.

"And you were worried about how things would be, without Eldarion here this summer."

Arwen caught his pursed smile with a sidelong glance. "I never said I was worried."

"I know you didn't." In return he squeezed her hand, ever so slightly.

They reached the chamber after a few moments in comfortable silence. Aragorn let the door close lightly behind them, and leaned back against it as he looked into Arwen's face.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

"I am thinking... that it is good to see Mírra so pleased in the company of her guests. And," he continued, his voice becoming quieter, "how happy I am, to soon be celebrating another year with you."

He always could make her smile with such simple declarations, Arwen could not help it. She put her hands to his cheeks, reminding herself once again of the shape of his face, smoothing one thumb over the line of his upper lip.

Feeling Aragorn's arms moving to encircle her, she leaned against him and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and the heavy velvet of his robe.

"And you?" he asked her in turn.

Arwen answered as best she could, shutting her eyes. "The same."

They remained standing together at the door, and she could hear his heart beating steadily in his chest. She was content, always content to simply be with him, to let him hold her and envelop her body with his.

Arwen felt him raise one hand to smooth a long braid behind her shoulder, and cup her cheek as she had done. As he bowed his head, she had only to lift her chin for him to pull their lips together for a kiss.

"Take me to bed, meleth-nîn?" Arwen whispered as they separated.

Aragorn's voice was just as hushed. "'Twould be my pleasure, mellwain."

* * *

The next day, the princess was as good as her word and, leaving the children in the good care of palace attendants, she took Doreth, Doran and Adair to view the mountain. The day was fine as the four made their way up gently sloping paths, past small streams and green foliage. At this time of Midsummer, the trees were at their peak of lushness.

There was a lookout that Mírra intended to reach before they turned back for the day, but it was well past noon before they began to approach the spot.

"It is just up the path this way," the princess explained to Doran, who walked beside her, "The trees open and there is an old tower. From there we can view the river Anduin."

Doreth and Adair joined them at a little slower pace, and the other lady seemed fatigued after the morning's small climb.

"So it please you, Mírra," she said, a little out of breath, "may I view it after a rest?"

"Of course, it is not my intention to wear you out so early in your visit. I shall sit with Doreth then, if you two would like to go ahead." She indicated Adair and Doran.

"Certain?" Doran asked.

"Do not worry," his sister teased, "We shall sit and make ready for lunch until you return."

"Very well, then."

The two women stopped at a grassy patch that was strewn with clover, and waited for the men to return. Retrieving a blanket from one of the packs, they spread it out on the ground, and Mírra happily stretched back on the soft blanket feeling the sun warm her face.

"What a lovely afternoon it is."

"Mmm, indeed," replied the princess.

When she looked up, she saw Doreth had plucked a few blossoms of the clover, and was twining them together.

"Oh, my sister enjoys making those chains."

"And my daughter Ailsa also. I shall take this back to her, perhaps," said Doreth fondly, "She sits for hours in the field playing. And then, Nola did always enjoy flowers as well. You know, I can sometimes imagine them sitting together making crowns for their hair."

"Nola?"

"Doran's late wife." Something touching bashfulness crossed Doreth's face. "I apologise, my lady, of course you do not know of her."

"No, but I did not think it polite to ask, either." Mírra sat up, but there was a pause before the other woman replied.

"My brother rarely speaks of her. But then," she added almost conspiratorially, "he is not a talkative person at the best of times."

The princess stretched her lips in a smile. "So I have deemed." She tucked up her legs in front of her, and folded her arms over her knees. "What was she like, if you do not mind me asking?"

Doreth set the blossoms she had been fiddling with down in her lap. "Well, Nolan does favour her, with his fair face and eyes - it is part of the reason he is named for her. He is cheerful, just like she was."

"Were they married for very long?"

Doreth shook her head. "It was a few years before Nolan came along, but... Nola grew ill and passed away quite soon after his birth." The young woman's expression grew more serious. "She was not very strong, in body I mean. It was too hard on her, having the baby, and it took her strength from her I think."

Mírra could not tell what to say in response, but her companion could see a look of concern on the princess' face.

"Aye, it is a sad thing that it happened," said Doreth with a tone of reassurance, "but we all move on, in the end. My brother was much grieved for her loss, but still he had Nolan. For the first few years Nolan stayed much with me... I do not think Doran knew just what to do, left with a child when his wife had just passed. And it was not long after that, that Adair and I had Connor. I think it helped, in a way."

"Your two families are very close," Mírra observed with a smile.

"Ah, we are all one big family. I do not think I would have it otherwise."

The princess gave a chuckle. Doreth spoke so calmly of her family, and Doran's past, that it put Mírra more at ease with the subject.

"There we are," said Doreth, sounding satisfied. She held up her finished ring of clover blossoms, tilting her head to look at Mírra. "A royal lady deserves a royal garland, I should say."

"Do not be silly, you should wear your work yourself," Mírra laughed nervously.

But her friend persisted and set the ring of flowers on Mírra's dark hair.

"Oh, but a crown does suit a princess after all, my lady."

Seeing Mírra's faint blush, Doreth could not help giggling. Soon the two women were both dissolved in friendly laughter.

They were interrupted by quick whistle from the edge of the clearing. Looking toward the source of the sound, they saw the two men returning from the lookout.

"What fair maidens have we come upon?"

Mírra turned to see Doran smiling at the two of them. Her hand nervously went to the flowers on her head as she tried to keep the blush on her cheeks from spreading further. She composed herself and knelt properly upright, becoming aware of how girlish she must have seemed at that moment.

"Hungry ones!" Doreth called out, "For we have been waiting all this time for you."

"A proper view needs the proper time to appreciate it," Adair told his wife in mock-admonishment.

"The Anduin is quite magnificent, my lady," Doran said with a glance to the princess.

"I am pleased you think so," Mírra responded, one side of her mouth curling shyly upwards, "This is one of my favourite places to come to, away from the city."

"But it does not seem like you were idle in our absence, my lady," Adair said brightly, indicating the princess's floral decoration.

"No, this is Doreth's handiwork," said Mírra, lifting the crown from her head. "And so she should wear it, I think."

"Oh, if you insist." A smile crossed the lady's face as she accepted the gift.

Adair turned to his brother-in-law. "Well then, we must serve these fine ladies their lunch, should we not?"

"An excellent notion."

The two men reached for the packs they had brought, and the four companions settled comfortably to their afternoon meal, in the comfort of the summer day.

As they finished, the sunshine was still just as warm, adding to the group's thirst. Mírra bade her companions to sit and relax, as she took up one of their water flasks and sought out a nearby stream. There were several streams running down the side of the mountain, but in the heat of summer many of the smaller ones had dried, leaving the wider streams to prevail.

Mírra bent at the water's edge to fill the flask. As she secured it, a few small stones in the shallower water caught her eye. It would only take a moment... she thought, as a sparkling grin crossing her face.

She set the flask down and straightened, stones in hand, and with a careful flick of the wrist, sent one skipping across the surface.

The stream was wide, but shallow. After a collecting one or two more large pebbles, Mírra found a secure rock upon which to step to the middle of the water, and set the pebbles flying one at a time.

"You have a talent for that, I see."

Turning with some surprise, Mírra saw Doran standing at the side, waving one hand in a friendly manner.

"I think it is more an amusement than a talent, my lord," the princess demured. She turned, and began to step back across the large stones, to the water's edge. "I am sorry to have left you."

"Do not worry, my lady. The others have gone to view the river, I came only to let you know."

As Mírra stepped nearer, Doran approached and extended a hand to help her cross. She hesitated only a moment at the unexpected offering. He held his arm out so naturally, that it was only natural to take it.

Doran felt her palm press into his hand, and she stepped toward him. There it was again, that feeling of lightness in his stomach that he felt when she smiled at him, there now as he felt the gentle grip of her hand in his.

There was a fragment of clover still caught in her dark hair. It was all he could do to resist reaching out to brush it away.

"You seem to have a knack for finding me near water," she said with a trace of nervous laughter, looking up at him.

Doran chuckled lightly. "Then perhaps for safety you should avoid it, except in my company."

"So be it then, my lord."

While responding he was momentarily captivated as he met her eyes, with sparkled with her merriment. The irises were the darkest grey, and yet at the centre there was a kind of light, that seemed to shine from behind the black pupils. Why had he not noticed it before, such a peculiar and wonderful brightness?

He must have paused, for within a moment the princess was looking at him quizzically.

"Is something wrong?" Mírra looked down at herself, brushing her hands over her skirts at imagined dust, then smoothing over her hair. Doran watched the piece of clover fall away, as she neatened her appearance, becoming more like the Lady of Minas Tirith he knew she was.

"It is nothing, my lady," he said calmly, "Shall we join the others, or wait for them here?"

Mírra pursed her lips, eyes twinkling. Perhaps they did not need to go just yet.

The remaining couple was returning from the lookout point, when Doreth saw something to make them halt in their step.

"No, wait, let us tarry."

Doreth laid a hand on Adair's arm, drawing him back from the open path. Just ahead, they could see Mírra and Doran seated next to each other on a large stone near the stream, talking comfortably.

"What do you think?" Adair asked his wife. Almost unconsciously their voices had become hushed.

"I am not sure yet." The blond woman pensively bit her lip, but there was a sparkle of mischief in her brown eyes.

"They seem to be growing closer."

"Indeed. If there is something between them," she whispered, "then I will do nothing to deter it. For this is the most content I have seen my brother in many years."

Adair nodded in agreement, as they both looked once more toward the seated couple. They briefly heard mild laughter from the princess.

"Do you know," said the dark-haired shepherd, "I do not think you caught quite enough of the river view. I believe we should go back and have another look."

His wife grinned back at him. "I think we shall."

She decorously offered him her hand, and they stepped quietly back on the path, leaving the couple behind them none the wiser.

In S.R. 1452 (Fourth Age 31, I think) the Shire was extended to include the Far Downs as far as the Tower Hills. I imagine this would have affected Annúminas; since Men and Elves were not allowed to enter the Shire (due to the decree by King Elessar at the same time), in order to travel south from Annúminas one would have to first go far east, toward Fornost, or far west, toward Lindon.

See the notes on Chapter 6 for more on Annúminas.

tim-gwenn = little star girl [tim = little star or spark]
mell ion-nîn = my dear son
meleth-nîn = my love
mellwain = dearest

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Chapter 15 - Festivities

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Late in the afternoon of Midsummer's Eve, the King was finishing some last minute business in his study. Having spent much of the last week enjoying the city's celebration, and passing welcome time with his family, Aragorn had already spent more time on correspondence today than he had intended to.

But then, the Midsummer Festival had also brought many dignitaries to Minas Tirith, as it often did. Though the King was polite enough, it was those meetings that could often be unpredictable.

Just as Aragorn stood and took a sip of the wine in his cup, making ready to leave, there was a knock at the door.

He exhaled shortly. "Yes?"

The attendant gave a short bow from the neck as he entered.

"The Lord Aldor of Fornost, your highness. He requests an audience with you."

"I have already completed my visits of the day."

"He is aware of that, my lord, but has only just arrived in the city," said the young man. "He says it will be brief."

The King gave a sigh of annoyance. "Very well." He took his seat again, and fixed a stern expression on his face.

Lord Aldor, a man of fifty or sixty years and a physique that showed signs of being much trimmer in his younger days, entered and bowed low.

"Stay a moment," said Aragorn with a gesture to the attendant who stood by the door, "This will not take long, I am sure."

"My most gracious thanks, your majesty, on this generous visit to your fair city."

"You are welcome to the Festival, my lord. What is your business today?"

The man of the north drew himself up, his cheeks red with pride.

"I only wish to extend thanks on behalf of my city, your majesty, for the recent improvements in trade routes across Arnor."

"That is good news. My son, the Lord Eldarion, will be only too glad to hear your compliments."

The man stood somewhat nervously in front of the King's desk, maintaining a surprising amount of composure.

"Yes, but of course, your highness, I will happily tell him."

Aragorn watched him shift slightly.

"Is there nothing else?"

Lord Aldor gave a mild cough. "Ah yes, there is one matter, if it please your majesty. My son Alacar, as you know, he has distinguished himself very well in the Arnor guard these last years. He is well known in Annúminas now, but is yet unmarried."

The King set his elbows on the arms of the oak chair, and folded his hands as he waited for the speaker to continue.

"And, well, Alacar is here with me this week, your majesty. What with the festivities tonight, I only wished to inquire if he might have an audience with the princess royal."

Aragorn fixed his gaze intently on the visitor.

"My daughter is yet young."

"If you please, your majesty, the Lady Mírra will be eighteen in the coming month, a more than marriageable age, and I am sure if she were to meet my son - "

"She is still young," the King repeated, and rose from his chair. "I do not doubt your son's distinction, my lord, but I shall not have my daughter entertain formal suitors at this time."

"I can assure your highness that my son's suit is very worthy," Aldor protested.

"I do not question his distinction, my good lord." Lord Aldor had become completely silent. "Should Mírra wish to dance with your son this evening, then he is free to do so. But she shall enter into nothing more."

"Of course, your highness," stammered Aldor, "I did not mean to offend. I shall take my leave of you now..."

"You and your son are free to enjoy the festivities."

Taking a cue from the King's nod, the attendant moved to hold the door open for the visitor, who left with considerably less confidence than when he arrived.

Aragorn shook his head in puzzlement and drained his cup of wine, finally ready to join his family for the evening.

* * *

As she looked over her appearance in the mirror, Mírra's fingers flitted awkwardly over the dark blue silk of her dress, brushing away imaginary bits of fluff. More often than not she chose green, but her mother often encouraged her toward the blue. Regarding herself now, this colour did seem to have a different effect, set against her pale skin and dark hair. The neckline of the dress was a little lower than usual, and her neck felt bare.

It was not as if she had never done this, but now all the details seemed to be so important, even if they had not been important in her mind before.

Turning her eyes upward, she saw a mild flush of pink on her cheeks, and inwardly chided herself for staying out in the sun too long earlier in the afternoon. But she had so enjoyed taking the guests on another tour of the city's outskirts.

Doran had seemed quite pleased with the afternoon, something which Mírra realised had not affected her until now. There was that feeling in her chest again, as if her heart was not beating quite the way it should be. Would he be just as pleased with the evening?

"Oh, it will all be fine, I'm sure" the princess muttered quietly to herself, biting her lip as she turned her attention to her hair.

Just as she was smoothing careful fingers over the braids her mother had set earlier, Lúthea came into the chamber, followed by Arwen.

Excitement was evident on the younger princess's face, and she was well dressed in a wine-coloured gown. Matching thread had been woven decoratively into her fine hair. The Queen herself was dressed in a simple, yet stunning silver-grey gown, befitting the anniversary being celebrated.

"Are you ready?" the younger girl asked her sister.

"I think so..." Mírra answered, fingering the end of a piece of hair.

"Ah, then perhaps you will not need what I brought with me," said Arwen with a wink, holding out a flat wooden case.

All three moved over to the dressing table at the side of the room, where the Queen set down the case, her daughters looking on with quiet curiosity as she opened it.

Lúthea gasped gently as she saw the small collection of jewels that was revealed as her mother lifted the lid. "Are they for us?"

Arwen smiled. "Any of these that you two would like to wear tonight, you may," she said softly.

The contents of the box were not the entire extent of the Queen's collection by any means, but were her most personal, cherished pieces. Some of them she had kept since she was not much older than her daughters were now. Some were heirlooms, others were gifts. She removed the flat of the upper compartment, which contained mostly necklaces and bracelets, to reveal a few headpieces in the remainder of the case.

Lúthea reached over cautiously to run her fingers gently over a necklace of silver teardrop pendants, strung together on a thin chain.

"That would be a fine choice," the Queen said appreciatively.

Arwen lifted the piece from its small velvet encasing, and as Lúthea held her hair out of the way, secured it around her daughter's neck. The girl smiled brightly and stepped over to the mirror to verify her choice, her expression evidently showing her contentment.

"I must go and show ada," Lúthea told her mother happily.

The Queen chuckled. "Alright, but do not be too long." And with that, she was off.

The older princess had looked on quietly while Lúthea had selected her piece. Arwen watched Mírra look at the selection for a moment.

"Is there anything you would like to wear? A necklace perhaps?" she asked gently. "I only thought you might enjoy something special for tonight."

Mírra's hand immediately went to her bare neck. She had a necklace as birthday gift from her uncles, but since the chain had broken during her accident she had been reluctant to replace it with another piece.

"It is difficult to choose," she murmured, poring over the contents.

The headpieces seemed so... well, regal. But Mírra's eyes kept turning back to a thin silver circlet, with small flowers cut in emerald set at the front. She ran a fingertip over the shaped stones, catching her mother's eye briefly.

"It would suit you very well," Arwen said softly. She gave a little nod of encouragement. "Shall I help you with it?" Her daughter nodded in turn.

They both went to the mirror, and Mírra watched as her mother set the thin circlet on her forehead. It was not as heavy as she thought it would be. Almost unintentionally she found herself standing a little straighter, holding her head higher.

"My mother also had a preference for emeralds," Arwen observed. "I am happy to see you wear this." The princess was still quiet, watching her reflection. "Do you not like it?"

"Oh I do, naneth, very much." Mírra turned to her mother, thoughtfulness in her expression. "I remember how I used be so shy of such things, but they do not change who I am, underneath them."

"Some times the hardest part is making the outside reflect what is inside," said Arwen softly. "But I think you accomplish that more often than you may think."

The princess blushed.

"Whatever you wear," continued the Queen, "it always looks better when worn with a smile."

In response, Mírra could not prevent the corners of her mouth from pulling back in a warm smile, her blush increasing.

"It feels different with Eldarion gone. Being the oldest there, I feel as if all eyes will be on me."

"Perhaps they will be, but I would not want you to dwell on that." Arwen lifted a hand under her daughter's chin. "I only wish for you to enjoy yourself."

"Then I will." She put her arms around her mother briefly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, darling."

"But tonight is not for me, it is for you and father," Mírra noted, facing Arwen again.

"I suppose you are right about that." There was a glimmer in the Queen's eyes.

"Then I too wish for you to enjoy yourself."

Arwen chuckled again. "I will, without doubt."

* * *

A few hours into the evening's celebration, Mírra was slightly out of breath from dancing when she seated herself next to her father at the high table.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," the King told his daughter, as she kissed him happily on the cheek. Arwen looked on next to him, smiling.

"Very much," she answered, "So much dancing, and such wonderful music."

There had been no shortage of activity for the princess. In previous years she had been wary, but it had not been as hectic as she feared. One of the Citadel guards had even asked her for a turn across the floor.

"Was that the Lord Alacar I saw you with just now?" Arwen asked lightly. Aragorn had related to her his earlier conversation with the young lord's father, but she had agreed with him not to press the issue with their daughter.

Mírra turned her eyes back to the dancing again, locating the tall, brown-haired young man from Annúminas. He was attractive enough, she supposed, but no more or less pleasant than any fine lord of the city. She had shared a waltz with Alacar, but soon spotted him in the crowd with a red-haired young lady in his arms.

"Oh. I was dancing with him, but it looks like he is happy with his new partner," Mírra replied, seeming fairly unruffled.

Just as she reached to take a refreshing sip of her drink, Arwen quickly shared a reassuring glance with Aragorn, and said no more on the subject.

Lúthea came up then joined the other members of her family, with a familiar companion. Mírra greeted him with enthusiasm.

"Brennan, how good it is to see you well again!" He took the hand Mírra extended. "Your arm is quite healed?"

"Indeed, my lady," he replied amiably, "I have had no complaints about my dancing abilities from your sister here. But I would be honoured with your company for a short turn, while the music is still lively?"

"I would be happy to join you."

Brennan gave a courteous bow, and the pair joined the many other couples on the floor.

Mírra felt so very comfortable, caught up in the music as she stepped across the floor. Just short distance away, Mírra saw Doreth in Adair's arms, a broad smile on her face as they danced. She would join them when the song concluded, she decided.

The evening was a clear success, Mírra decided, but still incomplete. The one person she truly wanted to dance with was the one person she could not find.

As the musicians finished their piece, the princess gave a curtsy to her partner, thanking Brennan for the dance, and went to join her friends while she had a moment.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" she asked as she found Doreth to give her a brief embrace.

"Oh indeed, Mírra, I could never have imagined such festivities!" The fair lady's eyes sparkled to match her happy expression.

"I cannot remember the last time I was called upon to dance so much," confided Adair, with a wink, "I fear I do my wife an injustice."

"Nonsense, you have done marvellously, husband mine." Doreth raised herself up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I have not yet seen Doran," Mírra observed, deliberately keeping her voice light. "Has he not taken part?"

Doreth smiled inwardly. "My brother has been here, but shied away from the dancing. I think he stepped out to one of the courtyards a moment ago, to take some air."

The princess calmly took in this information. "Would he mind, do you think, if I asked him to return?"

Doreth's reply was genuine. "I do not think he would mind at all."

* * *

There were three main entrances to three sides of the Great Hall, each of which led out to a wide surrounding corridor, filled with artwork. From there one could find a few small courtyards.

It took only a few minutes for Mírra to locate the right one, but she hung back a moment before allowing him to see her.

Could it be that he found her attractive? There were some times, like tonight, when Mírra could go to court feeling entirely confident and comfortable, even as she felt all eyes upon her. Sometimes she thought men looked at her, but she always managed to put it down to circumstances, and not her own appearance.

This was different, though. Doran was different.

A few tiny stones scraped underneath her foot, the sound drawing his attention toward her.

Doran's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Each time he looked upon her anew, she seemed as a new person. Just this morning they had been riding, and now there were jewels in her hair, and her neck was bare. How beautifully pale her skin was.

"My lady," he said, giving a short bow. Straightening, he seemed at a loss of what to say next. "It is a pleasure to see you."

"You are not enjoying the celebration?" Her voice sounded concerned.

"It is wonderful, of course. I think I simply wanted some solitude, there are so very many people about." He clasped his hands more comfortably behind his back. "Have you decided the same?"

He watched her shrug her shoulders slightly, a gesture that seemed more indicative of the young woman he first met, and less of the one that stood before him.

Still, there was some quality about her, perhaps the tone of her skin, or the slenderness of her limbs, that set her apart from any woman he had ever known. But then she met his eyes when she spoke... and he knew he was at ease.

"I simply came to find you. But I think if I go back, I will only have to dance with someone else, and now I wonder if I should take some rest."

"We need not go back if you do not wish to."

Mírra pursed her lips a moment in thought. "Will you walk with me?"

Doran needed no encouragement to accept such an offer. "I would be very pleased to escort you, my lady."

They prepared to leave the courtyard to go back to the corridor, and the princess tucked one hand gently into the crook of his arm. Such contact was so formal, and yet it made her heart beat in just that irregular way again. It felt so secure to be next to him.

"Our visit to the White City has been quite an unexpected honour."

Mírra looked up at Doran and smiled as she responded. "It is so strange to think that only a few months ago, I had not met all of you."

Somehow they had turned away from the entrance to the Great Hall, and found themselves alone at the end of the corridor, at the edge of a small foyer.

"Life does take unexpected turns, at times."

"Indeed. The river was something I never could have predicted."

"It must have been frightening for you, to have been caught so."

Within seconds he regretted saying it. Doran saw her eyes shift down, and for the first time in their conversation she began to look uneasy.

"It... bothers me sometimes. To remember it, to remember the river."

"I am very glad, that we were able to help," he added, attempting a remedy. "When I think of how you looked when I came upon you... well, I was simply relieved to see you recover, is what I mean to say."

A curious expression came over Mírra's face just then. She paused in her step and let her hand slip from Doran's arm, facing him.

"Do you still think of it?" she asked softly, "that day?"

"I think of it often."

If it was at all unusual to be here, alone in the company of the King's daughter, Doran no longer felt it. Else he would not likely have said the words he spoke next.

"It is impossible to forget the day, when such a lovely creature entered my life."

A smile spread across Mírra's lips. Perhaps there was something wrong with her head, or else her heart was pumping too fast, for she suddenly felt light, wonderfully light.

"Lovely?" she repeated in a whisper, as if searching for verification.

She could only feel herself reaching out, for what she did not know, but just as she extended her hand, Doran's was there to meet it.

As they neared each other, her fingers momentarily traced the creases on his wide palm, before lacing together with his own fingers. With a curious smile that tweaked the corners of his mouth and eyes, Doran glanced down at their joined hands.

"I remember the touch of your hand, as you reached out when I spoke to you, and it was so very cold. I wanted only to take you to warmth and safety."

"It could have been anyone, but it was you who found me." She could feel her heart thundering in her chest. "How very glad I am, that you did."

"Do you think of it too?" he spoke gently. The pressure of his fingers around hers was matched by the tenderness in his gaze.

"I remember... I remember your voice."

He lifted his free hand and brushed the back of his fingers ever so lightly against her face.

"Your cheek," he whispered, "it was so cold..."

Mírra tried to hold his gaze, but somehow the distance between them began to disappear, and she could sense only the shuddering rise and fall of her chest as she tried to keep her breathing steady, and the soft puff of his breath near her lips.

"Now, my heart feels very warm in your company, my lord."

Then, there was no space left, as Doran put his lips to hers. Her skin under his fingers was just as smooth as he had imagined it.

She did not think, only responded and tilted her chin upwards to take greater hold of his mouth. Taking her hand from where it rested against his chest, she found his collar and grasped it gently, as if she might drift away without something to tether her.

Just as softly as the kiss had begun, their lips parted and they regarded each other with pleasant surprise.

Mírra would often wonder later, what would have happened next, if they had not been interrupted. But perhaps if she had heard her sister calling out down the hall, she might have been more cautious, might not have realised how close she still was to him, how near his lips still were to hers...

As it was, when Lúthea found them, they stood in such a fashion, eyes locked and hands clasped, Mírra clutching his collar and Doran stroking her face.

"Mírra? Naneth asks for you. Mírra, are you here - " Lúthea stopped short. A hand rushed to her mouth as she gasped silently.

It was enough to shake them from their reverie. Doran withdrew abruptly, stepping away.

"No, wait - Doran - " Mírra looked from her sister, who had immediately turned away, to Doran.

How could he have been so foolish as to forget who she was, forget all else but his own passion?

"I should not be with you, you should not be here." He shook his head, releasing her hand at the last. "Forgive me, my lady."

He turned as if in a daze. Mírra's feet felt rooted to the floor as she watched him walk away.

"What was that? What happened?" Lúthea's eyes were wide, but the hushed tone of her voice revealed more shock than surprise.

"Nothing. It was nothing." Mírra said firmly, looking vaguely in the direction of the wall.

"But I saw you - "

"It was nothing. Please, let us just go back?"

"Alright." Lúthea looked quickly down at the floor.

They were both silent as they walked back to the Hall.

Mírra felt as if she had been brought out from some kind of strange dream. It hadn't been nothing. He had simply taken her hand in his and kissed her, but that moment between them had been so much more wonderful than nothing.

(This chapter has an R rating, for the scene marked in between the "*****") 

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Chapter 16 – Uncertainty

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Mírra and Lúthea returned to the entrance of the Great Hall, only to stand in awkward silence as they surveyed the crowd.

"What did naneth want?" the older princess asked her sister. The King and Queen had left the high table, and could not be seen.

"I... do not remember exactly," Lúthea stammered, "I think she just wanted to know where you had gone to." Mírra turned away from the Hall again.

"Where are you going?"

"Just to look for naneth." She was aware of how her sister seemed to be looking at her differently. "Come with me?"

"Alright." Lúthea smiled faintly. "They might have just stepped outside."

A quick survey of the courtyards revealed that Arwen and Aragorn had indeed found a place together outside. The two girls observed their parents standing together in a secluded part of the small garden. Although the music from the hall could be heard only faintly, the couple swayed slightly to the music, arms around each other.

"Perhaps we should not disturb them," Lúthea whispered.

Mírra nodded in agreement, and they slipped back out into the corridor. Once there, she finally met Lúthea’s gaze for a moment.

"Will you tell her? Father?"

Lúthea’s expression was almost a frown, touched with indecision. At length she simply shook her head decisively. "Not if you don’t want me to."

This allowed Mírra to relax on one count.

"I am grateful."

The younger girl’s brow was slightly knitted in contemplation. "But what does it mean?"

Until now, Mírra thought she had been sure of what she felt. "I don’t know yet."

* * *

In the courtyard, the King and Queen were blissfully unaware of anyone observing them from the doorway.

"I wonder where the girls have got to," Arwen murmured as she leaned against her husband’s chest.

"No doubt caught up in the celebration." Aragorn circled one arm a little closer around his wife’s waist. "Perhaps I should find Mírra, to explain about the Lord Aldor’s visit."

"Ah, it will keep for tomorrow."

"I suppose it will."

Arwen turned her face up to his, and let go his hand to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Earlier, when we were getting ready, do you know what she told me? ‘Tonight is for you and father.’"

"Very true." The King slowly began to grin as he met his wife’s eyes. "Having such a celebration does make it difficult to concentrate on the, ah, more delicate details of the evening?"

"Well. For the remainder of the evening I shall ensure that you do not forget it."

He pulled her body as close as he could, comfortably tightening his arms around her. The quiet melody that still came from the hall guided the slow movement of their dancing. The Queen’s lips were at the side of her husband’s neck, gently nuzzling. Aragorn soon bent his head to place a line of soft kisses from the edge of her ear, across her cheek.

As Arwen pressed her mouth to his, Aragorn moved one hand up over her spine, then to support the back of her neck as their embrace became deeper. He breathed in her scent, as the intensity of the kiss inspired him to mentally calculate the best way to slip out of the courtyard and back to their chambers unnoticed.

They parted, the King’s voice husky as he spoke again. "Remind me, meleth-nîn, what are we still doing here?"

The expression in Arwen’s dark eyes indicated that she could not agree more.

The return to the royal chambers was wordless as they walked with a comfortable pace, yet were acutely aware of their close proximity to one another. Aragorn was as steady as ever, though Arwen could not resist lacing and unlacing her fingers with his, toying with the inside of his palm. She knew his heartbeat was subtly increasing, just as hers was.

Aragorn smiled wryly at her in response. Were it not for the propriety required in the more public corridors of the palace, he would have taken her up in his arms and held her until she laughed, something Arwen had often teased him about in the early days of their marriage.

Tonight, however, there seemed to be little room for teasing. The pleasantries of the earlier festivities giving way to the realisation that what mattered was the simple, intimate celebration away from public eyes, where formal pretences could be dispensed with.

After they entered, Arwen sat down calmly in front of her dressing table and mirror, and began to remove the jewels from her hair.

"Let me do that." Aragorn came to stand behind her.

He met her gaze in the mirror, lips twitching ever so slightly. Arwen set her hands comfortably in her lap as she felt him lift the circlet from her forehead, and watched him set it aside. The few silver clasps that decorated her braids, he also removed, and they joined the headpiece on the table.

"One more year, to add to all the others," he said thoughtfully.

"And for some reason, you have not grown tired of me." Arwen’s voice was relaxed as she tilted her head back, welcoming the feeling of his hands smoothing over her hair.

"Nothing to dissuade me yet."

His task completed, Aragorn watched her turn to face him. He sank down slowly, on one knee at a time, to kneel before her. With careful fingers she did the same as he had done for her, removing the jewel he wore on his brow, a piece that was kept only for the high days in the court.

She smoothed her fingertips across his bared forehead, over his hairline. This was how she had always preferred to look upon him, unadorned and unencumbered.

"Can this man be the same one who came to me, all those years ago? The one who met me on the fair hill in Lórien, with flowers in his hands?"

"The very same."

He had moved his hands lightly to her waist, then to rest in her lap. Arwen took hold of them gently, and they sat in quiet contemplation of each other for a brief moment.

"You are thinking about it too, aren’t you?" she whispered.

"It seems so long ago."

"Such a peaceful time it seemed, then."

She saw him swallow and fix his gaze down at their linked hands, matching gold bands shining even in the candlelight of the room.

Aragorn spoke again, his voice uncertain. "After I left you that year… and then later left Imladris, knowing what we promised, and not yet knowing what would be…"

"Shh," she said softly, touching her fingertips lightly over his mouth. "That is all in the past."

"I know we speak of it so rarely, but I must." His eyes were points of clarity as he turned them back up to her. Arwen could see he needed to continue, and she listened, her expression a mixture of sympathy and concern. "Even after all those years were behind us, and the war had ended, I could not help doubting. Some part of me wondered if it was all real. But then at last you were here, and your hand was in mine… and it was no longer a dream."

It was then Arwen’s turn to look down distractedly at her lap, where Aragorn had clasped both her hands in his.

"That summer when you came to me, I do not know exactly what I thought, but… how I felt when you were there, it changed everything. The world became different to me, for I became aware of you in it. And still everything felt so right during that time we were together."

"I did not want to leave, but I had to…"

"And still it was when you left again, that I knew I could not do without you."

He smiled faintly as she renewed their shared gaze.

"Even in that time when I was alone, there was no night that went by, when I did not look at the sky and think of you."

Arwen’s heart leapt.

*****

She could only respond by pressing her lips to his with fervency, in a kiss that quickly became even more heated as they opened their mouths to each other, passionately imploring.

They could not tell how long they remained so entwined, but soon enough Arwen stood and began to back slowly into the inner chamber. Aragorn let her lead him, his eyes locked with hers.

Smiles had now disappeared, as their expressions reflected the intensity of the desire that had been kept at bay in the previous hours of the evening. One by one, items of clothing fell away, divesting them of the formalities that stood in the way of an even more intimate coupling.

As soon as his skin was fully bared to her, Arwen could not keep her hands from his body. The body that had been shaped by years of travel and battle, those same experiences that had shaped the mind of the man she fell in love with those years ago.

Caressing blindly, they fell together on the bed. Aragorn pulled her close to him, kissing her neck, her chest, closing wet lips around a nipple before moving over a full breast.

Arwen softly whimpered, coaxing him forward, to the union they both sought. She could not help but gasp in delight as he completed the bond, rolling back and pulling her over him. Arching her back, she gripped his sides between her knees, bringing him nearer, deeper.

Aragorn watched her face, wrought with pleasure. In his arms she came alive, this intangible woman who had given herself to him. The lover that shared his bed, the mother that had borne their children, the partner in the lasting connection of heart and mind.

She steadied herself by putting her hands to his chest, and met his eyes, dark with ardour. Soon she was torn between the intense, all-consuming desire for release, and the need to prolong sensation that she could not let go of.

His body rocked beneath her, stoking the fire that was so reluctant to cool. Aragorn felt her sink closer to him, her skin nearly burning with passion.

Another movement from Arwen tightened their bond near to the breaking point, and it was more than he could bear. Wrapping an arm around her back, Aragorn rolled to lay her beside him.

With one hand on her thigh around his waist, and the other at the small of her back, he held her as close as could be managed, while with a last rocking of his hips, brought their union to completion.

Hearing him moan with release, Arwen’s voice caught in her throat as exquisite pleasure flooded out from the core of her body, until her very fingertips were ablaze.

They lay together, limbs entwined and hearts racing, their thirst for each other quenched for a time.

"Im mil le," Arwen whispered, gently pressing her lips to his one more time.

He smiled against her kiss. "I have never doubted it."

***** 

* * *

It was much later that night as Arwen lay awake in bed, and the moon was high in the dark sky.

The mid-summer night was so warm that they had left one of the balcony doors slightly ajar, to allow a soft breeze through. The gentle air played about the light curtains at the balcony entrance. Arwen watched them float back and forth as she lay with her head on the pillow.

She turned her head toward her husband beside her. One of the more curious differences between them was that he could fall asleep so comfortably on even the warmest evenings, while she lay awake with no desire for sleep at all. Initially it had not been so easy for him to find rest in the comfort of a familiar bed, night after night.

Aragorn lay on his back, the linen sheet pushed partly away due to the warm night air. One hand rested lightly on his bare chest, the other at his middle, his breathing even and deep. Arwen had noticed Lúthea sleeping in the same manner when she was still very young.

She sat up, softly so as not to disturb her bedmate, and tucked her knees to her chest. Looking over at him again, she turned over in her mind the celebrations of recent days.

The curtains were still drifting softly with the wind from the balcony. Arwen carefully extended her feet over the side of the bed, aware of the tension in her body as she tried not to upset the mattress. Aragorn continued to sleep quietly.

The Queen slipped on her chemise, and took up a light cotton shawl that had been laid across one of the armchairs. She wrapped it about her shoulders and over her shift, out of habit more than anything else, since there was no need for warmth.

Though she tried to conceal it, she well knew how many years had passed between them. It was difficult not to be reminded that each year of their union was one year closer to their eventual separation. There was no denying it, she had to admit it somehow.

Still, it does not change the time we have now, she reminded herself.

In the back of her mind she wondered how often she would need to be reminded. But she could not let herself return to the bed they shared, until such uncertainty had passed.

Reluctantly Arwen took a seat on one of the benches, and looked up at the sky. Pulling the shawl even closer around body, she searched the points of light in the middle of the darkness, eventually finding the right one.

Quietly she sat, her gaze unwavering, until her heart was soothed.

* * *

The morning following the Midsummer Celebration, Doreth was busy in the guest quarters, tidying their few things to make ready for the return journey tomorrow.

After a knock, Doran entered.

"Nolan is with Adair and the children," his sister informed him. "They went to view the gardens."

"That is well. I am just going to check on the horses, to make sure everything is set for our departure."

"Oh, the palace staff are more than able to see to that, I’m sure, Doran."

"All the more reason for me to check it personally," he replied, grinning.

Just as he made to leave again, Doreth held him back a moment, eager to recount the events of the previous evening. Her brown eyes sparkled as she began to question her brother.

"You saw the princess last night?"

"I did." Doran’s voice revealed nothing.

"And?"

"And what?"

Doreth’s hands fell to her lap in exasperation. "Do not tell me ‘and what.’ After Mírra left to find you we did not see either of you for the rest of the night. Do not pretend as if nothing happened."

"Well, what if nothing happened?"

"Oh, well now you are just avoiding the question."

"Alright, alright. I did see the Lady Mírra in the courtyard. I walked her back through the corridor. We talked."

"And that is all?"

The tall man’s gaze wandered to the few pieces of artwork around the walls of the room, and he suddenly became very interested in a landscape of North Ithilien. "That is all I’m going to tell you, so yes, that is all."

"You are hiding something, I know it." Doreth bit back a smile, and did not even bother to drop the piece of clothing in her hands as she came over to her brother. Looking up at him, she examined his expression carefully. "Did you kiss her?" she said slyly, giving a wink.

Although Doran did not reply, the faint reddening in his face was enough of an affirmative response.

"You did!" Doreth said, giving a small gasp. She began to giggle, having been only half-serious when she asked the question in the first place.

"Shh," Doran held out his hands in an attempt to calm her. "This is not something I want the whole world to know about."

"But this is wonderful!"

"Ah… I still do not think it should have happened."

She gave a laugh in disbelief. "Why ever not?"

"Well, she is the daughter of the King, for one." Doran’s voice kept its usual low tone, but the quiet volume was enough to indicate his resolve.

"Who has been nothing but friendly to you since he met you," Doreth countered.

Her brother stepped away from the painting he had been looking at, some of his concentration breaking. This situation was anything but simple.

"Did you not see the princess last night?" he said, turning back to his sister. "So many eyes were on her, there was no man in that court that did not want to have a dance with her."

"And still she chose you, sought you out to have a conversation with. That must mean something to you."

"I do not deny that I enjoy the Lady’s company."

"But you are afraid to take such a risk?"

Doran shook his head. "It is not fear, and this is much more than a risk. She is meant for something finer than anything I could offer."

"But, Doran, to give up the chance for happiness, for love…"

"I had love once. Things change."

"And so you would throw it away now?"

"There is nothing to throw away! There have been no promises made."

His sister simply looked at him, while a thought that had formed in her mind seemed reluctant to make it past her lips.

"Is this because of Nola?"

Doran blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion.

"You of all people should know me better than that," he said quietly.

"Then why?" Doreth began to seem exasperated, and sat down on the sofa, fiddling with the cuff of the folded shirt she still held in her hands. She questioned him again, but with none of the persistency that had tainted her earlier speech. "Why are you so determined to avoid this?"

Doran rubbed a hand over his forehead, so weary already of this predicament that was still only hours old… No. No, it was more than that. Perhaps it had begun at the moment she pressed that piece of fabric in his hand.

"I’ve noticed you this week, taking tours of the grounds with her, going riding," Doreth continued softly, "It’s the happiest I’ve seen you in years."

He crossed and sat down next to his sister.

"Do I seem so very unhappy to you, that would make you so determined in this regard?"

Doreth looked down at her lap, fingering the shirt again.

"No. It was difficult for all of us to move on, but I know you are content with the life you have."

"As much as you or I would like to believe otherwise," he said gently, "this simply cannot be. Princesses do not marry with shepherds." Doreth observed the slight slouch in his broad shoulders. "We came at the King’s request, and we will always have this week. But we have lives away from this place, that await our return."

"I just could not help hoping for something different," she replied in a small voice, glancing at him sympathetically. "I only want you to be happy, Doran."

"I know, and I am glad for it." Doran sighed. "But I came here with no expectations, and I will therefore leave with none. To believe otherwise would be folly."

* * *

Later that morning, quietly tending to his family’s horses in the palace’s stables, Doran began to wonder if he himself believed what he had said. Princesses do not marry with shepherds. He had to remind himself of that, if only to keep his hopes from growing. There was only one day left, and tomorrow he would go back to his life, and leave all this behind.

If only it were that simple, he thought. 

As if on cue, a knock at the entrance to the stall ended his chance to reflect on the matter. The lady in question stood before him, her hand resting on the door frame.

"You were not going to leave, without bidding me farewell?" Her voice was light, perhaps masking the nervousness that had kept her half-awake for most of the night.

"Nay, we do not depart until tomorrow, my lady."

"That is well, then."

The stable hands had been kind enough to let Doran work alone, and now there was no one but the two of them.

Mírra stepped in over the matted straw floor, next to the horse Doran was tending to. She smiled, patting the horse’s shanks. There had to be something to say next, but she could not think of it. Where to begin?

"Last night, when you left, I – "

"Before you speak, my lady, I must apologise for last night."

"Apologise? What is there to be sorry for?" she replied in genuine surprise.

"I do not believe it is my place to be in such, ah, intimate company with someone such as yourself. If your father the King were to know if it…"

Mírra’s cheeks flushed considerably. "I must tell you that he does not know. And also I must admit that I am reluctant to inform him of it."

Doran frowned, considering this. "Do you mean to say that no one else knows of this?"

The princess bit her lip. "Only my sister Lúthea, but she will not tell anyone."

This admission changed the gravity of the situation. Doran knew he should not feel better knowing their company was secret, but now whatever was between them seemed to be something more than casual.

"I very much enjoyed your company last night," said Mírra, stepping a little closer. "I only regret it was so brief."

"It… " He began to speak, but the words became heavy on his tongue. "I have also enjoyed visiting with you this past week. But perhaps this should be the end."

"What do you mean to say?" Mírra said with not a little confusion. "You do not wish to see me?"

"No, it is not that, I…" What did he mean? "I just think that this may not be the proper situation for you."

"Is this what will happen, then? You will go back to your home, and from then we will be parted?"

He could read the disappointment in her expression and began to believe he truly was in the wrong, to want to fight this for the sake of propriety.

"It is not what I want, Mírra…" The tone of his voice showed softened, showing resignation, but still he held her gaze. "But you are the King’s daughter, and should be with someone fitting of your station, not me, who you know so little about."

"I do not pretend to know the answers, or what any of it means, really, but should we truly care so much about ‘what is right?’"

"Tell me this, then," he began to ask, the tone of his voice changing to reveal previously hidden hopefulness mixed with the uncertainty. "If it was simply you and I, if none of this was here to stand in the way, my past and your family, what would happen? What would you say to this?"

Looking down, she took his hand.

"I would say… that it would sadden me to think that this would be the end. That you would leave and I would still think of you, but never again have the chance to be with you."

He could no more convince her than he could fool himself, being so affected by the unrestrained sincerity in her statement. Her eyes were clear, her expression entreating.

"I do not wish that to happen."

"It is true that I do know little about you," she said softly, "But that can be remedied."

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a smile. "Perhaps it can."

"Still it does not change how I feel when I am with you. And even if that is the only thing we have…"

"…Then it is still something," Doran finished for her.

Carefully he put both hands to the sides of her face, cupping the pale cheeks and brushing back the wisps of dark hair that had strayed forward. But despite the tenderness of his gesture, it was the princess who moved first to a closer contact.

Her kiss was neither gentle nor fierce, coming instead with pleasing abruptness, as if there was something to be said that could be expressed only by a meeting of lips.

As they broke away, Mírra shakily took in a breath of new air, before letting it out in a slow sigh. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he had left her the previous evening, she leaned her head against him, and settled against his body.

For so long Doran had wanted to wrap his arms around her shoulders, and now he could, and did. It felt comfortable, right.

"I will write to you," he whispered.

Mírra turned her face up to his, smiling. "And I shall do the same."

He moved to kiss her again, this time on the cheek, where she felt the whiskers of his light beard tickle her skin.

Mírra lingered a moment, taking his hand. As she moved away to leave, Doran held her gaze, and gave a nod, smiling. This would not be the end; both of them were sure of it.

I imagine the jewel Aragorn wears is something similar to the Elendilmir, which is described in Unfinished Tales:

"Elessar took it up with reverence, and when he returned to the North and took up again the full kingship of Arnor Arwen bound it upon, and men were silent in amaze to see its splendour. But Elessar did not imperil it, and wore it only on high days in the North Kingdom. Otherwise, when in kingly raiment he bore the Elendilmir which had descended to him." (Unfinished Tales, p 359)

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Chapter 17 – Unheard Voices

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The evening was hours old, but Mírra could not sleep.

She turned on her side as she lay in bed, facing the windows, where moonlight streamed in through open curtains.

They had departed this morning, all six of the visitors. A small escort would accompany them as far as Calembel, just as had been done before the arrival. Kind farewells were said on all sides, but Doran and the princess had parted with a greater understanding of each other than they had previously known.

And now, in Doran’s absence, it was thoughts of him that had kept her awake for so many hours. It hardly made sense to her but then, during all the days of his visit, Mírra could hardly recall an instance when he had not occupied her thoughts.

Two nights previous, it had been just the same. She had returned to her chamber following the celebration and stayed awake in a half daze, as the hours passed by almost unnoticed, the sensation of his kiss still lingering. Running her fingertips over her lips, she could still recall it even now, the pleasant softness of his mouth touching hers. Sighing, Mírra pursed her lips together, slightly moistening them, as the memory of the embrace flooded her mind.

Curling her body slightly, she brought up an arm to hug her pillow, and blinked her eyes knowing full well she was no closer to reaching slumber.

And all over a man you hardly know, she could not help thinking, recalling her conversation with Doran in the stables.

The circumstances of their meeting had been so unexpected. Life does take unexpected turns, Doran had said. But it was too late to turn back on feelings at this point, unexpected or not.

Was it indeed true that she hardly knew him? She knew that he loved his son, and his family. He must have loved his wife, although he had not spoken to Mírra of her. He was honest and direct. Her father seemed to think him a good person, and all the things she had learned from Doreth told her that he was kind.

And beside all these things, she knew how she felt in his presence.

Mírra flipped the sheets aside, wondering why she even needed them in the summer heat. Sitting up for a moment, she eventually rose from the bed and crossed to the other side of the chamber, to her small table. I cannot do nothing.

As she lit a small lamp, the room was soon bathed in faint yellow light, to help her search for paper, pen and ink. It was not something she did often, but she had made a promise.

Soon Mírra was seated with pen in hand and, in the very smallest hours of the morning, quietly began to write.

* * *

"You look tired," Lúthea told her older sister the next morning.

The two of them were in the library. Mírra looked up from where she sat with her cheek resting in her palm. Her eyes must have looked far away.

"I didn’t sleep very much last night."

Lúthea hopped down from the stool that she had stood on to shelve a book. "Why, what’s wrong?"

"Just thinking about things, I suppose."

The younger princess came to sit on the other side of the table, saying nothing, but looking expectant all the same. Mírra folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, resting her chin on a forearm. She glanced back at her sister briefly.

"I know he’s only been gone for a day, but… I keep thinking about Doran," she admitted.

Lúthea began to toy with the book in front of her, fiddling with the leather reinforcement at the corner.

"You like him very much, don’t you?" she said quietly.

Mírra smiled a little, and nodded as a tinge of pink colour appeared on her cheeks. She raised herself up slightly and went back to resting her cheek in one hand, meanwhile tracing a knot in the table’s surface with the fingers of the other.

"Last night I kept remembering everything that happened between us." Her smile increased. "I started to write a letter."

"Really?" Lúthea returned the smile, excitedly. "What did it say? No, sorry, you don’t need to answer that, it is between you and him of course.’

"I began to ask questions. But I don’t know if any of it is the right thing to say. I do not exactly have much practice with this sort of thing."

"I’ve looked at some of the collections of letters here," said Lúthea thoughtfully, looking at the books that surrounded them. "People write for many reasons."

"I am quite sure whatever I write will be far less eloquent than anything in this collection."

Mírra continued to look down at the knot in the table, her expression doubtful. Meanwhile Lúthea leaned forward over folded arms, taking up a position similar to the one her sister had abandoned.

"But why did you want to write the letter in the first place?"

Mírra responded in a soft voice. "I just… I felt like I wanted to talk to him again. I missed him." She looked across to meet her sister’s curious gaze.

Lúthea shrugged. "That sounds like the right reason to send a letter to me. But Mírra, is it really such a good idea not to tell mother and father?"

"Perhaps not. I don’t know." She bit her lip, the blush returning to her cheeks. "I’ll think about it."

She picked up a book and began leafing through it absentmindedly. Not a moment too soon, the girls’ mother appeared at the entrance to the reading room. Arwen gave a light knock before stepping in.

"You are well prepared already, I see," said Arwen as she surveyed the few volumes that Lúthea had already stacked at the end of the table.

It was the younger princess’ turn to blush.

"I couldn’t wait to get started," she said as her slim hands flitted to the books she had chosen.

Arwen looked over to her oldest daughter. It was unusual to see Mírra in the library. But then, they had not had much time to themselves recently, with all the visitors to the city.

"Do you wish to join us, darling?"

Mírra stood somewhat sheepishly and crossed to her mother. Arwen wondered if there was something amiss, but chose not to voice her concern.

"Ah, I do not think I am much for reading, at present. Perhaps I shall go out for a ride instead."

"Very well. I hope you enjoy the sunshine then."

Giving Arwen a quick kiss on the cheek, Mírra quietly made her exit.

"Now then," said the Queen, taking a seat beside Lúthea at the table, "what will we look at today?"

They had already been through a substantial amount of Imladris’ collection. Arwen was quite impressed with how quickly her daughter had taken it all in. Lúthea moved from book to book enthusiastically, and had been quite absorbed with the poetry anthologies in particular.

"Well..." the girl bit her lip once more in eagerness. Her quick eyes followed the movement of her hands as she made a survey of the books in front of them. "I was reading through the literature before Midsummer started, but now I thought maybe we could look at some more of the histories? We only read a little bit about Rivendell in the beginning."

"True enough," Arwen admitted. Whether intentional or not, she had shied away from her father’s work. Perhaps I have put it off for too long. "What is this one here?"

Lúthea read aloud, carefully. "’The Founding of Imladris and a History of the Bruinen Valley.’ It has some illustrations as well."

"Your Sindarin is quite improved," said her mother with some delight, as she noted the elvish characters on the book’s cover.

"I’ve been practising." Lúthea smiled and sat up a little straighter as she replied with a small amount of pride.

Arwen was struck with a curious thought. "When was this written?"

"Third Age... 563," Lúthea said after some page flipping. "Why?"

"Hm. It is almost as old as I am." The Queen looked thoughtful.

Lúthea could not be sure what this meant, but appreciated the quality of the materials, in any case. "They have been well taken care of."

"Indeed." Arwen saw her daughter grow quiet, staring at the pages in front of her. "Not to worry, darling, you shall not harm them."

"I won’t, I promise."

As Lúthea quietly turned her attention to the first section of her history, Arwen mastered a small part of her misgivings, and took up a volume of her own.

It did not take long for her to recognise the handwriting. Centuries ago he had put these words on the page, and yet she could so easily find the memory of it; watching him bent carefully over his desk, much like her own daughter was now.

Arwen looked up to see Lúthea regarding her somewhat apprehensively.

"Something is wrong?"

Arwen answered softly. "I have not looked at these in a very long time."

"It was my grandfather who wrote them, wasn’t it?" Lúthea asked carefully.

Meeting her daughter’s grey eyes, Arwen nodded.

"How wonderful," said the princess, looking back to the page with a renewed appreciation. "Then I can learn more about him as well."

The Queen observed her reading for a moment, pressing threatening melancholy away from the corners of her mind. Who am I to prevent it?

* * *

As soon as she was in the open air, outside the city, Mírra began to relax.

Breathing in deeply, she turned her face upwards to welcome the sunshine. It had been so long since she’d done this, just lead her horse and go – near the mountain, on the outskirts of the city, it did not matter where. At the moment she seemed to be heading toward the Anduin.

The river.

Mírra sighed with only a mild twinge of apprehension as she approached it. Tugging on the reins, she brought her horse up short of the riverbank. There was nothing unfriendly about it. Both the brightness of sunshine and the blue sky were reflected in the water’s surface.

There was nothing threatening about this place for her. How different the Morthond was from the Anduin, in her memory.

After a while Mírra began to guide her horse on a light trot, following the briskly moving current. As she finally turned away, the city came into view.

At one time she would have ridden back at all speed, but today she allowed herself to feel the sunshine on her face, and ignored the wind that tugged at the long braid of her hair.

She began to turn over words in her mind, surprised to find herself eager to put them down on paper.

I did not expect the river to bring me to you. For those briefest of moments I was lost, frightened, alone. I thought that memory would stay with me always.

But now a different memory has replaced it, and I am not frightened anymore.

As she drew near to the stables, she was not even aware of the smile on her face.

* * *

The following morning brought a much similar scenario, with the two sisters again together in the same reading room.

Lúthea was pulling a few books down from a new shelf, one that was within her grasp. She was only slightly stretched on tiptoe.

"There. I think these will be enough to start with." She returned to the table with her finds.

"Have you been through the whole set already?" Mírra teased, feeling much calmer than the previous day.

Her sister smirked. "Very funny."

She began to sort through the books she had taken, all from an anthology about Eriador, when she came across one that did not match with the others. It was smaller, with a deep blue cover.

"What is that one?" Mírra asked.

"I don’t know. It must have got in by mistake." She set it aside for later.

Mírra returned to her previous task. "Luthea, you must admit how much you like this. I’ve never seen you move so fast through books before."

"But these things are about our family. Some of them are even by naneth’s father."

"Really?" Mírra’s brow creased momentarily. "He is no longer living, not in Middle-Earth."

Lúthea nodded. "I... I wanted to ask her more about it, but... I wondered if it would upset her."

"Well, the High Elves are sailing to Aman."

"But Mírra, I do not understand. Does she not have the same chance?"

Mírra remembered having this conversation with Eldarion once. They were both aware of where their mother’s parents were, but they were also aware of how little was spoken of them.

"I know. But father cannot leave, and so she must stay with him."

"They never talk of it."

"If you are truly so curious, why do you not ask her?"

"I don’t know. She would have spoken of it by now, surely, if we were meant to know?"

Mírra shrugged. "But these books are here, are they not? It could be, that she does not know how to start."

* * *

Whether it was shyness or not, Lúthea found herself reluctant to voice any questions to her mother that day. The afternoon wore on, and they leisurely made their way through the volumes that the princess had chosen.

Occasionally Arwen would stop and ponder an illustration, or read a short passage aloud. Lúthea saw her slowly becoming absorbed by everything, running her fingertips over the text as if renewing some kind of connection. Even the cadence of her voice took on a different tone when she spoke in the language that was so familiar to her.

As the hours passed Lúthea felt she could picture in her mind all of Imladris’ terraces, the white waterfall of the Bruinen river, even the lush gardens. All because her mother was there to give voice to it.

It was with a small amount of regret that she realised the afternoon had worn nearly to a close, and would need to put away the tales for another day.

"Do we need these ones any more?" said Arwen, gesturing to a small stack of three or four books on the far side of the table.

Her daughter shook her head. "I think I can put them away now. They’re from the next room." She hopped over to collect them, and briefly stopped next to her mother again. "I’m glad you looked at these with me, nana. Thank you."

Arwen smiled warmly. "I am too, darling. You are quite welcome."

Wearing a shy smile of her own, Lúthea slipped away, leaving Arwen to survey the remaining contents of the table.

As she stacked the few books that were left, she came upon a small blue volume that looked different from the others. Wondering for a moment if it belonged with a different collection, she examined it. There was no title on the spine or cover, and the binding was simple.

She flipped to one of the opening pages to satisfy her curiosity. It seemed to be a diary.

It is different here, Arwen read. The birds sing strange pleasant songs. The roar of the Bruinen is so unlike the rush of the Celebrant.

Her stomach unexpectedly twisted as she realised she recognised who the handwriting belonged to. To have gone back to her father’s work was one thing, but this... this was entirely different...

But he is here, most important of all, the entry continued. How exciting it is to wake and see him there next to me. As soon as he sees I am awake he reaches out for me, and I for him. I never expected I would feel so complete, so comfortable in the company of another

It is made for protection, this place. Elrond would be slower to admit it, but one cannot help but feel safe the moment the valley comes into view. Here I am happy.

Arwen soon realised her mother must have begun it in the days of her parents’ early marriage, but how late would it continue? Would even go to the time when...

After hesitantly turning a few more pages, her question was answered.

How can this land that has brought me so much joy now only brings me fear? The wounds cannot heal. You have tried, meleth-nîn, I know you have, to banish the shadows from those corners of my mind.

But still there seems to be no light or lamp that will chase them away. And yet I cannot keep from fearing the darkness, knowing that it will never disappear.

"Oh, naneth," Arwen whispered, closing the book and raising a hand to her mouth.

She was trembling now, fighting to regain composure that had been hastily, unexpectedly lost.

At the doorway, Lúthea stayed back, and remained quiet. She did not enter until she saw Arwen rise.

"What is it?" she asked softly. Her mother’s face was calm, but her eyes seemed slightly damp.

Arwen swallowed. "It is only something that took me by surprise."

"Will we prepare for dinner now?"

"Soon, I think." Lúthea heard melancholy in her voice. "I will meet you in a little while, darling. There is something... I think I must do before then."

* * *

There were still a few brief hours of daylight left for Arwen to take a ride alone. She was overcome by some feeling, she knew not what, but somehow she had to get away from it.

But no matter how fast she rode, the sadness still managed to chase her.

She had pushed doubts away when it concerned her father’s writings, but her mother... They had never properly said goodbye. Celebrían had never known the man her daughter married. And neither of her parents would know her children.

If only you could see them...

Whether it was due the wind, or the speed with which she rode, a rush of air blew wetness from the corners of her eyes. Her chest felt tight. She needed air.

Arwen pulled her horse to a stop as she reached a small grove of trees. She dismounted, trying to breathe. But then there was an ache around her heart that did not want to leave.

Please not this… anything but this. This must pass, it must…

She had found a way to still enjoy Midsummer, even knowing what it meant, and she had proudly encouraged Eldarion, in his travels to her family’s country.

She had pushed the sadness aside before, somehow she would find a way to do it again. It would pass.

What if it does not pass? Her mind persisted, as she stood leaning next to the tree for support, her breath now coming in gasps as her eyes grew cloudy. What then will I do?

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Chapter 18 - Distance

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Arwen was walking. She felt her feet touch the forest floor as she stepped over a lightly worn path. Sunlight filtered down through the ceiling of leaves and tree branches. She did not think to wonder where she was.

Slowly she became aware of someone holding her hand. It was Aragorn, walking next to her. Seeing her smile at him, he pressed a simple kiss to the back of her hand, and they continued on the path. She felt content.

Around them she could hear faint sounds of the forest. Beyond that, she thought she could almost hear laughter. Were their children with them? It sounded like the girls chasing each other in a game. The next moment it reminded her of Eldarion, the sound of an exuberant young boy.

"This path will end soon, I think," Aragorn told her.

"Let us go a little farther, meleth-nîn, we should not turn around yet."

He consented and they kept walking. But as they went Arwen was distracted by other sounds from the forest beyond. She thought she could hear someone else walking.

Aragorn had stopped, and the tug of his hand kept her in place. "Arwen, we should go back."

"But I think there is something I must see, something farther out there..."

"Dearest, we must return, to the children."

She heard it again, footsteps just ahead of them on the path. "I must see who is there. I must."

Curiously Arwen set out to search. The foliage began to thin out as she followed the footsteps. As she rounded another bend in the path, she came to a clearing. Standing there was a tall elf-lord with dark hair, and wisdom in his eyes.

"Ada," she whispered.

He looked just as she remembered him, except calmer somehow. Then there were his arms around her, protective and comforting.

"Ada, I’ve missed you so much."

He took her hands and stood at arm’s length. "How well you look, my undómiel."

"But what are you doing here?"

"Why, we are simply walking, just as you are."

"We?"

"Your mother is with me, as she always is now. She will want to greet you, how long it has been...."

He turned to look behind him, and for a moment Arwen thought she could see a flash of silver hair, or perhaps a light-coloured dress through the foliage.

"Nana?"

Feeling a rush of excitement she almost followed her father, but she suddenly stopped still, realising she had lost hold of her husband. How could she have let go of his hand?

"Aragorn?"

The forest was quiet in the direction she had come from.

"Estel?" she called out again, a little louder.

Without even thinking she rushed back, lifting her skirts away from her feet. Her stomach felt like ice. One minute he had been there with her, and the next he was gone. How could she have lost sight of him?

She followed the turns of the path, even as it grew thicker and thicker with trees. Every step seemed to make her journey more difficult. She could no longer see her father. Alone, she searched, but to no avail.

"Where are you?" Arwen called out urgently, but her solitary voice was ineffectual. "I’ve lost you!"

He had to be here somewhere, but she could not shake the feeling that he was gone.

"Aragorn!"

There was a hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

"Aragorn!" Arwen felt herself awake even as she heard herself cry out.

She sat up in bed suddenly, pushing the sheets away and gasping for breath. Her heart raced as she came to realise where she was, and that the person she had sought in the dream was here beside her.

"Mellwain, I am here."

Aragorn took her cheek to turn her face toward him, and finally watched the disorientation leave her expression. Wordlessly she buried herself against his chest, shutting her eyes.

"It was a dream," he said in a hushed voice, attempting to soothe her.

As he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders he began to feel them shake. Still she said nothing of what had passed in her mind, but only clung to him.

Aragorn sat with her and held her, not knowing what else to do or say.

* * *

Mírra did not know why she always chose the very late hours of the evening to write to Doran. Perhaps there was something different she liked about the flicker of the lamplight on the sheets of parchment. More likely it was the privacy that such a time of night allowed.

Sitting once again at her small table, Mírra ran her hands once more over the folded papers. She thought she could understand now why Lúthea spent so much time looking at the collections in the library; she was aware now of that connection that could be felt with not only the words on the page, but also the person who put them down in the ink.

It started simply enough, really.

Dear Sir, was what she had settled on eventually. She was unsure of whether to address him by name, or perhaps even My dear Sir, but that was too informal, she decided.

Then there were the inquiries about his family, how his sister was faring, and how the stables had improved. These were the things they always seemed to begin with, before moving to gradually more and more personal matters, the things Mírra realised she could no longer keep to herself.

For so much of my life I have thought of nothing but what it would be like to be in a different place. To journey, to simply go, explore. I thought there was always something else to see. How childish that seems to me now, to assume that there is always some better place to be. How could I have thought it impossible to find freedom in stillness?

But when I am with you none of those feelings seem to matter. In your company I feel calm, content. I want to stay where I am, if it means you will be there with me. You reassure me with your presence. With your voice you comfort me, and with your touch you awaken my heart.

Is there some other declaration I should make to you? I know not what it should be. Some part of me wonders if I have done this all wrong. Perhaps from the very start I have misjudged my own actions, for so much of this has come unexpectedly. But then, when I think of how we first met… that could not have been planned.

All I know is that when once I thought I would only journey and explore, instead I found you. (No, that is not right, for it was you who found me. Until then, I had never felt lost… how very strange life is)

Have I professed too much? I cannot tell what will follow. Perhaps nothing. But I could not leave it unwritten and unsaid. Whatever shall come of this, I remain your

Mírra

After looking over the letter one last time, Mírra folded it carefully. Holding the bit of sealing wax at the edge of the candle flame, she watched it become slick as it melted.

She had said it now. It was finally written down, and sealed, and ready to be sent with the first morning’s light.

* * *

If it was a truly serious matter, Aragorn knew, then Arwen would have spoken to him of any anxieties she harboured. But instead she remained silent on what had caused her nightmare, and both of them were reluctant to speak of it.

Days passed, palace life continued, and the King and Queen went about their business. To an outsider, nothing would have seemed amiss, unless one noticed the silence that had begun settle over the Queen’s activities.

Finally one evening, Arwen gave her regrets that she would not attend dinner.

"I will stay behind with you, we shall have something sent up if you are unwell," Aragorn decided.

"No, please, you should eat with the girls, they will wonder if both of us are absent." Arwen laid a hand on his arm briefly, but her eyes seemed strangely unfocused.

They will wonder if you are absent, thought Aragorn. He watched her drift out to their balcony, to look out at the sky.

"You will not tell me what it is, undómiel?" he asked quietly.

Arwen swallowed deliberately to steady her voice. "It is only something that I must think on for myself. I do not wish to worry you." Although she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, somehow the gesture seemed to have little effect. "Perhaps I shall go to the garden, and watch the stars."

Aragorn regarded her expression carefully. After a moment he simply nodded, and took his leave of her.

* * *

They made a quiet dinner party that evening, the four of them, with Elenna being the most talkative of the group. Mírra seemed preoccupied with other matters, and when her youngest sister began to fuss, she took leave to bring her back to the nursery.

"Very well," Aragorn sighed, nodding to Mírra as she rose to leave. "It seems none of us will have a peaceful time this evening."

Meanwhile, sitting in the chair next to him, Lúthea looked down at her plate, pushing around bits of food that had gone untouched for the entire meal. Her behaviour did not go unnoticed by her father.

"You’re very quiet tonight, Lúthea. What is troubling you?"

She continued to hold her fork, carefully tracing the edge of her plate with the tines.

"Is nana alright?"

He should have expected her to be concerned about her mother. "She is simply not feeling well tonight."

Lúthea looked down with confused eyes, her hands beginning to tug nervously at the napkin in her lap. Aragorn watched her with concern.

"Is that what is troubling you?"

"I think… I think have done something I shouldn’t have. Something to make nana sad."

Aragorn was surprised to see her now near tears.

"She loves you dearly, Lúthea, surely that cannot be."

"But I have, I know it, I saw her face when she looked at the diary. I know it made her cry, I should never have asked her about the books in the first place." Her lip was trembling. "I should have left it alone."

Aragorn did not know exactly what she spoke of, could not see the reason for any of this, but his daughter was upset; honest even in her own anxiety.

"Come here, Lúthea, it will be alright," he said quietly, drawing her into his arms.

At the invitation, she immediately reached out to hug her father tightly, and let a few unanticipated tears. When she had released the tension she had held inside, she wiped her eyes, still leaning against his chest.

"I did not think it would make her sad, ada, I only thought she could teach me what I did not know," she finally answered in a small voice.

"Come now, it cannot be anything that shall not be mended. Tell me, what is this all about?"

She sniffed, and drew in a breath unsteadily. Everything would surely be all right, if she told her father about it.

Wiping her eyes once more, she began to explain.

* * *

So this is what it had come to, after so many years together, the thing that he had feared would come between them.

Aragorn found Arwen where she had said she would be, sitting in the south garden that looked out high over the sleeping city.

In the night sky, a few stars peeked out from behind errant grey clouds. Arwen sat calmly on a stone bench, leaning with one hand resting against the low wall. In the distance the Anduin flowed as always to the Bay of Belfalas, and the sea. It was in this direction that Arwen’s gaze was aimed, but her eyes were unseeing. She was pulled into dreams, lost in thought.

Quietly he approached and sat down beside his wife, facing her. Now that he was close to Arwen, Aragorn could sense the turmoil of her thoughts that swirled beneath her exterior calm. She was indeed far away, and he could not tell where.

Her long dark hair was loose, framing her face and spilling over her shoulders. After a few moments a breeze came and caught a few of the locks, displacing them. Aragorn carefully reached up, and smoothed his fingertips from her temple downward, tucking the stray hair behind her distinctive ear. Why did her ears always seem to hide behind her hair?

Arwen’s lids closed over her unseeing eyes. She was aware of his presence, but remained quiet. She feared the thoughts that lay unspoken between them.

Aragorn, though, could no longer leave them unspoken. He felt her distance.

"Where are you?" He asked quietly, breaking the silence. "Where do you go when you look out there?"

Arwen opened her eyes, but she still looked away.

"Places that will never be, except in my mind." She replied vacantly.

"Will you not come to bed?"

"I do not think I will find any rest tonight," she responded in a quiet, choked voice.

She had not meant her words to sting, but Aragorn was not sure how to respond. His heart was irrevocably given to her, and it pained him to feel her slipping way over these last few weeks.

"Come back, Arwen," he asked as he took her hand.

"I want to," she answered, with difficulty. "I want to climb out of this heaviness that surrounds my heart, but when I try it seems only to pull me down further."

Until now she had avoided meeting his gaze. But finally his eyes met hers, and he saw the storm beneath them.

Aragorn pressed his lips together, and his light eyes were concerned. He took her face in his hands.

"You need not bear this alone."

Arwen again shook her head. "But it is my burden, and not yours. In the end, I must bear it alone." She took his hands and set them in his lap. Her eyes were still cast down.

"But the end is not yet near, and I would not see your light fade so early."

The memories were flooding back to her, those last moments with her father…

But back then she had kept her grief from Aragorn, and now she again had to keep it from him. What did he know of what she had forsaken? Surely her sorrow would fade in time, if only she could push it aside.

Aragorn had come to her now hoping to mend the distance between them, but now he began to feel he had not made matters worse. The sadness behind her eyes only seemed to increase as she spoke of it. His wife, his beloved, was right in front of him, and yet somehow he missed her.

Arwen’s eyes once again drifted south, to the sea, and Aragorn’s gaze followed.

"The Sea calls you."

Arwen shook her head, disconcerted. "No… it does not call…" She paused, struggling for meaning in her troubled thoughts. "It is a divide, a barrier I cannot cross."

She had tried to ignore them for so long, thoughts of the family she was divided from. To know that there was a world beyond that she would never be a part of... To know that her children would be forever unknown to her father, her mother, her grandmother...

Arwen’s eyes became impossibly dark as the storm raged behind them. She was suddenly uncomfortable in his presence. His questions, though intended in empathy, only seemed to sting further.

"But how could you know what I am divided from?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

Aragorn blinked once, heavily and slowly. Her words hung heavily between them, but he could not simply sit by and watch her descend into grief. How could she have kept this from him for so long?

"I have always known what you have sacrificed, I know it all too well, and there is no day that passes when I do not think of it. But Arwen, will you not help me to understand?"

"I do not know if you can understand this."

A precarious silence fell over them. Neither knew what to say or do. Aragorn looked down at their clasped hands, identical gold bands resting together in entwined fingers. His heart sank as he felt how powerless he was to pull her back.

For this chapter I must give a nod to Nemis, from whom I have learned so much about Elrond and Celebrían. The name "gwilwileth" belongs to her.

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Chapter 19 – Revelations

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Sitting alone at his desk, the King of Gondor stared aimlessly at one of the woven tapestries hanging on the wall of his study. In these late days of summer there was no need to light a fire. The room was quiet, almost dismally so.

There was a modest amount of correspondence to read, but Aragorn had little ability to focus on it at present. His thoughts continually drifted to his conversation with Arwen from last night, both their words ringing in his mind. You need not bear this alone, he had offered. And yet... I do not know if you can understand this...

The King shook the thoughts away and tried once more to concentrate on the paper in front of him, a letter from the Lord Faramir informing him of the White Company’s activities. In Eldarion’s absence this year, the Steward’s eldest son had taken on much of the leadership duties. But even still, it was strange not to be hearing such news from the prince.

Aragorn sighed, looking down at the letter. It was not pressing, but... perhaps it was an excuse.

With a twist of doubt in his stomach, he rose from the desk. It was time to make ready for dinner.

After the meal, while in their chambers, he broke the news to Arwen.

"I must go to Ithilien." Aragorn said abruptly. He was standing in front of the long mirror, looking down as he unfastened the buttons of his shirt.

The brush in Arwen’s hand paused in mid stroke. Her mind had been elsewhere, as had been common for her in recent weeks.

"When?" Her back straightened and she set the brush on the dressing table in front of her.

"Almost immediately. Tomorrow morning, in fact. Lately I have been in correspondence with Faramir," Aragorn continued, "Without Eldarion there this year, I have not been able to keep as informed as I would like about the White Company’s campaign."

As Aragorn spoke he turned to collect his less formal clothing, to replace what he had worn to dinner. Arwen twisted in her chair towards him, but he had looked away.

"Summer will soon be over, and since Minas Tirith has been… quiet in recent weeks, I thought there would be no harm in leaving straight away," the King finished.

To Arwen this did not seem pressing business.

"You will not stay away for long?" she asked.

"Only as long as is necessary." He opened his mouth again as if to speak but then paused, rethinking his answer. "I must go and complete preparations, while there are still a few hours left in the evening."

Arwen caught his eye briefly, and thought she could see a flicker of something, almost of regret. She rose hastily from her dressing table, unable to keep confusion from her voice when she spoke again.

"Aragorn..." Resting a hand on the door, she paused to see him turn back to her. "You are certain you must go?"

She watched him regard her carefully for a moment before answering. Again his expression hinted at some hidden emotion.

"I have given the matter a great deal of thought, but I think it is best, for the moment. If it is solitude that you require, then I will not stand in the way of it. But neither can I stand idle, and see you in pain knowing I can do nothing to help."

Arwen looked down, her brow furrowing with concern. He had offered to help her and she had turned him away. He was right.

She remained silent, unsure of what to say next, but before she could decide she felt him take her hand.

He met her eyes and spoke softly. "I trust you will find your way."

With a brief squeeze of her hand he turned and went from the room, leaving Arwen to wonder alone at this new development.

* * *

"’Twas a fine dinner, Doreth."

Doran rejoined his sister in her kitchen, the evening meal long over by this point. He sat back easily in one of the wooden chairs, stretching long legs out before him.

"Ah, thank you Doran, it was nothing. You are always welcome, you know that."

Doreth removed her apron and took a seat next to him at the table. Glancing into the next room, she saw the children happily tormenting Adair to recount more tales of his recent trip to the market at Edoras.

"I do not think Connor will stop questioning him for some time," said Doran, observing the same scene. "Wanting to join his father on the same trips, no doubt."

The fair-haired lady chuckled to herself. "I do not think his curiosity about other places will ever go away. Especially since seeing the Royal City."

"Hmm, yes, I think you’re right."

Doreth watched her brother trace a knot in the table’s surface. Whenever their journey to Minas Tirith was mentioned, he only grew quiet, remaining passively secretive about what had passed between him and the princess royal.

She leaned over her folded arms, whispering so as not to be heard by the occupants of the next room. "Adair found a birthday gift for Nolan, as well. A coat."

Brown eyes looked back up at her. "You shouldn’t have."

Doreth waved his concerns aside. "It is big enough that he will have time to grow into it. And there is one for Connor as well, to save for his birthday this winter."

"It is too much," Doran replied in the same whisper, still surprised but cheered nonetheless at the gift, "You spoil him."

"Well, we have only one nephew, therefore it is our duty to spoil him," his sister responded with a wink.

Not a moment too soon, the boy in question entered the kitchen. Nolan came up beside his chair. He rubbed one eye absentmindedly, face flushed from the activities of the day that was now coming to a close.

Doran ran a hand over the top of his son’s head, brushing blond hair out of his eyes.

"Tired already?" Nolan only nodded, leaning against his father. "Then perhaps we should be going."

"Papa, may we not just stay here tonight?"

Doran caught his sister’s eye briefly before responding. "No, I think we will go back to our house."

"But it is so far to walk," Nolan protested weakly, rubbing his other eye.

"Not so very far," Doran said calmly. He did not like to have to coerce his son in this matter, but they had a place of their own, that they spent far too much time away from. "I shall carry you on my back, if you like."

"Really?"

"Well... just this once." He smiled wryly, observing Nolan’s expression beginning to brighten. "Come along. We shall say our good-nights."

It had been unseasonably warm in recent days, even for the late summer season. Tonight, however, was an exception; temperatures had finally cooled enough to make the evening comfortable.

Long after Nolan had fallen asleep, Doran stood at the doorway to his home, leaning against the doorframe, looking out at the stars. The moon was nearly full and cast silvery light over the surrounding meadow, and the stables nearby.

At length he turned away, setting his lamp alight before moving back through the quiet house.

It had been intended as a home, all those years ago, for so much more than just the two of them. For so long it seemed that there were too many rooms, simply too much space to move about in. It was no wonder Nolan preferred his aunt and uncle’s house to this one.

But now there was a glimmer of something in his mind, perhaps hope, for something different. And no matter how often he told himself to forget it, he could not.

Before Doran reached his bedroom, he paused at the small table that was used for a desk. He drew out the paper and ink that he had discretely asked Adair to purchase for him on this latest trip; Doran could not remember a time when he had written so many letters.

He pulled out the latest one, and read it over one last time, just to be certain.

My dear Lady,

I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my best wishes for you and your family.

There were the usual pleasantries that followed, of course, but he came quickly to a much more pressing subject. Their correspondence had now passed the point of filling pages with trivial matters.

You asked me if you had revealed too much, but if so then I am grateful to you for it. I am so very happy to know how free you felt to write such words to me, for despite all propriety, free is the way feel to be able to write to you.

As I write I imagine you before me, hearing my words instead of reading them. At times I stop and remind myself who you are, that your station is so very different from mine. For the image of you in my mind is not of the courtly lady, in her jewels and fine gown (though perhaps it should be… perhaps I overstep my bounds even in the mentioning of this…) In truth what I remember first is the young woman I met, with her arm in a bandage and her hair long and dark. The one who caught a cricket in her hand, and laughed when the music was merry.

In one of your letters, you once asked me about my late wife. Of course I remember much of her, and think of her often. I think of her when I see my son wearing a certain expression, or hear him questioning so many little things about the world. In two days he will be nine years old. He is a cheerful boy, and growing fast, before my eyes. So long as he is a part of my life, Nola will be also.

And yet I think of you, as well. I remember seeing you on the grass after the rain, when your clothes were so wet and heavy, and your cheeks were pale and cold. But then you came awake, and you touched my hand as you reached out. Even as we rode from the river, my only thoughts were of helping you to be well again. I had only my jacket to wrap you in, and wondered if it would be enough to take the cold from you.

I did not know it then, how my life would change as a result of that meeting. Only months ago, I would not have expected to take a journey to the White City, to be a guest of your father the King, and to share your company. Now that I am returned and my life goes on in your absence, my little corner of the world seems so very different. I can feel every mile of the distance between us... there is hardly a moment of the day when I do not wish to be where you are.

You occupy my thoughts, and my heart.

Yours, always,

Doran

He carefully folded the letter and sealed it, to be ready for the messenger who would come tomorrow to take it. Doran knew the only thing harder than sending the letter would be not to follow it in person.

* * *

Arwen entered the library with much of the same hesitation she had felt over recent weeks, but a kind of determination had now risen in her. She had thought herself able to handle such a situation alone, but in shutting out her family she had only made things worse.

She found the small reading room had been left tidy, with every book returned to its proper place. As she looked over the shelves she ran her fingertips lightly over the spines, a gesture she had performed so many times in her father’s library, over the very same books.

Soon enough she found the volume she sought, the one that had been the source of so much unexpected sorrow. Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she pulled the small diary off the shelf.

There was her mother, as clear as if she had been standing before her, brought to life by the words on the pages.

Arwen sank against the bookshelf, letting herself slide down to sit on the floor. She tucked her knees up and rested the open diary upon them, and quietly began to read.

The diary was small, and held only the occasional entry, but it was all there, in the scattered notes. Celebrations and begetting days. Sickness and uncertainty. Visitors to their home, and visits paid to Lórien and Lindon. A family’s life.

It still pained her to read the last entries.

The wounds cannot heal...

I see how my husband regards me, with that glimmer of hope that I will return to myself. It is just as hard for me to speak of it, but we must. Such a parting is not something I could undertake unless... if there was any other way...

I cannot stay only to become a stranger to my family, force them to sit and watch while I fall apart inside.

Arwen remembered how difficult that time had been for all of them. So much waiting, hoping for the best. But then the decision had been made, and despite their grief over the separation, there was also a certain calm to be found in knowing there was indeed a resolution to it all.

Today I heard Arwen playing the harp. She let me play with her for a time, and I even found a joyful tune still within me. It brought a smile to my lips. Ah, she is so accomplished, so beautiful, so sure of who she is. I have such hope for her.

To be parted from my children, alas, that will be the most difficult, I fear. Their own choice is still before them, I know. But only in the fullness of years will they discover their paths, and I regret I cannot be there to see it...

I know you will be here to give them guidance, meleth-nîn, should they require it.

I know also that my thoughts will never stray from you. Your heart has given me more strength then I ever imagined.

At last I come to the end. Having unburdened myself with these thoughts, they shall remain here. I have in my memory all that I wish to take with me.

I wonder if the sea air is as fresh as I imagine?

Arwen touched her fingertips over the last few words written in her mother’s careful hand. How strange it was to be trespassing on such personal thoughts.

With a sigh of melancholy she skimmed the tip of her thumb over the corners, fanning the pages that she thought were blank. But she found, with surprise, that her mother’s final entry was not the last to be found in the diary.

The following pages were filled with more entries, and Arwen recognised her father’s writing immediately.

Time has passed so strangely in your absence, gwilwileth. Our bed is too large, with only me to sleep in it.

I wonder how you fare, across the West. I hope that you are healed, you know I do. But truly, I should not worry.

I do not remember how I first came to this diary, nor can I say how long it was before dared read what you had put upon these pages. In a strange way it is a comfort, to feel connected to you in such a way, to be able to speak to you from afar.

With a mixture of astonishment and curiosity, Arwen continued to read. This was a side of her father she had so rarely seen. His concern for Elladan and Elrohir as they journeyed long in the mountains. The growing pressure placed on Imladris as a place of refuge. Then a greater theme, a concern that had remained hidden from her.

His mother is strong, but she has had no other choice, it seems. I sense it was as difficult for her to bring him here as it was to endure the events that made it necessary. To have come here in such a time... They need protection.

Such a burden should not be placed on one so young. He knows nothing of what has passed, or of the footsteps he must one day walk in. And yet his survival brings hope for their people. But no... perhaps his life will have meaning for more than the Dúnedain. Something forbodes.

Long years may yet pass before a conclusion is reached.

"Estel," Arwen whispered, a curious smile tugging on her lips.

I tried so to remain calm, meleth-nîn, but I could not.

Does Arwen truly know what she forsakes? I have asked her, and every time her response is firm. Even so, she is gentle, she does not want to hurt me. But yet she must.

He loves her truly, as she loves him. I will not try to deny it.

You would have been overcome with joy to see her today, arrayed in such splendour, smiling with love. (We once looked at each other in such a way. Indeed, I still remember the shine of the silver in your hair against the white of your dress...)

It is done now. She has found her path.

Arwen swallowed a lump in her throat. How difficult it had been to let go, and yet how simple a choice it had been in the end.

How shall I finally leave this place, this land, this home? Now, at the last, I cannot fathom it. I could not bear the thought of your separation, but now I am faced with yet another.

I do not know why I do not take this with me, why I leave it with Imladris. But perhaps you faced the same question, meleth-nîn, when you left. Perhaps there were some feelings best left behind. Did you leave this, knowing that I would discover it?

And now I wonder who shall discover this, after I have departed. Whether that thought should trouble me or not, I find I am strangely relieved to be closing this book for the last time. I shall leave it tucked away, unmarked, with the collection on Eriador that you used to return to so often.

Ah, I am weary, gwilwileth. I know that seeing you again will bring me much needed peace.

Arwen turned the page, and found it blank. The next one was the same; she had reached the end. She closed the book and held it tightly to her chest. Bowing her head, she shut her tearful eyes, awash in memory.

When she looked up again she saw her daughter standing in the doorway. Before Arwen could rise from where she sat, Lúthea approached, wearing an expression of sadness.

"Oh, my darling..." Arwen held her arms out and the girl rushed into them.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you."

"My tears are not your doing, Lúthea, you must never believe that." She held her close, rocking a little as they sat together.

The princess sat up and sniffled a little, noticing the book in her mother’s hands.

"It was your mother, who wrote it?"

Arwen dried her eyes, nodding. "And your grandfather as well."

"They have sailed to the West, haven’t they?"

The Queen nodded again. "Yes. But my mother... she left many years ago, long before I met your father. It is hard for me now to think of what she will miss, as we are parted."

"They will not return?"

Arwen let out a slow breath, steadying her voice. She had known such questions would come eventually. "No, and neither will I be able to sail, and see them. I chose to remain here, with your father."

Lúthea looked down, confusion evident in her face. "But how could you make that choice? To leave such a world behind?" She asked not out of incredulity, simply a desire to understand.

"It has always been difficult for me, to think of what I have given up. But in doing that I have also gained so much. I have you, and your brother and sisters."

"But… ada is mortal, he… he will die. We will die." She looked helplessly to her mother, not wanting to comprehend. "What shall become of you, when he is gone?"

Arwen spoke simply and honestly, though there was some pity in her expression. "As part of the mortal world, I shall remain here."

A tear slid over Lúthea’s pale cheek. "But that fate should not belong to you if... if there is another place for you, where your family awaits you."

Arwen reached out to her daughter, to simply brush away the tears, gently stroke her hair.

"Yet my family too, is here, family I could never have done without. This is my place, as Middle-Earth has always been. I may have given up a greater world, but in exchange I have this life. I have you."

Extending her arms gently, she let her daughter in once more, and hugged her tightly.

"Im míl le, goll sell nín." She kissed Lúthea’s hair, held comforting arms around her, did not bother to dry her own eyes gain. "Do not doubt that, ever."

"I love you too, nana," Lúthea whispered. "I did not want to hurt you."

"Oh, sweetheart… You could never do that, never. This is your family, they are part of your history, as well as mine. You should not feel ashamed to ask about them."

"Are you unhappy, without them?"

Arwen regarded her daughter’s face as she pondered the question. "I have been sad. But that is not the same as being unhappy."

The princess nodded. "Ada must have done wonderful things, to make you fall in love so deeply with him."

Arwen smiled gently, and could not help a slight flush of colour from appearing on her cheeks.

"One summer, he came to me in Lórien, and he offered me flowers."

"That is all?"

Arwen chuckled, feeling some of the sadness becoming replaced by warm memories. "It was enough. But soon after that I realised that he would need to leave again, and we would remain apart for many years. And when we were apart I knew I could not do without him."

"Lórien, the Golden Wood?" the girl asked with some fascination.

"Yes." The Queen let out a sigh of reflection. "I do wish you could have seen my grandmother’s gardens, as they were once."

"But you can tell me about them. And I can read about them. That is something, is it not?"

Arwen felt a grin spread over her face. My wise daughter indeed. "Yes, that is something."

Lúthea reached out to hug her once more, perhaps verifying that all was indeed well again.

"Do you feel better now?"

Arwen sighed deeply, rubbing a soothing hand over her daughter’s back. There was no question in her mind about what she had to do next. She only hoped it was not too late to repair the mistakes she had made.

"Almost. I must first go to your ada. I must make things right."

Translations (Sindarin):

meleth-nîn = my love

gwilwileth = butterfly

Im míl le, goll sell nín = I love you, my wise daughter

This chapter is rated R.

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Chapter 20 – Reconciliation

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Aragorn leaned back in his chair, pondering the documents that lay spread over the table in front of him. The places they described were all familiar; some patrols were reporting from as far south as the river Harnen, and the fortification along the Poros had improved greatly since the previous year.

He took a sip from the goblet of wine in his hand, before pursing his lips in what might have seemed to be intense concentration. Truthfully, his mind was on matters more close to home.

Eventually he rose from the table and crossed to the set of windows at the side of the chamber. Outside he could see white and grey clouds, that seemed to be on their way to filling the blue sky. A light breeze made its way through the dense trees. It was a normal day, by all appearances.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Aragorn wondered if this departure was indeed warranted. Arwen’s grief was not something he could ever understand, so he had never wanted to press her. But instead, it had become that great unspoken thing between them, and he was left feeling helpless.

The silence in the room was soon broken by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of the Steward himself.

“Do I intrude?” Faramir asked lightly. Although when speaking to the King a certain formality was required, the Steward’s tone of voice indicated the long friendship between the two men.

“How could you intrude in your own house?” Aragorn returned to the desk and extended a hand to indicate the unoccupied chairs. “Please.”

The little more than forty years that had passed since the War of the Ring had not passed by for the Steward as gently as they had for the King. Faramir’s dark hair was peppered with grey, his skin hung more loosely upon his tall lean frame, yet his eyes were as alert as ever.

Crossing the room with an absence of haste, he paused to fill a cup of wine for himself, and joined Aragorn.

“You know you are welcome here at any time of course, but such information as what is in these patrol reports is not what I would call urgent. Why did you not let me send it by courier?”

“Then I would have been denied a visit to your fair realm,” replied the King. His expression and tone of voice seemed almost carefully pleasant, but the circles under his eyes belied greater concerns. “And I would not call such information unimportant. The Poros has been invaluably strengthened since last season. Your son has done well in leading the Company, I am most glad for his assistance.”

“Do you know, I think he was glad to have the chance again? He always did prefer the southern territory.”

Aragorn took another sip of his cup, wishing to keep the conversation on any topic but for the unusual timing of his arrival in Emyn Arnen. “It is a shame my visit did not coincide with his.”

“Indeed, I believe my granddaughters would have been pleased to make your acquaintance,” replied Faramir thoughtfully.

The two fell into contemplation of the documents on the table, occasionally making mention of a date here, a detail there. Aragorn’s demeanour did not go unnoticed by the Steward.

After a time the King rose to stand by the window again. The Steward saw him fidgeting with something around his neck, a jewel, he supposed. The monarch’s eyes were distant.

Before Faramir had time to question his friend, there was a knock at the door, and a messenger entered with a guest.

“Pardon me, your highnesses,” said the young man who had led Arwen there. “My lady –”

“Arwen...” Aragorn exclaimed as he turned from the window, his voice trailing away as he saw the Queen’s face. He paused briefly, bewildered, but soon crossed to meet his wife.

“This is a surprise,” he said, taking her hand. But not an unwelcome one.

“I… I had to come… to come and see you, to talk to you.” She was suddenly flustered, but they held each other’s gaze for a brief moment. “Is everything well with you?” Arwen’s voice had grown quiet.

Her free hand drifted over to the top of his, completing the knot his hands already made with hers. Slowly she stroked up to his wrist. Aragorn nodded in response to her question and, gave a slow smile. An air of hesitation surrounded their meeting, but of undeniable relief as well.

There came a pointed cough from the direction of the desk.

“My Lord Faramir,” Arwen greeted her friend of old, finally making her way over to him.

“My Lady Evenstar,” he replied in turn, offering her his hand briefly. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your home is well-secluded here, in such lovely hills. I can see why my son so enjoys his travels here.”

“Indeed, my lady,” replied the Steward kindly. “But I venture that the purpose of your visit was not entirely to see the Royal Hills?”

Arwen blushed. “Nay, not entirely. I am afraid…” she said softly, glancing back to Aragorn with some nervousness, “I must steal my husband from you for a few moments.”

There is much we must discuss...

* * *

The couple chose to find a private place to themselves, away from the House. As they traced a small path that led farther down the slope of the wooded hillside, Arwen tentatively slipped her hand in one of Aragorn’s. He kept his gaze vaguely ahead of them, he squeezed back gently with his own hand.

They walked in silence, neither one knowing who should speak first.

“How are the girls?” Aragorn asked after a time.

“The same,” Arwen replied softly. “Elenna asks for you.” She smiled and Aragorn smiled back.

They came near to a small clearing in the birch trees, and realised it was time to pause.

Aragorn turned to her. “Do you want to begin, or should I?”

Arwen swallowed. “I feel I should, but… it is difficult to find the words.” She looked up to find his clear eyes upon her, and quickly turned her gaze down again. Why is it so hard for me to speak of this, even now?

Aragorn started instead, seeing her difficulty. “Lúthea showed me the diary,” he said gently.

Apprehension was revealed in Arwen’s face and voice. “You know, then?”

“Enough to know it was Celebrían's. I know what Lúthea has told me. To be honest I... I hoped you would tell me more, but you did not, and then I did not know what to say.”

Arwen took a step or two further into the clearing and knelt down on the grass. Aragorn saw her fold her hands tightly in her lap, previously concealed pain now becoming revealed in her face.

“Some of it was my father’s as well, but my mother… she never knew,” Arwen whispered, “and she will never know any of it. About you, why I stayed, my choice. We said farewell, but did not truly know it would be forever. And then to see her words, her most private thoughts in front of me, to be confronted with it, I…”

Aragorn sank down beside her, watching her expression as she fought with emotion. He took one of her hands.

“So little have you spoken of your mother, yet I know this pains you. You would still keep all of this inside?”

Arwen heard her own voice grow choked. “I feared it would hurt you too much, hurt us, for me to speak of it.”

“Meleth-nin…” he said softly as he reached for one of her hands. “It would pain me more to think that I could not help you in this.” He swallowed hard. “I know it hurts you to think of your family across the sea, and it is something I cannot understand as you do, but… to leave such things unspoken…”

Arwen raised her eyes back up to see his expression, and began to realize that she had not been the only one holding back. Only, in avoiding a confrontation, she had been the one to force such uncertainty upon him.

“Somehow I thought I could deal with it on my own, if I could only push it aside…” She knew her voice was unsteady, but she hardly felt the tears that welled up in her eyes. “But in doing that I only made it worse. I only encouraged the distance between us, and I am sorry for it.”

She could see Aragorn trying to keep his breath steady. “I know it must have been difficult for you to think of your parents, but I had thought it was better, when you began to look at the collection with Lúthea. Even though you did not speak to me of it, I did not truly worry.”

Arwen shook her head a bit, recalling those awkward moments in the library, such an unexpected turn of events. “Our daughter, she… she asked me so many questions, and she was right to do so. Answering them made me realize I could not ignore these matters.”

They both grew quiet then, looking down at their linked pair of hands. Two identical gold rings glinted in the dim afternoon light. There was one thing she still had not spoken of, that had concerned him the most.

He spoke in a hushed tone. “The nightmare?”

Arwen held his smoky gaze for the briefest of moments, before her face crumpled and she bowed her head. Bringing a free hand up, she shielded her eyes as tears flowed freely. It was more than she could speak of.

Aragorn reached his arms around her, clutching her to him. He felt his wife’s hair underneath his hands; it was loose and smooth, as beautiful and dark as ever.

“I know it is the separation from your family that causes your grief. I would wish for nothing else in all of Arda, but that you would not have to bear it.”

“They will never know them, never know of this life…” Aragorn could hear her breath coming in gasps, through quiet sobs. “Will it all end too soon?”

Sadness rose inside him and he shut his eyes as if to shield it. His voice was choked as well, almost panicked as he spoke the question he feared to ask.

“Do you regret your choice?” He opened his arms slightly as Arwen pushed back against his chest, to look at him. “Undómiel, I…” Aragorn raised a hand to sweep away the wetness from her cheeks. “I cannot help but feel I have stolen you away, because I am the reason you are parted from those who you treasure in your heart.”

She winced at the memory of their night time conversation, those many days ago. Whatever fears she had, she could not let him harbour them as well.

“Aragorn…” Fresh tears pooled in Arwen’s eyes, but as she answered him her voice was sure. “These many years here I have been so truly happy. I have watched you fulfil all the promise of your birthright, watched you become the King you were meant to be… I have seen our children grow into all the most wonderful qualities of you and I, and they are everything I could have hoped for. I have never regretted a day of my life with you.”

A part of the anxiety in his stomach twisted away into relief, as Aragorn realised it was the first time she had met his eyes, and truly seen him, for a long while.

“Tinuviel-nîn…” he whispered, raising gentle fingertips to her face.

At his inviting touch Arwen pressed her lips to his, fervent and trembling, and they kissed as it seemed they had not done for many weeks.

Taking her face in both his hands, Aragorn deepened the kiss even further. Arwen’s jaw slackened underneath the pressure of his embrace, and she responded fully, with every fibre of her being, pressing her tongue firmly against his.

“Arwen…” he could barely utter as they broke for air, his voice now an even hoarser whisper.

“Yes… please, yes,” she panted, her heart near to bursting.

Her hot breath was on his cheek, then his neck, and he felt her touch travel down over his body, as if to verify that this was real… and he could barely believe it himself.

Tenderness would wait for later. Two pairs of hands fumbled to tug at the clothing that stood in the way of their complete joining.

Arwen reached quickly for the clasp at her neck, letting her cloak fall to the ground behind her. Aragorn followed suit, spreading his own cloak down with hers, leaving a blanket for them to lie upon.

As she sank back, she felt the familiar weight of his body over her, and his lips finding hers again, the brush of his beard against her delicate skin. I am yours, my love, always yours… She tried to reach the fastenings of Aragorn’s trousers, but was hindered by the progress he was making with her skirts. Goose flesh rose on her pale skin as his hand travelled up the inside of one thigh, tantalising her with the contact.

His heart pounded as he realized how ready she was, and how all too ready he was as well. Arwen pushed the trousers over his hips and he took his entrance, eliciting a moan from her throat.

She clutched at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tunic. As their connection deepened she arched up, tilting her head back and opening her entire body to him, urgently moving her hips in response to his motions.

Restraint was an impossibility, as each gesture and motion, each hasty caress further inflamed the urge that had been denied. Aragorn felt her tighten from the first contact, warm and welcoming, quickly bringing him nearer and nearer to the peak of sensation that they both sought.

They crashed together as release blazed through them and they reached the end, crying out for each other in need and relief.

Aragorn lay above her, breathing heavily. One of Arwen’s hands had ended up tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, which had grown damp with sweat.

The frustration of the last few weeks, the turmoil and repressed emotions, all was released. Regarding each other with new eyes, the couple found themselves at a loss for words. After a moment they rolled apart and laid beside each other on the cloaks. Some quality of awkwardness seemed to settle around them as they began to restore their clothing. Looking upward they saw the treetops open to reveal a pale, clouded sky.

Arwen breathed deeply, letting it out in a slow, controlled sigh. She turned her head toward Aragorn, and stretched out a hand to his face. As she brushed his beard lightly with the back of her fingers, he glanced back with an apprehensive smile.

“I never expected it would be simple,” she said softly, as if she would disturb the quiet of the setting even by speaking, “but neither was I prepared to be confronted so strongly with these things.”

“And I was reluctant to press you about it, for fear of complicating things. Perhaps I hoped it would simply pass, as you did.” Aragorn took her hand in both of his, tracing his fingertips absentmindedly against her palm.

“Perhaps the idea of the sorrow has always been there, since I parted with my father, perhaps before that, even. It seemed so much better to think of our shared happiness, rather than dwell on the sorrow.”

Aragorn sighed reluctantly, regarding her expression. “There have been so many times when we were separate and we should not have been. I regret them all, each day I was apart from you, and the children. I should have been there to see Mírra’s birth, and Lúthea’s. I should have been more open with Eldarion, about my past.”

“I know it,” Arwen whispered. She rolled on her side, closer to her husband. “You are here for them now.”

“I had not expected to feel this way, so weary.” He rubbed a hand briefly over his forehead. “What a pair we are, meleth-nîn. You afraid for the future, and me wanting to forget the past.”

“Then…” Arwen replied, furrowing her own brow in thought, “perhaps our answer is in the present.”

Aragorn blinked slowly and met her eyes, both of them slowly beginning to comprehend. “Yes. Perhaps so.”

She curled close and laid her body together with his. As she hugged him tightly he enfolded her in his own arms.

“Shall we return?” he whispered, many minutes later.

Arwen watched his expression and saw the dark circles of weariness underneath his eyes, realising that she felt the same.

“Yes. I think we are both in need of a rest.”

Taking her hand, Aragorn nodded in understanding, and they made their way back to the Steward’s house.

* * *

Despite the revelations of the afternoon, sleep seemed to elude Aragorn that evening. After a few hours slumber he awoke, not quite knowing what troubled him. But before long, he saw that his wife was experiencing the same difficulty.

Arwen sat on the edge of the bed, silently in tears.

Without a word he moved to her side, and did not ask what was wrong, only placed his hand on her back and waited for her to speak.

“I did not know if I should wake you,” she finally said, shaking her head as she blinked back tears. “For I did not know what I would say.”

“Tell me some of it, then.”

She swallowed, allowed herself to breathe. “I thought, after we talked, all was well, but…” Her voice was shaky, and she swallowed. “…I still think of them, and the sadness does not lift.”

“But you should not stop thinking of the ones you love.”

Aragorn saw confusion in her eyes, mingled with the sadness. Likewise, when Arwen looked into his face she saw the pain he still bore for her.

“I feel so much sadness, and yet so much love, that it tears my heart. How can I fight it?”

“Must you fight it?” he nearly whispered.

Looking back at him, the smokiness of her eyes was quenched in tears.

“I would never fight the love I feel. It is the sadness that I must push away, for it frightens me so.”

“It is difficult to grieve, but to push it away… is that not what brought us here?”

There was a flicker in her expression, but of what he could not tell. “How can I grieve for those I have lost, yet who still live?”

“I wish I knew the answer, truly I do. But I only feel that if you keep this inside, and do not speak of it, you will not heal.” Finally he reached up, and with the back of his fingers pushed the dark sheet of her hair over shoulder. “And I would not see your light fade so early.”

Tenderly his hand came to rest underneath her cheek, and she covered it with her own as she returned his gaze.

“Tuluch im?”

He smiled faintly. “You know that whatever is in my power to give, it is yours.”

Aragorn laid back against the pillows and took her in his arms.

Resting her head against his chest, Arwen could feel his heart beating, steady and surely. The shirt he slept in was open, and she saw the green stone around his neck. Blinking, she reached slender fingers up to touch the jewel that had passed through her own family.

“I still remember the day my mother gave this to me. At the time I did not fully understand, but I think… I think perhaps she may have. I have gone over those moments so many times in my memory.”

Aragorn closed his hand over his wife’s as he listened, closing both their fingers over the stone.

“Some part of me wondered, before the girls were born,” Arwen continued softly, “if one of them might have silver hair, or perhaps blue eyes, like hers. It was never likely, I know. But I could not help wondering, all the same.”

“I would have liked to have met her,” said Aragorn honestly.

“In another time, perhaps. Perhaps if things had passed differently.”

“If times were different, perhaps we would never have been married.”

“Very true,” Arwen whispered.

Aragorn smoothed a hand over her hair, and they lay together in silence for a few moments more. “Tell me about today?” he asked quietly.

Pressing her cheek against his chest, Arwen could not help but smile as she wiped dried tears from underneath her eyes.

“Today I went to see my husband, to make things better between us.”

“Are they better?” he asked softly.

“Yes, I think they will be.”

Aragorn kissed her hair once, softly, before resting his cheek against her head.

As he held his wife, stroking a hand gently over her back, he felt her breathing grow steady and calm, and at last she slept.

Arwen awoke slowly the next morning, her body feeling strangely exhausted from the first sound sleep she had had for many weeks. She reached out next to her to find the bed empty.

Before she had time to wonder where her husband had gone, she saw him as she sat up in bed. He was standing at the eastern window of their chamber, watching the morning sky. The sun had newly risen. Arwen saw him deep in thought, fingering an object in his hands.

As she raised herself out of bed he saw she was awake, and smiled.

“Good morning.” Arwen took his arm and smiled warmly up at him.

“A restful sleep?” he asked as she came beside him.

“Very much so.”

She saw then that the object in his hands was the Elven stone of his namesake, sparkling green in the fresh sunlight. Aragorn extended his fingers, flattening his palm, and with a nod held it at the windowsill in front of them.

Arwen realised as she met his calm eyes that he was offering it to her. She blinked a few times, looking down at the green stone she had worn for so long a time. It had been such a source of strength in the past, but not only for her alone. And she was not the only one who needed strength now.

Finally she reached out carefully and took up the chain. Reaching up, she fastened it around her husband’s neck. He nodded once more in understanding.

Aragorn slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, as she held his waist. They looked out the window to see the green hills and forest below, and the warm sun setting the landscape alight.

“It is a new day,” Arwen said softly, her face brightening subtly.

Aragorn squeezed her shoulder. “It is ours.”

Translations (Sindarin):

Tinuviel-nîn = my nightingale
Tuluch im? = Will you help me?

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Chapter 21 – Beginnings

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After spending another day together in Ithilien, the King and Queen returned to the City together, in much calmer spirits than when they had left separately.

They were well received at the stables.  Aragorn even wondered if he could detect some relief in the City personnel, to see the two monarchs as a couple again; despite any lingering doubt from the revelations he and Arwen had made to each other, the release of the experience had done more good than harm.

Aragorn dismounted first, before helping her out of her saddle.

“Alright?” he asked, as he held her waist.

Arwen nodded.  “And getting better.”

As she settled next to him she saw that the green jewel around his neck had slipped out from underneath his tunic.  Her glance hesitated on it for a moment, but then she reached for it, and with care tucked it back underneath the fabric.  In response Aragorn kissed her cheek briefly, and felt her smile as he did so.

“We should let the children know we’ve returned,” Arwen added.

“Ah, I do not think that will be necessary,” said Aragorn with a chuckle.  As he looked up he observed their daughters entering the stables.

Mírra came with Elenna seated on her arm, and Lúthea skipped just ahead of her sisters.

“We heard word that you were coming,” said Lúthea as she ran to meet her parents, her face bright, “So we could not wait to come down and meet you.”

Elenna waved eagerly, and Mírra let her down to the ground, and she ran to her parents.

“Nana ada!”

Aragorn bent to greet her first. “What a pleasant welcome,” he said with a grin, picking her up.

“Oh my darlings,” said Arwen softly, taking first Lúthea, then Mírra tightly into her arms.  “I’ve missed you.”

“But you have only been away a few days,” said Mírra.

“I know,” Arwen whispered, almost to herself.  The time before she left seemed to be a different world, one she would be careful she did not return to.  “Have we missed very much?” she asked, putting her arm around Lúthea again.

“At least one thing of importance, I think,” Aragorn responded, with Elenna still in his arms.  The little girl was smiling as broadly as she could, with a small finger pointed into her mouth.

Arwen chuckled, noticing the new tooth.  “Quite a collection you are getting.”

Elenna took this as a cue to reach for her mother, and soon found herself happily settled in Arwen’s arms.

Mírra edged closer to her father, quiet for a moment before she spoke.  “All is well now?”

He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and nodded.  “I know things were a bit, ah, stormy for a while.”

“But in every storm,” Arwen added quietly, “There is always light after the thunder.”

Aragorn paused to smile.  “Indeed.”

Mírra and Lúthea watched their parents meet each other’s eyes.  Although they wondered what thoughts could be transpiring unspoken between them, they were unexpectedly cheered to see it.

* * *

When Aragorn finally retired that night he expected to find that Arwen had done the same; it had been a tiring few days for both of them.  But instead, he saw that his wife was still in the bath.  He took some time removing his heavier over-garments, wondering if he should go in to see Arwen, or if it would interrupt her solitude. 

Things seemed well enough between them now, but tonight had been quiet.  Arwen had said little at dinner… but then their three daughters were more than capable of providing enough conversation of their own, Aragorn thought with a smile.  Perhaps he was wrong to fixate on such details.

He paused at the entrance to the bath chamber.  Arwen was lying back comfortably in the marble tub, her eyes closed.  Her long damp hair was twisted up into a knot, and her head rested on a folded towel.  Hearing Aragorn’s knock, she turned her face toward him, following his approach with warm dark eyes.

“Do I disturb you?” 

Arwen shook her head.  “No.”

He knelt down and perched folded arms on the edge of the tub, observing the flush of pink in her cheeks from the temperature of the water.  Arwen took one of his hands, droplets falling from her skin as she raised her arm out of the water. 

“My wife seems content,” said Aragorn in a quiet, low voice.  He reached out and pushed away a lock of wet hair from her forehead.  The scent of lavender oil filled the still room. 

Arwen’s lips stretched slightly, her own voice soft when she replied.  “She is.”

Aragorn ran his hand lightly over her arm, down to caress her wrist. Her heavily lidded eyes strayed briefly.

“I would not want you to mistake my silence for uneasiness,” she continued. The smile that had begun to form now spread to her rosy cheeks. “At the moment I am thinking of nothing but the fact that it feels good to be home.”

Aragorn nodded, smiling back.  “Agreed.”

Arwen took in a deep breath, and let it out in another long, calm sigh.  Sitting up a little, she put a hand to the side of her face.  She knew very well the water was too warm, but it was impossible to resist when the effect was such pronounced relaxation. 

Looking back at her husband, she saw him observing her quizzically, with sparkling eyes.  “Well?” he asked simply.

Arwen nodded once, in confirmation of her own thoughts.  “Bed, I think.”

“As you wish.”

Aragorn reached for a towel, and after Arwen stood out of the water, wrapped it loosely around her torso.  With her still-damp arms around his shoulders, he held her waist as she stepped on to the floor.  He was beginning to feel decidedly overdressed in his thin tunic and trousers.

Arwen paused for a moment and looked up at him, feeling pleasantly limp from the hot water.  Regarding his face, she thought back to the words they had said to each other merely days ago.

It was impossible to forget the past, or to ignore what would come in the future, but for now, the present was a very good place to be.

She spoke gently.  “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Hmm…”

“I love you.” She smiled, finding his clear eyes with her own.

Aragorn tilted his forehead down to meet hers.  “Im mil le, undómiel-nin.”

* * *

It was already late in the morning, but Doreth sat outside, near the back of her kitchen, where she had remained for the last hour.  Her task had not truly changed in that time, but she had found different things with which to distract herself.  At present, her daughter was helping her to shell peas.

Doreth kept one eye on the green contents of the bowl, and another on the hillside in the direction of her brother’s home.  She had not seen Doran all morning, which was not unusual in and of itself, but considering recent circumstances… she wondered if he truly would go through with the plans he had discussed only briefly.

It was Ailsa who spotted her uncle first.  She looked up from the green pod she had been concentrating on and waved. 

Watching him, Doreth followed her brother’s approach carefully.  He smiled at his niece before turning to his sister.

“Adair is at the barn?” he asked simply.

“Yes, with the boys.”  Doreth stood and studied his face.  “You’re leaving then?”

He nodded.  “I’ll go and say goodbye to Nolan now.  But the day is already almost half gone, I should have left hours ago.”  Instead of looking back to his sister, he turned to Ailsa, who came over to him, toying with the pea pod in her hands.

“Are you going away?” she asked in a soft curious voice.

Doran nodded again, stroking his niece’s hair. 

“For just a few weeks, not to worry.”  He turned back to his sister. “I must be mad, or something near to it.”

She smiled.  “You have been to the White City before…”

“Yes, but that was under entirely different pretenses.”  They were both speaking in quiet voices, as if someone might overhear them, despite the calmness of the pastoral surrounding.

“What will you do?”

Doran opened his mouth to speak but, finding no words, only gave a shrug.  “Ride to Minas Tirith.  Request an audience with the King.”  He released a breath.  “...And hope he does not send me to Far Harad for my presumptuousness?”

Doreth bit her lip.  “I should hope not.”

“You were the one who was putting me up to this to begin with, and that is all the support you can muster?”  he replied wryly, almost concealing his nervousness.

“Well, I…” his sister began, grinning pleasantly, “…I can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.”

Doran smiled, his eyes straying off into the distance briefly.  “Neither can I.”

* * *

Taking a rather enjoyable time away from his study, the King was settled in the sitting room in the family’s wing of the palace.  Given the ripples of uncertainty that had recently passed through their family, there seemed no reason to spend so many hours of the day apart. 

A task as routine as catching up on correspondence was even relaxing, in such a setting.  While Aragorn read through messages, Arwen sat near and commented from time to time, looking at sections here and there and composing letters of her own.  Lúthea and Mírra sat to the side, sorting through a stack of poetry volumes that needed cataloguing.

Aragorn nudged Arwen with a bit of news.  “Do you remember the Lord Alacar?  It seems he will be wed next month, to a lady from this city.”  He made a brief chuckle to himself as he scanned the next few lines.  “Well, that settles that, I suppose,” he added softly.

Mírra’s ears picked up a bit at her father’s comment, even though it was not meant for her.  She had shared a dance, perhaps two, with the noble lord from Arnor.  That was all it had been, though she had wondered if he had taken more than a passing interest in her.  It all seemed moot now, nevertheless.  Later that night he had also danced with a striking red-haired woman, whose name Mírra recognized as the one Aragorn had just read from the paper.

There was a knock at the door, and a messenger entered and bowed, bringing a newly arrived packet of letters.  Mírra jumped at the chance to sort through them.

“So eager?” her mother asked wryly.

“Just seeing what is here,” she replied, trying not to blush.  Flipping through the stack, she found a set of identical looking notes, all with the same blue seal, and addressed to each of the four of them in the same hand. 

Mírra also saw one very different letter, with a much rougher seal.  It was addressed to her, just like the others she had received since Midsummer.  Her heart quickly began to pound.  She pocketed it quickly, positive that no one else had noticed it.

“Well, what is there, anything of merit?” Arwen continued, looking up not a moment too soon. 

Mírra swallowed and regained some of her composure.  Doran’s letter felt heavy in her pocket, but she could not open it here, especially considering what else had been delivered.

“Eldarion has written,” she said happily, “to all of us.”

“Yes?” Arwen’s face brightened noticeably, and Aragorn caught her eye.

Lúthea hopped up from her seat and eagerly collected her message, while the King stood to read his.  Arwen watched him carefully break the seal before slowly wandering the edge of the room, eyes fixed on the paper.  Eventually he drifted off to sit on the balcony.  She saw her two older daughters settled back on the sofa on the other side of the room.

With pleasant excitement Arwen finally opened her own parchment.  She chuckled at the opening pleasantries, the formal remarks he had been trained so dutifully to make.  Soon enough he came to more personal writing.

The business with Annúminas has not been going as expected, which is not to say it is going badly.  In fact there is much more to be done than previously anticipated.  The warm weather of the last few months has proved very advantageous and we have already been able to travel from Rivendell and back several times.  But I do not think you will be as interested to hear about those dull things. And in fact I am more interested to tell you about the time spent at my family’s home.

It is difficult to fathom how past few months that have passed, naneth.  I wondered for a time if I had left Minas Tirith too hastily, not knowing what I would expect to find.  And I know you must have been apprehensive about it.

I do not remember how much I told you in my previous correspondence, about my time in the valley.  I am only just now beginning to take the time to explore this place.  There is a peacefulness about it that I enjoy very much.  The house is so isolated, and yet at the same time surrounded by so much.  The sound of the river is now most pleasantly familiar to me.

Arwen sat back in her armchair, as images of her home flooded her mind.  It was not with the same melancholy that had accompanied the discovery of her mother’s diary.  She felt something touching pride, to know her son was thriving in the place where both she and Aragorn had lived, the place that had so much meaning for her.

I am pleased to say I have visited the northern hill, the one you told me about, and the view is as spectacular as you said.  It is hard to describe in words, but I know you will understand.  One morning I went out early, and climbed the hill before Anar had risen.  I found a place where I could see the river, and the house, and the greenery that surrounds them.  It surprised me, but I do believe I sat there until hours after sunrise, watching the light spread, seeing the valley turn to brightness.  It was a kind of solitude I have never felt in the City, or even in Emyn Arnen.

My uncle Elrohir has been most kind in riding with me to survey this region of Arnor.  I am constantly impressed with his skills in navigating such terrain, and he has no end to tales of what it was like to do the same with father, when he was young.  When I have been able to spend time in Imladris, Elladan has been informative and very helpful.  The library here is more extensive than I had imagined; my grandfather’s collection is impressive.  When I told Elladan of how you had been helping my sister with the books he sent to Minas Tirith, he was very pleased I think.  I said you would be able to tell him more, since I imagine by this time Lúthea has been through them with her usual excitement.

This letter seems too short to convey my encounters of the past few weeks, and so I will write again soon.  I know that when I left I was unsure of how long I would stay, but I hope you will not be disappointed to hear I do not wish to leave yet.  I am most curious to experience the winter season in Imladris, and all that it would bring.  Rest assured I shall tell you of what I decide.

I hope my father and my sisters are well. I am sure I have missed much excitement in the City this summer, and look forward to hearing of it.

My uncles send their greetings and love,

With affection,

Eldarion

Arwen swallowed a lump in her throat.  She was brought out of her concentration by her husband’s hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him, smiling, knowing their son’s letter to his father must have touched on much the same themes.  “He thrives.”

Aragorn met her eyes, but did not worry to see traces of tears there, for they were not for sadness, he knew.  “I am most glad to see it, for he was uncertain for so long.”

“Do you think he will stay the year?”

“Perhaps it should not surprise us,” he murmured, “I hope he shall take as long as he needs.”

Arwen nodded her agreement.  Still sitting, she leaned against Aragorn standing next to her.  She held him briefly, and he kissed the top of her head.  It was enough to confirm their mutual delight in the news they had received.

When Aragorn sat down next to her, he only then noticed something amiss.  “Has Mírra gone?”

Arwen looked up in surprise, unaware that the princess had slipped away.

“I think she only went to see if Elenna was awake yet,” Lúthea answered her parents from the sofa, somewhat cautiously. 

Aragorn’s eyes fell to one unopened letter on the small table nearby.  The one from Eldarion.

“It is strange she would have forgotten her letter, I would have expected her to take it up immediately.”

Arwen felt slightly perplexed herself; she thought she had seen her daughter pocket something earlier. “Indeed.”  She composed herself, rose to take up the neglected piece of parchment.  “I shall bring it to her myself then.”

* * *

The Queen thought to find the princess in her room, but when she knocked on the door, there was no answer at first.  She pushed open the oaken panel, wondering whether she had knocked too softly, or if her daughter was elsewhere.

Stepping into the room, Arwen saw that Mírra’s attention was simply captivated by something else.  The princess was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes fixed on a sheet of parchment in her hands.

Mírra looked up, somewhat dazed, to see her mother enter.  She drew in a silent breath, and tried to quickly fold the letter from Doran out of sight, but was not fast enough.

“You left this behind.”  Arwen held out Eldarion’s letter. Her voice was light and warm, perhaps to mask the notice she had taken of her daughter’s awkward actions.  “I was surprised, you are usually so eager to read news from your brother.”

Mírra smiled a little shyly.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know where my mind was.”  She took it from Arwen and unsealed it, skimming the first page.  After a moment she crossed to her writing desk and set it down, concealing Doran’s underneath it.

As she turned back she found her mother’s grey eyes regarding her curiously.

“Is everything alright?” 

Arwen sat down on the bed and clasped her hands in her lap.  She knew if she did not, she would begin fidgeting.  Mírra hugged her elbows.  She took a few steps closer to the bed but hung back from joining her mother. 

“I know I have not been myself these past weeks,” continued Arwen, “I truly am sorry for it.  You may speak to me, darling, of anything, you need not worry.”

Mírra bit her lip, hesitation evident in her fair face.  “The gentleman that father mentioned earlier, Lord Alacar?  He is to be married?”

The Queen’s eyebrows lifted.  Had her daughter been dwelling on such a thing?

“Yes?”

“It is nothing, it is just…” The princess shrugged. “Somehow I thought he was interested in me.  I thought father wanted me to dance with him to get to know him.”

“Ah.”  Arwen smiled understandingly.  “Perhaps just a little.  I believe Lord Alacar might have made a suit to you, but I think your adar simply wanted you to decide your feelings on your own.  In any case he would preferred you to wait, I think, before entering into such a decision.”

“Mmm.”  Mírra sat down and perched on the edge of the bed, but she could only look at her hands.

Arwen took her daughter’s silence to mean she was still dwelling on this particular matter.  “Not to worry, my dear.  When the right gentleman comes along, you will know it.  There is no harm in taking it slowly for now.”

There was a brief glimmer in Mírra’s eyes, then it was gone.  “What if the right gentleman has come along?”

Arwen’s smile half faded with surprise.  “What do you mean?”

She took a breath so she could get the words out.  “I’ve met someone.  I’ve fallen for him.”  She saw her mother’s mouth drop open slightly.

“But, I am not sure I understand… who?”

“He is not of this city, or even of a noble family, but you have met him.” 

Mírra began to explain, and the story tumbled from her mouth, the things she had already told her mother, but never before in full.  About how Doran had found her, and brought her to his family’s home.  About talking with him in his stables, and how he had made her feel safe.  How she had walked with him when they visited the City.  How he had watched her skip stones by the stream, and how he had kissed her on Midsummer.  She blushed to tell of it.

Arwen reached out for her daughter’s hand, a gesture that was in part to reassure her daughter, and partly to reassure herself.  “How do you feel about this man?”

A warmth was evident in Mírra’s voice, despite her nervousness.  “I feel… only good things for him.  I want to be with him.”

“But do you truly know him?  You have spent so little time with him…” Arwen began, only to have the sentence completed by her daughter.

“Ten days.”  Mírra gazed vaguely at the carpet, while her thoughts bended to the memories that were clear in her mind.  “It always seems like more, somehow, until I actually count them.”  She shook her head, repeating softly to herself, “Ten days. How I wish it were more.”

Arwen was silenced by a flood of questions she could barely begin to voice, and watched her daughter’s face.

With hardly a word Mírra rose and crossed directly to her desk.  After reaching into a drawer, she removed a packet of papers – letters – all neatly folded, secured into a bundle with a ribbon.  For a moment she could only look down at them, before returning slowly to the bed, where her mother sat, unable to conceal her quiet astonishment.

“I responded to each of his, and he to mine,” Mírra explained, beginning to sound slightly awestruck herself.  Unexpectedly to Arwen, she offered them to her mother.

The Queen took the packet between gentle hands.  With her fingertips she felt the texture of the plain parchment.  As she looked up she saw that her daughter’s face was hopeful, and she smiled.

“He has given me no token, and neither have I given him one.  We have written words, those things shared between us.  But I am more certain of them than I have been of anything.”

Mírra watched her mother look down at what she was holding.  She wondered if she would look at them, perhaps see for herself the truth of what she had told her.

Seeing no reproach, Arwen’s curiosity got the better of her.  She loosened the ribbon and opened the first letter, and skimmed across the words written in the plain but surprisingly careful hand. 

I can feel every mile of the distance between us... there is hardly a moment of the day when I do not wish to be where you are. You occupy my thoughts, and my heart.

“I… know not what to say,” said the Queen softly, looking slightly awestruck. 

Mírra’s wide eyes rested on her lap for a moment, before turning back up. “If that your reaction, then what will father do?”  Apprehension crept over her face.

“I cannot tell.  But I am sure he will be more than surprised.”

Arwen saw Mírra’s shoulder’s sag.  After placing the letters on the bed beside her, she reached out, and took her daughter into her arms.  She held her tightly.

“Oh, my girl,” she whispered.

Mírra rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.  “How did you feel, when you knew you loved him?”

Arwen let out a breath she did not know until then that she had been holding. 

“I felt…”  A rush of her own memories began to confront her, and made her pause to sort through them.  How different those times were, how different the weight of her choice.  “I was frightened.”  She pulled back to look at Mírra.  “And yet so wonderfully excited.”

The princess was wearing much the same hopeful expression.  She nodded.  “I think I understand.”

Arwen saw the glimmer in her daughter’s eyes again, and a smile of recognition crossed her face.  “Yes… I think you do.”

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Chapter 22 – An Unexpected Visit

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After Arwen left to see Mírra, Lúthea went to seek out Adina and her little sister. Finding himself free for the moment, Aragorn made his way to his own study, thinking he might catch up on the events of the last few days.

After a short while, the King became so quietly immersed in reading at his desk, that when a knock came at the door he gave a start.

“Enter,” he called.

An attendant entered, and bowed.

“There is a visitor who begs an audience with you, your majesty.”

The afternoon was well underway. Aragorn had been quite content spending the day with his own affairs. And unexpected visitors were rarely pleasant, important though they often were.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?”

“I know not, sire, the gentleman says he has just arrived from travelling.”

“With the purpose of seeing me?” the King asked in a somewhat sceptical tone.

The servant nodded and gave a short bow. “As he said, my liege.”

Aragorn sighed. He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. “Very well. Show him in.”

As the door opened again, Aragorn was surprised to see Doran being ushered into the room. He rose to give a friendly greeting, that he was so accustomed to showing visitors.

The fair-haired shepherd bowed as deemed was appropriate, but soon found himself reaching out to shake the hand the King extended. He shook it firmly.

“This is unexpected,” said Aragorn. “You must have traveled long to come here.”

Standing there, in front of the King, Doran found himself unsure of how to act. He was sure his heart would beat out of his chest.

“Ah, yes, your majesty, little more than a week,” Doran said in a much more even tone than he would have expected from himself, “But thankfully, the weather was favourable.”

Aragorn sat. “Your sister and her family, they are well?”

“Indeed, sire, quite well.” He smiled to conceal his nervousness. “I must beg forgiveness, you highness, for imposing.”

“Not at all,” replied the King calmly, “I owe a debt of gratitude for the kindness you showed to my daughter.”

“That is most generous, your majesty.” Doran gave a brief nod of respect.

Aragorn nodded in return, with a short smile. He rested his elbows comfortably on the arms of his large chair. “So. What brings you to Minas Tirith, sir?”

Doran stood tall. He felt the King’s eyes on him, but heard himself speak.

“With respect, your highness, it is a matter…” He took a breath. “A matter concerning the Lady Mírra.”

Aragorn fixed his gaze on the man in front of him. He did not blink. “What matter concerning my daughter is that?”

* * *

Returning from her daughter’s chamber, Arwen encountered her husband in the corridor, heading in the opposite direction. His jaw was set, and his eyes were stern.

“Where is Mírra?”

Arwen was in the way of his path. She noted Aragorn’s determination with concern. “In her chamber, where I have just left her. You do not mean to go to her in such a temper?”

“You might do the same yourself, when you learn what news I have just learned. She has been writing to a suitor these past months, and he has just arrived in the City, to offer his hand.”

Whatever reaction Aragorn was expecting from Arwen, it was not the one she gave him. Though she was taken aback to hear him mention the suitor, it was for an entirely different reason.

“You mean to say that Doran is here?” she said with surprise.

Aragorn’s expression changed dramatically. “You know about this?”

Arwen was having a bit of trouble concealing her own bewilderment. “I… only learned of it in nearly this moment. Mírra explained everything to me when I found her just now.”

He looked back at her in silence, attempting to keep his breathing calm. She saw him blink once or twice, as he processed this. “I must speak with her myself.” Aragorn’s demeanour was more relaxed, but still resolute.

Standing in front of him in the middle of the corridor, Arwen laid a hand on his arm to keep him still. “Not until you are calm. You would only alarm her further by confronting her in such a manner.” Her tone was firm, matching his.

Aragorn took a few short breaths. His gaze wavered briefly, but went back to his wife. He frowned. “It is not like Mírra to keep secrets from us. To hear of it from this gentleman Doran first, does not bode well with me.”

Arwen could not help but see his point. She sighed. “What impeccable timing for all of this.”

He nodded in agreement. As they stood quietly for a moment, he took notice of their location in the corridor, and began to wonder whether they should move to a more private location. Their own chambers were not far away.

“Come,” he said quietly. Aragorn took Arwen’s hand and they made their way down the hall.

Once they were secluded on their balcony, the King listened as his wife recounted to him the conversation she had just had with their oldest daughter. He in turn told her of the meeting that had just passed between him and the man who had come to court her.

A frown remained on Aragorn’s brow. “This cannot be that serious, a man she hardly knows.” He turned and rested his hands on the edge of the balcony, leaning forward a little. “How am I to know that he did not offer Mírra aid with the purpose of seeking her hand.”

“It is not like that,” said Arwen firmly.

Aragorn met and held her eyes, and paused for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. “How is it then, between them?”

“It would seem they know each other better than we might have expected,” Arwen told him. She came to stand next to him and faced inward, to lean back against the low stone wall. “Mírra showed me a few of his letters. They are quite affectionate.”

The distant look in Aragorn’s eyes revealed his mind was still turning. “Just how well do they know each other?”

Arwen laid a hand on his arm, watching his face carefully.

“She has not given herself to him, herven,” she said softly.

The tension in Aragorn’s shoulders eased slightly, but Arwen could still see him gripping the balustrade. “I did not want to believe otherwise.”

“Me neither,” she answered, her cheeks flushing. “It is still a relief to know it.”

“Here I am turning away suitors from the North, and all the while she is giving her attentions to a shepherd of the country.”

“Indeed, it is most surprising.”

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. Exhaling deeply, he looked to his wife a little more calmly than before.

“So,” Aragorn began again, “What is between them then?”

“Why not let Mírra tell you herself? That is, if Doran has not already done so.”

She smiled gently. “I would still hear your account of things, goll hiril-nîn.”

“She speaks of him very tenderly, and in Doran’s letters…” Arwen searched for the right words. “While he does not use the word love, it is everywhere implied.”

Aragorn frowned again. “That will make it more difficult if they must part.”

Arwen stood up straight, facing him directly. “You do not mean to end their association?”

“Mírra is not yet old enough to be married. That is plain.” Aragorn’s face changed with genuine surprise. “Surely you do not believe she should make this match?”

“No, I have not said that, but… I recognize how she feels. I remember what that was like.” She watched his eyes soften, despite the stillness in his expression. “I think their affection is genuine.”

“I see.” Aragorn grew quiet, and disappeared into thought again, his own memories.

Arwen leaned back against the balustrade again, her fingers still tangled together. When he did not speak for another moment, she turned to see his brow still knitted with contemplation. She had seen the same expression many times before, times when an important decision had to be made. Only rarely was such a decision on such personal matters.

Aragorn glanced quickly back at his wife, seeing her expression was troubled also.

“I had thought to give her freedom from such matters, for a few years more,” he admitted, “Neither did I wish to be arguing with you about it.”

She slipped one of her hands inside one of his, and he laced his fingers with hers.

“I know she is still young in years,” Arwen said quietly, as she met his eyes, “And he is not of a noble family. And I am not saying that this is true love. I only do not want to dismiss this so quickly.”

Aragorn considered her words, and nodded.

“I will speak with her.” He made to enter the chamber, but paused, and instead of releasing her hand, turned back to take hold of both of them. He gave a small smile. “I too remember what it was like, to feel that way.”

Arwen felt relief to see his smile, and she did the same. “Only talk with her patiently? And then you may argue with me about it,” she added, making an attempt at irony.

He gave one of her hands a squeeze. “I will be patient.”

* * *

For the second time that day, Mírra heard a knock at the door of her chamber, but this time she answered it herself. This time, her father was on the other side.

“Have I interrupted you?”

Mírra shook her head and gave a smile. “No, father.”

There was a very short but noticeable pause before Aragorn spoke again. “We… should have a talk, sell-nîn. Will you walk with me?”

She swallowed. Although there was no doubt in her mind what he wished to speak of, Mírra saw nothing antagonistic in her father’s demeanour. She knew he would be disappointed, and he was right to be, after what she had kept hidden from him.

She took his arm, and they walked to the end of the corridor, and turned toward the South Garden of the palace.

“It seems too long since we last spoke properly,” said Aragorn. “Have you enjoyed your summer here? I know it is not the same without Eldarion…”

“Lúthea and I have passed the time pleasantly enough. And I am never unhappy if I can go riding, even if Eldarion cannot go with me.”

Aragorn smiled. “Of course.”

They took a few more steps, having nearly reached the gardens. She looked up at him and spoke softly. “I was worried for you and nana.”

This caught Aragorn off guard, and he was touched to hear her say it. “So was I, for a brief while. I do not think there is cause to worry, just now.”

They began to approach the garden, both father and daughter waiting for the other to speak. Mírra knew what she should tell him, but she could not voice the words. There was a knot in her stomach that had been forming since her mother had left her.

When they did arrive, they found a bench. Aragorn motioned for his daughter to sit, before he sat beside her.

“Today I have had two very unexpected conversations,” he began, carefully. He watched Mírra’s face, but she could only look down at her hands in her lap. “Just now, I spoke with your mother.”

Mirra felt her cheeks turning pink, and she answered in the quietest of voices. “She told you about Doran?”

Aragorn explained what Arwen had told him about the letters between Mírra and Doran, but nothing else.

She looked up to him at last. “Are you angry with me?”

“Perhaps… surprised would be more accurate.” He paused again, let himself take a breath. “How long has this been?”

“Only since Midsummer. We grew close when he and his family came to visit, and… ada, suddenly he was going to leave, and the only thing I could think was how I might not see him again, and I could not bear it. And so we wrote to each other.”

“Still, to keep this from your mother and I, all this time?...”

She answered in sudden earnest. “For that you must not blame Doran, for he was wary of the secrecy. I am at fault for that.”

Seeing her father’s expression change as she answered, Mírra knew this admission did not assist her. She looked back down again, as Aragorn rose from his seat.

An attendant arrived just then at the garden’s entrance. Aragorn crossed over to the young man, and Mírra saw him speak with him briefly. When her father returned, he paced near the bench for one or two steps.

“This is not a matter of me telling you to put on the right clothes or showing you how to skip stones. I am unsure what to say,” he sighed. “I should have expected such a conversation to come in time, simply not so soon.”

“So you would not permit me to be with him?”

Aragorn regarded his oldest daughter, heard the disappointment hidden in her question.

“If such a match would allow you happiness, then I would be joyful of it. But I also fear this comes too early in your life. Although the custom has perhaps changed in Gondor, and the life of the Edain is not what it once was, according to the ways of your people I am reluctant for you to wed so young.”

Mírra stood also, and faced her father. “Do you doubt my maturity?”

Her question was direct, but not confrontational. “Reflect on yourself,” he said gently, “Do you believe you are ready for such a role?”

She swallowed. “Perhaps I am not yet certain.”

“What are you certain of?”

“I know the kind of man Doran is.” She gave a little smile. “I am certain of how I feel in his company.”

“Yes?” he prompted, though hesitant of hearing the response.

“Comfortable. Content.” She smiled a little, but could not keep her eyes on her father. “Safe.”

“Those are all good things,” said her father, after a moment’s quiet.

Mírra was unsure how to read his response. She had not expected him to be so calm. “But you are not convinced?”

“I only wonder how all this can have happened so quickly.”

“I know it seems that way.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying very hard to remain composed in front of her father. “I wish that he was here, if only so you could speak with him.”

Aragorn paused, regarding his oldest daughter carefully.

“What would you say, mir-nîn, if I were to tell you Doran is indeed here?”

He watched her face change as she looked back at him. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted slightly in surprise. She looked suddenly hopeful.

“Truly?”

Aragorn nodded. “The second unexpected conversation I had today was when Doran himself arrived, quite unexpectedly, in my study. He informed me of his wish to court you… or rather that the process seemed to have already begun, I should say.”

He waited for his daughter to respond, but at first Mírra blushed scarlet.

“Will you send him away?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“But you do not wish for me to marry yet, and I may still visit with him? I do not understand.”

Aragorn’s expression softened. “Perhaps we will simply take it one step at a time.”

Mírra hesitated for a moment. “Do you wish to test me? Test Doran?”

“I wish for my daughter to make a choice that would bring her happiness.”

For the first time in their conversation, Mírra smiled, gently at first. “That is all I have ever wished for.”

They were interrupted when the same attendant returned, accompanied by the Queen. With Arwen entered Doran, his demeanour calm except for his brown eyes that turned bright at seeing the princess.

Mírra’s nerves betrayed her as her stomach went cold. At first she could not decide what to do, and stood fixed in her spot until her mother sent her a smile, and moved to stand with her father.

She did what she knew she should do when being introduced to someone, and gave a curtsy, but when she looked up and met Doran’s gaze, the coolness in her stomach disappeared into a most wonderful lightness.

“Welcome in Minas Tirith, my lord.” Her cheeks were still pink.

Doran bowed. “It is an honour, my lady.”

Arwen took her husband’s arm while she watched this interaction. She knew Aragorn did not know what to say either.

“My lord,” she interrupted gently, “I do not know if you had opportunity to view these gardens on your previous visit to the City. Mírra, perhaps you could show Doran…?”

The princess looked to her father for assurance, and although Aragorn remained silent, he gave a nod of assent. As the younger couple stepped further out into the garden together, Arwen gave a tug at his elbow.

She motioned to the nearby bench where Aragorn and Mírra had been sitting a few moments ago. “Come and sit with me?”

Aragorn drew his gaze back to his wife. “Alright, then.”

As they sat, Arwen saw him look back to their daughter and her guest. “They will be fine, meleth-nîn,” she whispered.

He took her hand, and let out a breath he had been holding. “Simply keep telling me that.”

 * * *

Mírra could hardly keep the delight from showing on her face, as she walked beside Doran. They were less than a foot apart, not even touching, which made her even more aware of his physical presence. He was here, beside her, no longer just words on a page.

“I missed you,” she whispered as soon as they were a few steps away. She paused and turned to him.

“And I you, lady.” Doran’s eyes were warm and clear as he tried to simply take it all in, take her in. He held his hands carefully behind his back. “How do you fare?”

“Well. Better now that you are here,” she said earnestly, “How does your son?”

He smiled at the mention. “It is most considerate of you to ask. We had just celebrated Nolan’s birthday, before I left. He is as content as ever.”

“I am so pleased to hear it.” Mírra gave a quick sidelong glance, and realized she had her back to the garden’s entrance. She lowered her voice. “Are my parents looking this way?”

Doran looked quickly to where Arwen and Aragorn were sitting. “The King was just now, I think, but now he is talking with the Queen.”

“Alright.”

He regarded Mírra for a moment, noticed the lingering flush of pink on her cheeks. “Do you feel as nervous as I?” He almost laughed.

She grinned in relief. “Perhaps more.”

With that, Mírra reached up and wrapped her arms around Doran’s neck, and on instinct he held her tightly for a moment, enfolding her tightly in a simple embrace.

“It is just… I can hardly believe you’re here,” Mírra whispered into his shoulder. “I’ve spent the last two months thinking about you, wanting to talk to you, wishing I could tell you in person all those things I wrote down.”

As they parted, Doran took one of her hands, and began to stroke it gently with his thumb, hardly stopping to realize if it was not proper for him to do so.

“For the last week, as I rode, I kept telling myself to hold no expectations, and perhaps I still do not, but I also told myself that if I had a chance only to be in your company once more, then that will be enough.”

Mírra blushed for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. “Well,” she said after a pause to consider his words, “It is not enough for me.” She smiled warmly. “Therefore you will have to stay here, for more than a week this time.”

Doran took her other hand. “As my lady wishes, I will not disappoint.”Sitting a short distance away, Arwen tried to bring Aragorn’s attention away from the company their daughter was now keeping.

“Lúthea is waiting with Adina, but she will wonder if we do not call her soon, for the evening meal.” She glanced over briefly to where Mírra and Doran stood. “Shall we invite him to join us?”

Aragorn nodded carefully, his gaze fixed on the same spot. “Mírra would like that, I believe.”

Arwen watched the younger couple for a moment, then watched her husband’s face. She raised a hand to his cheek and drew him back to her again. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I have not agreed to anything,” Aragorn told her quietly, “But I cannot deny she seems content.”

“You need not decide anything now.”

“No… we will simply take this one step at a time,” replied the King, smiling a little wryly, “There are still many more conversations to be had.”

herven = husband
goll hiril-nîn = my wise lady

<><><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 23 – Introspection and Indecision

<><><><><><><><><><>

“How did you enjoy dinner?”  Mírra asked Doran with a cautious smile.

After the evening’s meal was ended, the princess royal somehow managed to slip away for a few moments with her newly-arrived visitor.  With a feeling of relief, the pair found a quiet corner of the hall to talk.

Once again, Doran held his hands comfortably behind his back as he stood beside her, which did not escape the princess’ notice.  She smiled inwardly at his determined formality.

“Your brother the prince is not in the City, at present?” Doran asked.

Mírra shook her head.  “Eldarion is in the North, with my mother’s family.  From what he’s told us, I think he is enjoying his time there.”

Doran knew of the Elves Mírra spoke of, but only in the songs his parents had known.  “They are in Arnor?”

The princess nodded.  “A valley of the River Bruinen, in Eriador.”

Once again he found himself reminded that the lady next to him was half-Elven.  It was not as shocking as it has been at first, but he found her no less stunning because of it.

Mírra caught his curious expression with a sidelong glance.  She paused in her step, still holding his hand.  “I have said something amiss?”

Doran gave a small smile as his face relaxed.  “I was only thinking… that when I was young, Eriador seemed too far away even to imagine.” 

“Will you ever go there, do you think?”

The question made her pause in reflection.  “Strangely enough, I had not thought of that for a long while, but it used to be all I could think about.  Perhaps so.”  She smiled again, quiet for a moment.  “But I think I would like to see the north country, some day.”

"What is it?” asked Mírra, noticing his silence.

Doran once again saw those eyes looking back at him, the clarity that had captured him so many months ago.  It was that same quality he had noticed then, that way she had of looking so directly at him when she spoke, but yet so comfortably as well. 

“Ah, ‘tis nothing, my lady.” He cleared his throat gently, and felt his ears redden. “I should perhaps retire, and leave you to your family.” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “That is, if I can find my way…”

The princess chuckled.  “One of the attendants may help you, my lord.”

“I would be grateful for that,” Doran smiled back, “There are more corridors and stairways here than I can count.”

Mírra grinned, and took his hand, not even minding that her parents were within sight on the other side of the hall.  “Thank you for a pleasant evening.”

He felt the warmth in her gaze, and gently kissed the back of her hand.  “Thank you, my lady.”

* * *

Arwen chuckled as she listened to the chatter coming from the small girl in her lap.  She looked over Elenna’s shoulder at the picture book she held open for the two of them to look at. Elenna pointed to the bright images and named the ones she knew, receiving delightful reinforcement from her mother. 

“But isn’t it past the time for her to be asleep?”  Lúthea asked her mother, as she crossed to the other side of the nursery. They had left dinner hours ago, but the evening seemed reluctant to end.

The Queen smiled as her second daughter came to join her and Elenna on the couch.  Although Lúthea was still smaller than her older sister, she had grown a little in stature, in the last year.  Arwen noticed her sitting taller in her seat, the features on her eager face a little bit finer, a little more mature.

“Ah, I do not mind if she is not ready to sleep yet,” she said softly. “Your father and I have hardly been back for two days, and I still must catch up on everything she has to tell me.”  She gave a quick glance to Lúthea.  “And everything you have to tell me, of course.”

Arwen turned a page of the storybook, in time to keep Elenna from tearing part of the corner.  They were coming to the end.

Lúthea shrugged cheerfully. She softened her voice, but smiled too.  “I’m just happy now that you’re back, that’s all.”

“I am, too.”  Arwen smiled warmly. 

With that, Elenna helped her mother turn the last page of the book, and as Arwen set it down on a nearby table, she energetically squirmed out of Arwen’s lap to run over to select a new tale.

The brown-haired girl went over to the nursery’s small shelf and began to pull out a few small volumes.  Within a moment or two, however, she had settled herself on the floor, absorbed in her own babbling.

“I… I did leave in a bit of a hurry, didn’t I?”

There was a moment of quiet before Lúthea responded again in a small voice.  “Is everything truly alright now?”

“Well… I do not think those things I was thinking about have truly left my mind,” she said honestly, “But I will not let them overwhelm me, as they did then.  Perhaps… perhaps it was only being confronted with my parents’ writings, after avoiding them for such a time.”

Lúthea frowned slightly with concern.  “You miss them very much, don’t you?”

Giving a melancholy smile, Arwen nodded. “I do.”

In trying to read her daughter’s expression, she sensed it was her that was more in need of reassurance.  Now having her lap free, she took the moment to put her arms around Lúthea. The princess hugged back, as her mother kissed the top of her head.

"But what I told you before is still true.  It does not mean I do not want you to learn about your family, that part of your history.”

Lúthea looked up with a tentative smile.  “I liked Eldarion’s letter, too.  He told me all about where my uncles live, and everything he’s seen at Rivendell.”

“I would like very much for you to see it too, some day.”

This seemed to cheer the princess, and her expression became calmer.  “When Elenna has grown?”

Arwen gave a decisive nod. “Definitely.”

The girl in question came over then, clutching a new piece of reading, her eyes bright.

“One more, nana, ‘nother one!”

Arwen grinned.  “Alright, but only one more.”  After settling Elenna back on her lap, she turned again to her other daughter.  “Will you join us as well, for the conclusion?”

Thinking a moment, the princess gave a quick, appraising glance at the nearby table, and took up one of the smaller volumes she herself had been looking at.  Seeing her mother looking back curiously, she blushed a little to explain. 

“Maybe… maybe I will also go and do some reading before I sleep,” she said.

Arwen could not resist grinning.  “Try not to stay awake too late, sell-nín?” Her tone was good-natured.

“I won’t,” Lúthea replied, her cheeks still pink. 

The young princess took a few steps toward the door, but turned again.  She paused for a moment, looking unsure about what she wanted to say.

“Mírra… is she really going to marry Doran?”

Arwen wondered how long Lúthea had been holding the question in.  “Perhaps.  It hasn’t been decided yet.”  She looked thoughtfully at her daughter.  “What do you think of him?”

Lúthea gave a good-natured smile.  “He’s quite nice.  I like him.”

“I do too.”

The girl gave another moment’s pause.  “What does adar think?”

“He is… still deciding,” said the Queen wryly.

“Ah. Alright then.”  She went over to her mother and exchanged a good-night kiss on the cheek.  “Good night, naneth.”

“Sleep well, darling.”

Many minutes after Lúthea had slipped away, after looking at yet another storybook, Arwen found her youngest daughter was still nowhere near sleeping.

"Are you not ready to say goodnight yet, hmm?” 

Elenna fussed slightly as her mother stood up and walked about the room. 

“Ah, perhaps a song, then,” Arwen whispered.

She hummed softly, rubbing the little girl’s back.  Elenna rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, listening.  Long lashes and heavy eyelids wavered over her sleepy light eyes, before they finally closed.

Arwen held her securely, almost protectively.  Sitting back in a rocking chair, she continued singing, in part ensuring her daughter was asleep, in part out of a desire not to let go of the melody, and the memories that went with it.

She was not sure how much time had passed before she opened her eyes, to see Aragorn at the door, his expression calm with quiet adoration.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute,” Aragorn replied reassuringly, his voice quiet to avoid disturbing their daughter. He almost gave a chuckle.  “I thought I would be the one up late, but here I still find the two of you.”

The Queen gave a look of relief.  “She’s finally resting,” she whispered.

Aragorn reached out and smoothed a hand over Elenna’s hair.  She was fast asleep, cheeks red from the excitement of the day, arms curled up against her body.  Arwen gently helped her husband to lift up the little girl.  She laid her head against his chest, completely given over to slumber.

Arwen watched him settle her in amongst her blankets, and came over to join him. Aragorn took her hand and they moved to stand by the window, still able to watch their daughter sleeping from the short distance away.

“That song you were humming just now,” Aragorn whispered, “I remember you used to sing it for Mírra, when she could not fall asleep.”

She slipped an arm about his waist, and leaned into him.  “My mother used to hum it for me.  Strange, how such things can be remembered, from so long ago.”

“Mmm.”  Aragorn drew an arm around her shoulders.  “I’m so very glad that they can.”

In agreement she nodded.  Hugging him tightly, she rested her head underneath his chin. 

Before long, he noticed a more prolonged silence from his wife.

“Does your mother still trouble you?” He whispered, not entirely able to conceal his concern.

He felt Arwen swallow.  “Only days ago, all I could think about was how I had lost her,” she said faintly, “How I feared I’d lost you...”

Her face began to look fragile.  Aragorn’s expression softened in response and he raised a hand up to her cheek.

“I was not foolish enough to think it was forgotten, only hopeful that it was better.”

“It is, truly, Estel-nin,” Arwen whispered. 

Still in Aragorn’s arms, she looked up at him, curling her hands up on his chest. 

“Ah, it was my mother at first, and then I was here, sitting and thinking, and all the events of the last week confronted me.”  She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “To hear from Eldarion… and then Mírra’s news, and everything today...  After so frightening a time, when I felt such emptiness in my own life, I am reminded of how full their own lives are becoming.”  She smiled thoughtfully, her eyes unexpectedly wet.  “Our children surprise my emotions, sometimes.  And I do love them for it.’

“Even if some days are more surprising than others?” His eyes were kind.

Arwen wrapped her arms around him again and squeezed tightly.  “Especially on those days.”

* * *

"We will have to return sometime, I fear,” Mírra heard a familiar voice say.

Still seated on a hill overlooking the river, underneath the shade of a tree, Mírra turned as she heard Doran approach.  Although Doran’s visit had already lasted as long as his previous stay in the White City, it still made her heart lift, to be able to hear him speak to her, his voice as gentle and deep as she remembered.  She smiled to see his sand-coloured hair fall into his eyes.

“Your family will be wondering what is keeping us,” he concluded. 

There was the slightest trace of anxiety in Doran’s statement, but all other signs in his manner indicated he was comfortable staying right where he was.  The late summer sun was still high, with only a few clouds to obscure its rays.  The Anduin flowed swiftly in the bright light. 

Mírra smiled warmly and extended a hand to Doran, who linked his own hand with hers before taking a seat beside her on the grass.  She almost did not want to know how many hours had passed since they had ventured out together. 

“Let us have a few moments more,” she said calmly.  “It is too lovely a day, not to spend it alone with you.”

Doran’s cheeks reddened, but he smiled.  “You flatter me, lady.”  He found himself very aware of her hand in his, of the softness of her skin. 

As if on cue, Mírra added her other hand to his, and gave a light squeeze.  “Ah, perhaps it is the river.” Her eyes gleamed. “If I am near it, you must be as well, to keep me safe.”

Doran’s face clouded subtly, remembering the alarm of those first hours of their meeting. It did not go unnoticed by the princess.  She paled at the thought of having spoiled the peacefulness of their company.

“It was only in jest, Doran, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “Nay, do not worry.” 

He too remembered the first letter she had written to him: “For those briefest of moments I was lost, frightened, alone. I thought that memory would stay with me always. But now a different memory has replaced it, and I am not frightened anymore.” It was seeing those words that had made him know how truly their acquaintance had changed, gone beyond her recovery and become something more.

“Is it not strange,” Doran began, “how something that was so upsetting, could turn into…” He almost laughed.  “Well, could turn into this?”

Mírra smiled in relief.  “I am so glad that it did.”

As he reached one arm around her shoulders, she settled into it, and they sat together, looking out at the landscape of the Anduin.

After a moment, Doran spoke again, quietly.  “You are certain we should not return?” 

Mírra took in a breath and let it out very slowly.  “We should.  I know. To be truthful, I am simply happy to have come this far with you, but…”  Her voice began to trail off.  “Perhaps I only want to avoid the inevitable conversations that will follow.”

He sighed in agreement. “I expected the King to turn me away the moment I arrived.” 

“Part of me would like to think that, if was going to say no, he would have said it before now.  But I know he has doubts.”  She looked down at her lap.  “He has every reason to, after all I have kept from him, until now.”

“He wants what is best for you… to marry well.”

She swallowed hard, her voice impossibly quiet. “A nobleman, as befits my station?”

Doran watched her expression dim, and for a moment did not know what to say.  Once again he took her hand.

"Should we not admit it?  That perhaps this cannot be?”  He could not hide disappointment, but neither could he avoid the honesty.  “Marriage to a man of no fortune, from such an unfamiliar place?”

It was what Mírra had kept hidden in the back of her mind, had hoped would stay hidden, but she knew Doran was right to admit it.

She reached out and put her arms around his neck, and felt his strong arms close around her, holding her close against his broad chest.  As if for security, she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Not such a very unfamiliar place,” she whispered.

Doran pulled away gently, with a questioning look.  “You were only there once, only for two days.”

“It is where you live, and I know what I remember.  I know what you have told me.”  Mírra’s eyes were clear, her voice and face calm.

“Tell me, then.”  He spoke quietly but began to smile, curiously.

Mírra grew thoughtful for a moment.

“There is a hillside, where your sister’s house sits,” she began reflectively, “and I remember the clover in the grass.  Just on the other side is a pasture, where the sheep graze. When I awoke that first day, I looked out the window and saw you, tending to the flock.”  She blushed almost imperceptibly. “Past the field is your house, where you live with your son. Even though I have not seen it, I know you stand outside in the evening, after Nolan sleeps, and you look at the sky.” 

Her voice became even gentler, as she met his brown eyes when she spoke.

“The stables are where you work when the flock does not take priority, and you care well for the horses there.  I remember, when I was frightened to ride a horse again, you restored my trust.  When I needed safety, you helped me.  More than anything… I remember you.”

After listening with such rapt attention, Doran could hardly find words to respond.  The details of his life seemed so much less unremarkable, when it was she who described them. 

He saw a lock of dark hair had fallen out of her braid, and tenderly he pushed it behind her ear.  “You could have so much more, Mírra,” he whispered, “So much more than my small corner of the world.”

Mírra looked at him with earnestness in her eyes, her voice hushed to match his.  She shook her head. “It would seem like more to others, but not to me.  I want a life with you, and that does not feel wrong. Does it feel that way to you?”

Doran traced her hairline with his fingertips, moving down to cup her cheek.  “No.”

With her hands still resting on his shoulders, Mírra had only to make the smallest of motions, before Doran reciprocated, to take hold of her mouth in a kiss.  As they wrapping their arms around each other, bringing the embrace closer.

When they broke apart, Doran bent his forehead to her temple, and so they sat holding each other, for a long while.

"Such doubts… when I am with you, they vanish, and it feels so right to be with you, it surprises me,” he finally whispered.

The warmth Mírra saw in his eyes was enough to convince her.  “I would live with you, ride with you.  I would be your companion.”

“And so I would be for you.”  He began to stroke her hair again, brushing away small strands that had blown free in the breeze.  “Can it be so simple?”

“But it is that simple.  I want to be with you, Doran, always.”

She tilted her chin to kiss him, and once again they embraced, underneath the shade of the tree, near the river, and the warmth of the afternoon sun high above them.

* * *

Upon returning to the city, the pair were met by none other than the King.  He extended his hands to greet his daughter first, and then her companion with a touch more formality.

"I trust you spent a fine afternoon,” Aragorn asked Mírra, giving a nod to Doran.

“We did indeed, the weather was quite splendid,” she replied, smiling. 

Mírra looked from Aragorn to Doran with some hesitation.  Her father seemed unusually alert, aware of every mannerism her companion made.  She, too, found herself thinking on her own appearance, wondering there was anything out of place, anything to give her father any doubt.  Doran stood by with as much calm as he could muster.  Even after a week in the company of the royal family, he still did not feel quite natural.

“May I ask a favour of you, mir-nîn?” Aragorn said simply, taking his daughter’s hands.

“Of course, father.”

“Will you let me have a few minutes with your guest?”

Mírra swallowed.  She gave a quick glance to Doran, who she could tell was feeling much the same flash of anxiety.  Her father seemed more relaxed than she would have expected. “Alone?” 

“It will not be long,” The King turned to Doran.  “Come, I believe your horse is still saddled?  Would you join me for a brief ride?”

What else was there to say?  “Of course, your highness,” Doran gave a short bow.

Before the two men departed again for the stables, Mírra caught her companion’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Be back soon,” he told her.

“Just come back,” Mírra replied teasingly.

Surprisingly enough, the King was quiet for the first short portion of the ride.  The afternoon was still as sunny as it had been when Doran and Mírra had been by the riverside, and perhaps had a subduing effect on what might have otherwise been an even more awkward meeting.

While riding, the King cast a few subtle, appraising glances to the man who had shared his daughter’s company over the past days.  Doran kept his eyes ahead unless addressed directly, and held the reins loosely in one hand.  He sat tall in the saddle, but with the comfortable air of one who knew horses well.

Aragorn had to admit there was nothing untoward in his manner, nothing antagonistic or unkind.  But perhaps he had been looking too hard to find such qualities.

"How have you enjoyed your stay this week?” the King asked.

“Ah, very well indeed, your majesty,” replied Doran.  He cleared his throat slightly, wondering if he was only imagining the nervousness in his voice.  “The White City is indeed magnificent.  Perhaps even more so on this occasion than my first visit.”

“It does get quite crowded at Midsummer, certainly,” Aragorn concurred.  “And how does your son, and family?” he continued cordially.

“My sister and her family are well, as is Nolan,” said Doran.  “I am trying to remember everything of my experiences here, to tell him later.  He is always quite full of questions, after I return from traveling.”

“You must miss him during those times.”

Doran gave a thoughtful nod.  “Indeed I do, your highness.”

The two continued to ride.  Each time Aragorn fell silent after a moment of conversation, Doran found himself scrutinizing his own behaviour, wondering if he had answered the questions appropriately.  He was being truthful, which was perhaps all the King wanted to hear.  Still, he realized there was more to this small expedition than pleasantries.

Aragorn brought his horse to a stop, and turned directly to Doran.

“The purpose of your visit, I know, was to court my daughter, and I know she has been happy in your company this week.  For this reason I have not pressed the matter, but now I must be plain.  Have you made promises to Mírra?  What have you asked of her?”

The younger man looked abashed.

"I… have made no request of vow to Mírra, only professed my affection for her. Forward though this may have been… I should not have done so unless I believed her feelings to be the same as mine.”

Aragorn seemed to accept this, but his face revealed very little.

“Already, noblemen have offered theirs suits to my daughter, but I dismissed each of them.  Now, however, I find myself in a strange situation.  For the fact is that Mirra feels affection for you, which means I cannot simply dismiss this.”

Doran was unsure how to reply, and so only gave another nod.  “I am not foolish enough to have forgotten how far her station is above mine, your highness.  But in that I think we are in agreement, for I do feel affection for Mírra also.  And so I have found myself unable to dismiss it either.”

“So I have also come to realise.”  Aragorn paused.  “The other fact that I cannot ignore is that my daughter is still young, and I would not have her wed so soon, no matter who it was that courted her.  Therefore I cannot give consent to this now.”

Doran did not find this wholly unexpected.  “I understand.”

“The kindness that you and your family showed her has not been forgotten.  It is often in my mind, how things could have been very different.”

“And in my mind as well,” Doran replied.  He met the King’s eyes clearly.  “The first time I met Mírra, I only wanted to protect her.  That has not changed.”

The King regarded him for a moment.   “I believe you.”

* * *

Much later that evening, Arwen had made herself ready for bed, only to find her husband seated on their balcony, deep in reflection.  She came out to join him, smiling peacefully.

“Should I be surprised to find you out here, thinking?”

Aragorn gazed upon his wife, extending a hand for her to join him.  “’…to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers.’” He gave a small melancholy smile.  “So your father told me, when he knew of our attachment.”

Arwen raised a hand to tenderly brushed her fingers over the fine lines on his forehead, then held his cheek in her palm.

“How earnest you were, then,” she said with fond remembrance.

“My heart was genuine.”

Arwen wondered if such memories had been in his mind for the length of Doran’s visit. 

“Mírra is too young to marry.  In that you are not incorrect.”

Aragorn exhaled in weariness.  “And yet if the decision was that simple, I would not be awake with worry over it.  How do I know he is right for her?” 

She took his arm.  “I know your misgivings, for I have them too.” There was something about the quiet of the evening that made them speak in hushed voices. “But… must we force them to part?”

“I would not want to hurt her so.” 

“There will be no decision yet, then?” she asked softly.

“Not completely.” He sighed again.  “I cannot grant them permission, but I think… I can give them something.”

“Yes?”

“Time.”

He was relieved to see his wife nod, and as she clasped his hand, he gave a faint smile.  Arwen leaned into his chest and put her arms around him.

“It is a good decision.”

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Chapter 24 – Two Departures

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Sitting in the quiet of the parlour, Arwen looked up from the embroidery in her hands, to see her second daughter enter.  Lúthea came over cheerfully, carrying a few messages.

“That looks pretty,” said the young princess, running her fingers over the floral pattern her mother was fashioning on a hooped canvas.

Arwen smiled.  “It’s for Elenna’s room.”  She gave a nod to the items in her daughter’s hand. “Letters, so late in the day?”

Lúthea nodded excitedly, her dark eyes bright. “From Eldarion.”

The Queen exchanged her needle and thread for the small collection of folded parchment, as the princess sat down to join her on the sofa. 

“So soon?” she said fondly as she saw the addresses written in her son’s hand.  “His last was little more than two weeks ago…”

“Ah, I shall not complain that he has more to share about the north,” said Lúthea softly.

Arwen paused, still holding the letters in her raised hands, and regarded her daughter wryly.  Although she saw messages for herself, her husband, and Mírra, there seemed to be one missing. “Why do I have the feeling you have already read yours?”

Lúthea reddened sheepishly, which was enough of an answer for Arwen. She placed an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave a gentle hug.

“I daresay your enthusiasm is catching,” she said, letting out a chuckle.

“Ah, it is all because of what Eldarion writes,” replied Lúthea with a faint blush on her cheeks, “It sounds so exciting, the things he’s doing.”

Arwen pondered this, knowing full well the territory her son would be adventuring in, but at the same time wondering what he was discovering, that she was not aware of.  “In that, I think you are right,” she murmured, finding herself not yet ready to open her own letter.

Lúthea watched her mother’s face for a moment.  “Shall I take Mírra her letter too?”

The Queen paused, and despite herself, tensed inwardly. Doran’s visit would likely be coming to a close soon, but there would be one important discussion to be had first.

“Perhaps not just yet.  She and your father are meeting.”

“Oh. I see.”  She frowned a little.  “Will it be much longer?”

“I honestly do not know.” Arwen would have matched her daughter’s expression of concern, if she had not been telling herself to remain calm for the better part of the day.  “I hope not.”

* * *

In the South garden, sitting on a bench across from his oldest daughter, Aragorn wondered if he should have chosen a different location to have this particular conversation. 

If it had been Eldarion, they would have talked in his study, perhaps shared a cup of wine, but not in this case. Affairs of the heart were more than matters of business. 

Arwen always seemed to handle such details effortlessly.  To him the garden had seemed the simplest, most comfortable setting.  Now, however, it seemed too quiet, too calm, too pronounced a contrast to the discomfort of the situation. 

Whatever reaction Aragorn was expecting, however, it was not this one. Mírra had simply answered with a nod, and looked down at her lap.  Not unpredictably, she felt uncomfortable, but seemed to conceal it with stillness.  She knew that if she even blinked, her eyes would grow wet.

Aragorn folded his hands together and leaned slightly forward. 

“Are you not unhappy with this decision, then?”

“Nay, I am,” she said impossibly quietly, eyes fixed on her own clasped hands, “But what consequences will come of expressing my disappointment?”

The King gave a fair moment of consideration to his daughter’s remark.  “Helping me to understand, perhaps? I do not wish to deceive you in this.”

Mírra looked up then, her dark grey eyes, that were so like her mother’s, shrouded by skepticism.

“Would your decision change, if I were to make my feelings for Doran clearer?”

Her father sighed sympathetically. 

“Perhaps not.”  He sat up straighter, with much of the same disguise of stillness settling over him.  “But no matter what you feel for this man, I do believe it is best for you to wait for this time, for this one year, before making a decision. It is the same thing I will say to Doran.”

Mírra was silent for a moment then, before questioning him again.

“Do you think I am confused?  That I do not understand what I feel for Doran?”

Aragorn shook his head.  “I have never said that.”

The princess stood decisively, and stepped a few feet away.  She folded her arms across her chest, but her face remained still.  “It is his status, then?  That he is not a nobleman? I am not so foolish as to be unaware of such things.”

In his own mind, Aragorn had been over this detail of his daughter’s potential match.  Arwen had heard his misgivings many times, but strangely enough Doran’s occupation was not his primary concern. 

“I do not think you foolish, sell-nin. But if he were of the highest rank in the White Company, or Lord of Annúminas, I would still say the same.”

Mírra had crossed to a low wall at the edge of the garden, overlooking a small courtyard and turret below.  Aragorn rose and quietly came to stand beside his daughter, listening in case she did speak.  She remained silent, however, having run out of questions. 

“It is not the way of your people to wed so young,” he told her simply, “I would not have you enter into such a match before you are fully ready.”

Mírra’s tone of voice revealed disappointment that her expression had carefully kept hidden. “You wish to test me? Test him?”

Aragorn replied with sympathy. “You have known this man for only a few months, but I am not so blind, to be unaware of how you care for him, mir-nin.”  He sighed gently. “If this is truly the right course, then a year’s delay will be but little against a lifelong union.”

“Then I must say farewell to him now, not knowing when we will meet again?  Not knowing what will happen?” 

She looked away, to find herself blinking away at surprising tears, and inwardly wishing away the animosity that had risen in her.  As she herself had said, she was not so foolish as to ignore the things that stood in the path of a match with Doran, but still she could not have helped herself hoping.

“I do understand this situation, mir-nin, perhaps better than you realize. If Doran loves you, then he will as well.” Aware of her unhappiness, Aragorn briefly laid a hand behind his daughter’s shoulder.  “Look to your heart, and to his.”

For a long moment, Mírra kept her eyes cast down, before she did look up to her father.

With a nod of resignation, she replied quietly, “I will, ada.”

* * *

That night, the King returned to his chambers, shut the door without disturbing the quiet of the room, and crossed to the bedroom without speaking.

Arwen sat up in bed, a book open between her fingertips, and observed her husband’s expression carefully.  She had left the correspondence on the table in the anteroom, but he had not seen it.  “Eldarion has sent new messages.”

Aragorn brightened slightly.  He retrieved the letter and stepped back in, scanning the page, his face lit by the flickering lamps in the room.  After a few moments he folded it away, saying he would respond in the morning.

His wife watched him sit on the edge of the bed.  Rubbing a hand briefly over his eyes and face, weariness began to show.  His shoulders seemed heavy as he looked down at his folded hands.  Arwen sat up and knelt beside him on the mattress. 

After a time Aragorn’s voice broke through the stillness.  “Truly, if he would make her happy and keep her safe, I would not worry.”

“He would. Yet I know you do still worry,” Arwen said softly.  “You are her father.”

Aragorn pursed his lips and bowed his head.  “But in time we shall have to let her go.”

She met his eyes as he finally turned to her, all too aware that his feelings were mirrored in her own expression.  Arwen nodded, and he pulled her close as she put her arms around him, burying his face in her shoulder.

* * *

The next morning, despite the apparent resolution of such an important question, an air of much the same deceptive stillness had settled over the King and Queen’s company.

Arwen sat once again with her stitching in the parlour, attempting to complete one final section of the floral design.  She remained quiet, her outward attention focused on the needle and thread.  Just across from her sat Aragorn in one of the large parlour chairs, legs comfortably crossed, his own attention devoted to the letters he had set aside yesterday.  Arwen heard very little sound from him, aside from the flipping of papers. A tea tray was set on one of the far tables, but it had been little touched.

At length she saw him collect the letters together and set them back in their folder.  Aragorn held the bundle in his lap for a minute, and scratched his cheek.  He seemed to be looking far away, but Arwen could not tell whether it was due to anything more than simple thoughtfulness.

When he did not speak immediately she decided to ask, “Eldarion is well, I trust?”

Aragorn blinked calmly, and with a smile returned his focus to his wife.

“Nay, there is no worry there,” said the King, “But it seems he will remain in Imladris through the winter season.”

Arwen gave a tug on her needle, pulling thread through the canvas.  “He… implied as much to me as well.”

“It will be a good experience for him, I think.”

“Mmm.”  The Queen frowned slightly as a knot crept into her thread, stopping the needle abruptly.  Turning over the canvas, she attempted to untangle it. 

Noticing the hesitation in her voice, Aragorn rose, and stepped over to join his wife on the sofa. He took her hand gently. “I miss him too.”

“Ah, it is to be expected,” she murmured, flushing with what he thought was a touch of embarrassment.  “There should be no urgency in his returning, if he is spending valuable time there.”

“The decision was made quickly after his last reports to us, and in a happy mind, to be certain.”

“Indeed,” Arwen replied with a nod. Giving his hand a squeeze, she stood to collect a cup of tea, leaving Aragorn to wonder at her quietness.  He watched her pour her drink, stirring honey into the cup.  After a moment he spoke again, no less thoughtfully, but much more carefully.

“You saw Mírra this morning, then?”

Arwen paused before turning to look back at him.  She nodded.  “Briefly, just after breakfast.”

“How does she now?” The answer was only partly necessary. Although Aragorn had a hard time reading his wife’s expression, it was enough to confirm what he had expected.

“The same.” She gave a soft shrug of her shoulders, returning to her seat next to him, and setting her cup down. “Quiet.”

“She seemed to accept the decision, before.”

“I know she has, dearest, but that does not also mean contentment.” she sighed again, touching her fingertip to his face. “We waited longer than a year, ‘tis true,” she said softly, “but I know you remember the melancholy that came with the waiting.”

Aragorn smiled ruefully.  “Well enough indeed.”

He regarded her for a moment.  On a gentle impulse he put an arm around her shoulders, as if remedying their mental detachment. She responded, leaning in to the comfortable familiarity of his embrace.

In his arms she quieted again, leaving Aragorn curious again at the reason. “Your mind is not on our daughter, though, I daresay,” he said quietly, as she rested her cheek comfortably against his chest.

She smiled.  “I’m not that transparent?”

He returned her expression.  “With all of Eldarion’s news, I would be surprised if you were not thinking of Rivendell, truly.”

Arwen sighed, almost with relief to admit it. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, since we first heard from him, really.  Thinking about home.”

He could not help but note the use of her final word. Though now tempered with pride for their son’s current visit to Rivendell, it was impossible to forget the anxiety that had accompanied a mention of Elrond’s House in recent months. 

“I have, too,” he said calmly, meeting her dark grey eyes as she turned her face upwards.

Her cheeks grew slightly pink.  “Do you remember the view of the sunrise on the northern hillside?  I was thinking how lovely it would be in a just another month or two, with the colours of the iavas leaves?”

He could not help but smile.  “It is a fair time of year.”

Arwen kissed his cheek briefly before leaning back against him again, seemingly content in her own reflection. The renewed silence caused Aragorn to look away briefly, mentally reassuring himself that his upcoming question was the right course.

“Would you like to see it yourself this year?”

At first his wife only turned to him with a quizzical expression.  “But what do you mean?”

Aragorn paused to breath calmly, if only to subdue any premature eagerness behind his eyes. “Iavas in Imladris.  We could travel there, all five of us.  See Eldarion, see your brothers.”

Arwen did not answer immediately, but he watched her expression change; she sat back and blinked once or twice as if caught off guard, a smile of surprise gradually fading.

“You are serious, aren’t you?” Her voice was soft, apprehensive. She wondered if this had been the true cause of his reflective mood this morning… how long had he had this idea in mind, but hesitant to suggest it? 

“Yes,” Aragorn almost whispered, with a nod.  Though they spoke very little, their gazes remained upon one another, each aware of the other’s caution.

“But your work… to be away even for a season, will it not set you behind…?”

He took her hands, thinking on the question.  “There is only some lingering business with Eomer… I can arrange with Faramir and his sons for counsel here in my absence.”  ”

Searching her face, Aragorn saw Arwen’s thoughts rapidly in motion.  “But Elenna, she is so young still...”

“Her sisters will help her, as will we.  She’s eager.”  Giving her hands a squeeze, he continued with gentle encouragment, “We’ve traveled before. We can do this.”

Whether it was simply to hold him or out of a need to be held, after a moment Arwen reached her arms around his neck.  She felt suddenly apprehensive, but knowing the reason why did not seem to alleviate it. For what seemed like a long while, neither spoke.

“I haven’t been back there, not since…”

“…since before we were married,” Aragorn finished for her. 

He had made only one or two visits himself, on tours of Eriador, but the two of them had not been to the North together since before Eldarion was born.  It seemed appropriate now for him to be the catalyst for their return.

“What if it has changed?”

He placed a hand between her shoulders, holding her gently.  “You know Elladan and Elrohir will do right by it.”

“I do.”

Aragorn hesitated, finally whispering.  “I do not want you to feel afraid of it.”

After yet another silence, that gave him pause, Arwen met his eyes again.  She gave a rueful half-smile.  “Afraid of a memory, perhaps.”

Encouraged by her expression, he touched a fingertip to her cheek.  “They would smile to know you were there again, meleth-nîn, I know it.” 

This time she gave a nod, reaching a conclusion.  Her eyes at last gleamed again.

“We shall go.”

* * *

“A year,” Doran sighed, “It is twice the time we have known each other.”

Mírra cast her eyes down.  “I cannot help feeling afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That perhaps this isn’t what I hope it is.  That, now that I’ve seen you again, I won’t think of you as often, or in the same way.”  She swallowed awkwardly, willing away uncertainty.  “I shall write to you.”

“And I as well… but if you do journey to the north, it will take 5 times as long for them to arrive, or more even.”

The princess appeared to contemplate this, before answering softly but decisively.  “Then I shall have to write letters 5 times as long.”  She gave a small smile. “Or more, even.”

Doran took her in his arms then, and their mouths crushed together.  Mírra held his whiskered cheeks, tasting his tongue, his lips, memorising every part of the sensation.

They parted and stood breathing together, foreheads touching.

“This cannot be the last I will see of you, it simply cannot,” Doran said almost in a whisper.

“You are certain?”  Mírra’s voice was hopeful.

“Mmm.”  His eyes twinkled a little.  “For I have simply become far too accustomed to being able to kiss you.”

Mírra grinned before wrapping her arms around his neck, and granted him once more that to which she had also become so happily accustomed.

At the end, it seemed neither one of them knew how to let go, and so they remained clasped, hardly speaking.

“One year,” Doran repeated.

The princess looked up at him, smiling softly.  “You’re worth the wait.”

* * *

The next week, preparations for the family’s journey were nearing a quick conclusion.  Though summer was tapering to a close, there would still be time enough to reach the Northern kingdom by boat, before the very cool months of autumn arrived.  They would sail out of Minas Tirith, following the coast westward before turning north.  Aragorn set arrangements in motion for a meeting party at the Havens, who could escort them to Annuminas, before reaching Imladris. 

A growing excitement from the second-oldest princess accompanied these plans.  She eagerly brought out all her brother’s letters, poring over details of what to expect when they finally did arrive.  Her older sister was uncharacteristically less ebullient about the travel.

“And Eldarion also enclosed a sketch of the Bruinen valley near Rivendell, and a small map of the route to Annúminas around the edge of Lake Nenuial… He says he’ll be going to spend another month there soon,” Lúthea read with enthusiasm. She looked over to her sister, who was still quiet.  “Mírra?”

Despite her sister’s obvious interest, Mírra had not truly been listening for many minutes.

Sitting in the older girl’s bedroom, the two princesses could not have been more of a study in contrast. Lúthea knelt on one side of the bed, and reached for a pillow absentmindedly. She had thought to provide some welcome distraction from the afternoon’s events, but it did not seem to be working.

Mírra rolled on her side.  “I’m sorry. I am glad to hear all these things…” 

“I know,” Lúthea finished for her. “You’re thinking about Doran.”

Her sister gave a sigh.  “A year is such a long time.”

“You will see him again, Mírra,” said Lúthea softly.

The older sister gave a sidelong glance.  “I’d almost think we were taking this trip to get me away from him, it’s all happened so quickly.”

“Oh Mírra, Ada isn’t so unkind as that, really.”

The oldest princess let out a deep sigh, and lay back on the bed again.  She knew it was unfair, and did not truly believe it.  “No.  I know he isn’t. I don’t know why I said it.”

Lúthea paused a minute before asking her next question, as if apprehensive. “Do you really want to marry Doran?”

Her sister gave a melancholy smile, and after a thoughtful pause, gave another nod.  “I can’t imagine ever letting him go.”

Lúthea seemed surprised, but her expression revealed only a little of it.  She sank back next to her sister on the bed.  They stared quietly up at the ceiling for what seemed like a long moment.

The younger girl tried to think of the best advice she could.  “Well…. if he’s the right one for you, then he’ll be worth the wait.”

Mírra looked back with a half-smile, to hear her own words reflected from her sister.  The smile turned into a grin, thinking of the man who waited for her, several miles away.

“Agreed.”

iavas = early autumn

To Be Continued! :)

Next chapter coming soon...

Author's Note: It's been FAR too long in coming, but it's finally here! It's been two years since I first began this fic, and I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading it all this time. Your reviews have been a great help and encouragment.

Character Note: Mîrlinde is an Original Character by Nemis from her story High Princes of Tirion. Many thanks for letting me write her!  Thanks also to Nemis for the loverly beta-ing, for poking me when I needed it, and not least of all for the loan of one of her characters. :)

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Chapter 25 - Home

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The King’s oldest daughter blinked her eyes against the brisk air of open water.  Gripping the rail of the deck helped her to steady herself against a sudden rocking of the ship, caused by a series of close waves.  They were getting nearer to shore now, certainly.  Squinting at the horizon, she could just make out a thin stretch of land.

Mírra caught herself with a sheepish smile, realizing that for the last few minutes she had hardly even been concentrating on the view before her.  But then, her mind had stayed in Gondor since the family’s departure several weeks ago.  It made little sense, she knew; for so long she had thought of nothing but the prospect of travel, adventure beyond her home city.  Now, adventure had found her, but she was not sure she was ready to meet it.

Taking a deep breath, Mírra cast a more attentive gaze about her, taking in all the detail she knew would be in her next letter to Doran: the white spray of water from waves broken on the ship’s hull. Pale canvas sails billowing in the wind; her own cheeks made pink by the high sunshine that surrounded them.

She turned away from the rail, toward her mother.  Arwen sat on a bench well back from the rail, and kept a close hold on Elenna who, much like her sister, was taking all sights around her with eager eyes.  Her father was at the opposite end of the ship, taking last minutes of counsel on their course with the captain.

“Shall we shall be there soon?” Mírra asked.  “I would almost say we can see the shore now.”

From where she sat, Arwen stretched her sight as best she could. “I think you’re right.”

“Lúthea might enjoy the view, once we’re in reach, I should think.”

“She’ll probably enjoy the firm ground more, naneth.”

“Ah, poor dear, yes,” Arwen said with a soft smile. Ironically enough, the person with the most enthusiasm for the current journey seemed to have the weakest constitution for it.

Mírra grinned.  “I’ll see if she can be convinced to join us.”

As she crossed the deck to descend below, the youngest princess gave a shriek, attempting to wriggle free. Her mother cast a brief look of exasperation, telling herself yet again that it was lucky she’d done this well in such a confined space.  The desire to roam was incorrigible. It made Mírra chuckle to recognize it in someone else, if she did not see it in herself

“I’ll take this little one down with me, perhaps,” she offered her mother, grinning.

“That would help, I think,” Arwen replied with a grateful smile.

Elenna, squirming with unreleased energy, was passed happily from her mother to sister.  The two of them soon disappeared below deck, giving Arwen a moment of solitude.

As her daughters slipped away, Arwen let herself steal another glance at the approaching shoreline.  Her stomach twisted nervously, despite herself.

The Queen of Gondor had never had what could be called an eagerness for sea voyages.  It was not a question of seasickness – her constitution was never seriously affected by the irregular motion of a ship – but of detachment.  It was something about the separation from firm ground that did not settle with her. 

On this journey in particular it was not only the method of transportation that put Arwen in a state of unease, but the destination.  How strange it seemed, to be returning to the home she had known so well for the better part of an Age, and not know what she would find there. 

She rose and stepped over to the railing where her daughter had just stood, the shoreline coming into even clearer view by now.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to breathe deeply. This is your home, she reminded herself, Do not be afraid to remember.

So she stood, for many minutes, until she felt a hand at her back.

“It’s set,” said Aragorn as he greeted her. “We’ll stay tonight at the Havens, take rest, and move on to Annúminas. From what news he’s sent, I think Eldarion may still be out on patrol with Elrohir when we do arrive at Rivendell, but hopefully can return in time.” 

Arwen turned her face up to her husband, smiling inwardly.  It was his tendency to relate plans with such seriousness, but even he could not hide all trace of eagerness.  Hers was not the only homecoming on this journey. 

“Somehow, I do not think the girls will miss the ship,” she said with some wryness.

Aragorn smiled back. “All else is ready for arrival?”

Calmly she pressed her palm into his, lacing their fingers together, knowing his words spoke to her in particular. “All is ready,” she whispered. He followed with a kiss to her hand.

The ship coasted slowly toward the dock. Arwen exhaled a slow breath. All is ready. 

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The fall season seemed cooler than Aragorn remembered it being.  Was it possible he had simply become so accustomed to the Southern Kingdom that the North now seemed unfamiliar? Nay, he told himself.  Why complicate a pleasant reunion with such small doubts.

In truth, since their arrival, there had been the sense of immediate familiarity, for each member of his family. It was just as it had felt for him, in those days when he had returned here as a younger man.  If he had grown accustomed to disappearing in the wild country, he was even more comfortable disappearing here, in his first home.  Without even expecting it, the outside world fell away from his concerns, and there was Imladris, quietly reassuring.

His wife had taken to subtle teasing gestures: a shake of her head, a sly chuckle.  It was only in those moments that he would pause to wonder if he had wandered too long on the afternoon walk, making the kitchens scramble to delay dinner.  Or perhaps he sat too quietly on the terrace in the evenings, lost in contemplation, that few realized his presence. Eldarion had made a full circuit of the grounds one evening before at last finding him.

On this night he had reminded himself to warn Arwen of his potential lapse out of normal time. Which was to say that he bid her goodnight on the terrace, saying he would watch the stars. With a smile she had kissed him back, with a request to count them for her in her absence.

When Aragorn finally took his eyes away from the sky, it was to stand and stretch, and finally acquiesce to routine.  But to his surprise, he could still see a lamp flickering in one of the windows just beyond the courtyard.  It seemed he was not the only one who had stretched the boundary of the evening.

Aragorn re-entered the house, silent but for his footsteps, and sought out the source of the light.  It seemed to be from the direction of Elladan’s study, but Aragorn knew perfectly well how prompt his eldest brother-in-law was when it came to finishing work.  It had to be Eldarion; nothing seemed to be able to dissuade the prince from working as long as he pleased, now that he had taken to it so easily.

He happened upon the still-open study door.  “Ion-nîn, whatever it is, it will keep to tomorrow,” he said with some trace of wryness.

When there came no answer, he stepped inside and crossed quietly toward the desk.  He made to put out the light, but no sooner was his hand at the lamp when he saw the room was not empty as he had thought. 

Curled up on the cushioned window seat, sound asleep, was his daughter Lúthea. She lay underneath a blanket, hand still resting on the open book in front of her.

He kept his lips pursed as a smile immediately formed on his mouth, as if even that small gesture would disturb her sleep. But as he tried to slop the book out of her fingeres as gently as possible, she stirred awake.  It took her a moment of blinking to realize she had company.

“Ada? What are you doing here?”

Aragorn chuckled. “I was going to pose you the very same question, sell-nîn.”  Lúthea sat up, rubbing one eye, as her father sat down next to her, book in hand.  “An Annotated History of Eriador,” he read, examining the cover.

His daughter nodded with a tired smile.  “It has maps too, even some of Lower Forodwaith. Elladan was showing me, but he said I could stay here and read as late as I wanted.”

Aragorn smiled and caught himself in a yawn. “Kind of him.”

Lúthea tucked her blanket around herself. “But you haven’t gone to bed either. Nana said you were making sure all the stars were lit.” This last was uttered with only the smallest trace of a jest. Nonetheless the King laughed aloud.

“Nay, that is my Lady Elbereth’s office.”  He gestured to himself, hand on chest. “Me, I simply count them.” 

“And how many are there?” The princess grinned.

He equivocated.  “Exactly as many as there were last night.”

His daughter giggled, putting her hand to her mouth soon after in a yawn.

“It is long past bedtime, sell-nîn,” said Aragorn gently.

Lúthea looked disappointed.  “Oh, must I?”

Her father sighed.  “No, but these readings will keep until the next day, or even the day after.  We shall be here for months yet.”

Lúthea’s cheeks were flushed pink from sleepiness.  “I know… think of how much I can do in that time, if I could stay up late to do it.”

The King chuckled again, unable to counter her reasoning.  “I suppose I am not going to be a good influence in this situation, either.”

She sat up on her knees and smiled calmly, eyes looking brighter.  “Do you want to stay up too?”  Eagerly, she opened the book in his hands and started turning to the page at which she had left off.

Aragorn looked over the introductory section on Forodwaith.  There was some detail about the long winters, and unexplored mountain passes.

He looked over curiously. “Would you like to see these places for yourself, these lands that you read of?”

Lúthea’s cheeks flushed. “Maybe not.  Maybe that is more for Mírra and Eldarion.” Her eyes remained lively.  “But it is so exciting to know that they’re there.”

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One evening, when their stay was a few months old, it was not long after dinner when Arwen peeked her head around the sitting room door, to find a most calm sight.

“She is asleep?” she asked her grandfather, who was sitting in one of the high-backed armchairs.

“And has been for a good while.  I think I have been reading to myself for the last few minutes.”

Elenna was fast asleep, arms resting limply at her sides, face flushed red, cheek pressed against Celeborn’s robes.  Arwen reached out to smooth a gentle hand over the brown waves of her hair.  Celeborn let the storybook in his hands close, and set it gently on the table beside them.

“I should take her to bed,” said the Queen softly.

“Ah, she is well, do not worry.  And it has been quite some time since I have had grandchildren to fuss over.”

Arwen could not help but smile.  She took a seat on the sofa next to them.

“We did not torment you overmuch, when the three of us we were but young elves?”

The silver-haired Elf-lord appeared amused at the recollection of earlier memories at Imladris.

“Of course you did.  And we would not have missed any moment of it.” 

This made his granddaughter’s smile widen, and her cheeks flushed.  Arwen relaxed as she sat back.  Outside the window beside them, light rain fell. She felt at home.

Celeborn shifted to let Elenna continue sleeping. “They seem comfortable here, your children.”

Arwen gave a small nod. “I’m glad for it.  They’ve grown up so much with the city… and the halls there are spacious, but that feeling of freedom is somewhat missing.  To be in a new place is a good experience.”

“Believe it or not, your grandmother and I used to worry the same for you and your brothers.”

Arwen looked back with mild surprise, smiling curiously, “You thought Imladris was not open enough?”

Celeborn’s expression was reflective.  “Nay, only that something was missing.  We hoped for you to see as much as you could, to experience new places.  And if that included as many journeys to Lothlórien as could be fit into a year, so be it.” Arwen thought she could see just a trace of a wink in his eye.

“Ah, but Elladan and Elrohir must have seemed stubborn to you. They were never as drawn to it as they were to the wild country.”

“Nay, I must admit it. But their travels have still shaped them, with new experiences.”

He paused as Elenna, still in his lap, raised a hand to rub a sleepy eye, then dozed off again.  Noticing her deep slumber, Arwen stood briefly to lift her daughter up, and placed her on the sofa beside her.  Settling under a blanket from her mother, Elenna hardly seemed to notice the change.

Celeborn smiled. “Mírra and Eldarion have some of the same eagerness for the open country, it seems.”

Arwen nodded.  “Mírra, most certainly.  She wants so much to find new experiences… But ai, the fright we had when she was nearly lost, daer-ada…”  She took a breath and exhaled briefly, letting the memory surface and then pass again. “Both she and her brother have been changed by that journey… in a positive way, I am relieved to find.” Celeborn listened, letting her speak at the pace of her own thoughts.   Her expression relaxed after a moment.  “How happy I am for you to meet them now, for them to know you.”

Her grandfather smiled gently. “Aye, I am much cheered by it. It makes me hopeful for what will follow, for my family.”  His voice quieted.  “There are so few of us now, to connect the past to the future.”

“Oh, daer-ada…” Arwen’s response was soft.  “I did not wish for you to be reminded of sadness.”

“Nay, do not think you bring this out suddenly...  Do not think that I wish to burden you with such reminders.”

With a gentle shake of her head she refused to let him continue in that line.  “I only wish not to ignore those feelings, and neither to let them consume me.”

“Aye. There has been grief enough in our lives than to create more by dwelling on it.”

Arwen reached out and smoothed Elenna’s hair while she slept.  “I know my children cannot meet their grandmother, their grandfather…” She looked up. “But they have you, their uncles. And all our memories.”

He nodded, looking pensive.  “Indeed.”

Arwen was accustomed to conversations with her grandfather moving at a leisurely pace, but when he took a longer than usual pause, she began to wonder.

She hesitated for a moment. “Who are you thinking on, grandfather?”

Celeborn gave a melancholy smile.  “Is it so apparent?” 

He looked briefly at the window again, shifting in his seat. After a moment he stood and turned to the window.  Arwen could see his hands folded simply behind his back, a reflection of his contemplative face visible in the window pane.

“I know it has been only a matter of decades since she sailed, but still I must remind myself. She calls me, each day, despite the distance.  I know her presence is there, past that stretch of sea.  I keep waiting for the day when it will seem near enough to cross, but the distance does not lessen.”

Arwen wanted to go to him, to stand by him as he spoke, but at the same time, she knew it was her simple presence in the room that gave her grandfather the comfort he needed to speak of such matters.

Celeborn rubbed a few fingertips over his brow, which was knitted in concentration.  “How shall I go to her and leave this place, this land?” He nearly whispered.

“Your home.” Hearing his granddaughter’s response, he turned.  Arwen came to stand next to him, with the calm demeanor she had of her mother.  “I know. I feel the same.”

“We must be where our hearts lie,” said the elf-lord quietly, simply, as if providing a conclusion to a series of unspoken questions.  “But my heart was here in Middle-Earth, even before it belonged to my wife. This I have always known, and so has she.” Celeborn sighed, but smiled kindly. “And yet in time I will make peace with the departure, because I cannot do without her. As I know you have made peace with your own choice.”

Something caught in Arwen’s throat suddenly, and she found herself unable to respond. 

“Ai, there, now,” said Celeborn gently, placing a reassuring hand behind her shoulder.  “Now I have reminded you of sadness also.  Forgive a foolish old elf.”

“Nay, grandfather,” Arwen said softly, smiling despite the sudden dampness of her eyes. She put her arms around him and he did the same. “You have reminded me where my heart lies also. And it is at peace.”

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At what felt like an altogether too early hour of the morning, Mírra woke to feel something shaking her shoulder.  Only after a few moments of bleariness did Lúthea’s voice come into clarity.

“Mírra!  Come on, will you get up?”

“Mrrrffhl,” she protested.

“But you’ve nearly missed breakfast already.”

“So?  There is nothing for me to do today anyway,” she told the pillow.

“Yes there is.”

Mírra blinked once or twice before opening her eyes a little.  “Just what would that be?”

“Get up and I shall show you.”  Lúthea smiled.

The older princess buried her face in her pillow again and drew the covers closer around her.  “Still not time to get up yet.  Nice in bed,” she murmured.

Lúthea stood next to the bed for a quiet moment.  Her eyes twinkled mischievously.  She reached out and with one swift motion, yanked the covers off the bed, leaving her sister only in her nightdress for warmth.

“Wha…!”  Mírra clutched at where her blankets used to be.  “What’s all this?”

“Come on,” Lúthea said smiling, a giggle bubbling up to her throat.  “Get up, I have to show you something.”

“Do I have a choice?”  Mírra yawned and rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

She was taken by the hand over to the window.  Lúthea pushed open the curtains.  What at first seemed a shock of brightness soon focused into a clear, light morning.  Everything Mírra could see outside was coloured white.

“Snow!”

Lúthea grinned.  “Shall we go out in it?”

Her sister grinned back.  “Of course.”

The scene in the hall outside was a far different one as the girls were preparing to emerge.

Already accustomed to the routine of Imladris, Eldarion had risen, dressed, finished breakfast, and was well into a conversation with his eldest uncle and great-grandfather by the time his sisters came looking for him.  Mírra and Lúthea rushed in with gleeful looks and pulled him out of his chair, hearing bemused laughing all the way.

“This is unfair,” the prince grinned. “I haven’t even dressed.”

His cloak was pushed over his shoulders by a determined pair of hands. “I do not see how so,” Mírra replied. “You’re the one who’s been trained to fight, after all.”

Eldarion smirked. “So you mean to ambush me.”

“Naturally,” she grinned back.

On cue, a snowball came flying past his ear.  Looking in the direction it came from, Lúthea stood giggling, already forming another ball in her mittened hands.

“Right then.” Eldarion cleared his throat. “You’re going to have to better than that, ladies.”

Mírra laughed.  She had enough time to drop a handful of icy cold snow down her brother’s back before making a quick getaway.

The three siblings chased each other around the courtyard, leaving smudged footprints over the white-covered ground.  Their black and silver cloaks quickly became dusted with snow as one gentle hit after another made contact.

They had forgotten how long they had been out, when eventually Lúthea skidded to a halt in front of the courtyard entrance, narrowly missing Elladan.  She looked every inch the culprit of the event, complete with unkempt hair and a grin fixed to her frost-nipped cheeks.

“If you three are still in one piece,” he said wryly, “You may come and greet the visitors.”

Lúthea remained still and caught her breath.  “Guests? Who?”

Elladan’s bemused expression remained unchanged.  “A friend of your uncle’s.  A close one.”

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The arrival of Elrohir’s friend was marked with little outward formality. It was rather the change in her brother’s demeanour that told Arwen this was a guest of some importance, since all other signs indicated she was already familiar with the customs of Imladris.

When Arwen realized the lady in question was familiar to her also, she felt both reassured and intrigued, and at the afternoon meal, the Queen was pleased to greet the guest.

“Mîrlinde,” she smiled warmly, taking the elf-lady’s hand.  “What a pleasant surprise to meet you here.”

They exchanged kisses on both cheeks.  “I have not seen you in years, not since before you were married,” said Mîrlinde, recollecting.  She was nearly equal to Arwen in height, with the same dark hair as their Noldorin kin.  The grey eyes were calm.

“I suppose it has been that long,” Arwen answered with some surprise, recalling the last time she had made the elf-lady’s acquaintance.  “Are you quite settled from your journey?”

She smiled. “Most comfortable, thank you.”  The two ladies took adjacent seats at the table.  Mírra sat down nearby with her youngest sister.

After a few moments they watched Elenna leave her sister’s lap, and ran to where Aragorn was standing chatting with a handful of elf-lords, Elrohir among them.

“Four children already,” Mîrlinde shook her head, “how exhausted you must be!”

“Only at moments,” Arwen chuckled, blushing a little, “I would not trade them for anything.”

“They are enjoying their stay here?”

The Queen nodded. “Very much, I think.  It is so different from the South, and I’m so glad they can come to know their family in this part of the country.”

Mîrlinde listened attentively, her voice friendly. “Your brother has been telling me of the White Mountains, in Gondor. It sounds like quite a lovely country.”

“That it is.”  Arwen caught Aragorn’s eye, from where he now stood across the room.  He gave her a wink, as if to say he knew full well that the two women would have much to discuss over the course of the day and evening.  “Tell me, have you come to Imladris often?”

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“Still awake after such festivities, muindor?”  teased the Queen of Gondor.

“I could ask the same of you, mell-muinthel,” responded the Lord of Imladris, with a raised eyebrow.

Arwen rested a hand on her hip. 

“Alright then.  You caught my eye a number of times tonight, but I never could find you alone to talk with, even for a moment.” She cocked her head toward him curiously.  “What is it?”

Elrohir’s expression carefully revealed nothing, but the corners of his mouth curled just slightly.

“You and Mîrlinde seemed to have a pleasant discussion, today.”

“We did indeed,” Arwen replied with a nod.  She pursed her lips, suppressing a smile as she considered her brother’s own bemused expression.  “You have seen much of her these last years, I gather?”

“I have.”   There was a discernible glimmer in Elrohir’s eye as he responded.  “In fact we have become… rather close, recently.”

Arwen took a seat on one of the benches that framed the courtyard, but she looked calmly toward her brother while she continued the conversation.

“There were only a few times this evening, when she spoke of you in particular.  But when she did, it was with fondness.”

She thought there was a slight flush in Elrohir’s face, but again it was carefully masked.  The elf-lord came and joined her on the bench, and Arwen saw him toying with a small box between his hands.

“What do you think of her?  Truly.”

“She is lovely, Elrohir,” Arwen smiled.  “I like her very much.  And you do as well, evidently, or you would not have held her so close while dancing this evening.” 

She gave her brother a nudge with her elbow as she finished.  Elrohir chuckled, still looking down at the object at his fingertips.

“I do care for Mîrlinde,” he said softly, before straightening and turning calm grey eyes to his sister.  “I am relieved to hear your opinion of her, for it makes what I am about to do much easier indeed.”

Lifting the lid of the box, he passed it to Arwen, to show her the contents.  She should not have been surprised to see the two silver rings, but even still, she could not help drawing in a soft breath.

“How long have you had these?” she asked after a moment of silent appreciation.

“The better part of a year.”

Arwen dropped her jaw, exaggerating her surprise to tease her brother.  “And you are still holding on to them?  What in Arda are you waiting for?”

“Well, the chance to speak with you about it, I suppose,” Elrohir answered simply.

“You do not mean to ask for my consent?”

“Not exactly.  But I cannot very well ask naneth or adar…”

“I suppose not,” said Arwen quietly.  He was right of course.

“I realise how different things are, now,” Elrohir continued, “but I would not dream of venturing into such a commitment, without approval from you and Elladan.  Time seems too precious, somehow.”

“You are right,” Arwen replied, closing the lid of the box, and handing it back to Elrohir, “Time does seem too precious now.  And for that reason you should waste no time in placing that ring on Mîrlinde’s finger.”

Elrohir shook his head, grinning.  “I will not, I assure you.”  He stole a sidelong glance at his sister, holding up the box again.  “I don’t suppose you have any thoughts on how I should best give her this?” 

“I would not know, I never received a silver ring,” Arwen said with a coy smile, “For that, you are on your own.”

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Author's Note: I'm relieved to post this chapter in much better time than the last one! A thousand thanks to everyone who's reviewed - it's been a huge support to have you folks reading and commenting along the way. :)

Thank you once again to Nemis for the beta, for the loan of Mîrlinde, and for the coaching that fuels my muse.

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Chapter 26 – Home, Part 2

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"You will rise from bed at some point today, I hope?"

Aragorn heard his wife's wry voice well, but neglected to open his eyes. There came a muffled, unintelligible reply, as he pressed his face deeper into the pillow. Light, teasing fingers tickled over the warm skin of his back, making him smile despite himself.

"You and Mírra are conspiring together against a schedule, I deem," Arwen said with a gently teasing tone. She tried again, a little more calmly. "The day is already started, mellwain."

The King shifted to rest his other cheek against the pillow. "I conspire at nothing. Simply at present I find it too warm to move."

"Not even to go for a walk with me?"

"Hmm." Aragorn considered his wife's offer, blinking his eyes lazily open.

"We might go alone, I'm sure the children are well occupied."

One side of his mouth stretched ever so slightly in a smile. "Perhaps to the falls?"

Arwen raised an eyebrow, smiling back at him. "It would be cooler by the water, no doubt."

"No doubt."

For a moment they regarded each other in delightful silence, before Aragorn wrapped an arm about Arwen's waist, pulling her down to lie beside him.

"You accept my proposal, then?"

"I do."

"Then what are we still doing here in bed?"

He winked, resting a hand comfortably on her hip. "Perhaps simply considering the alternatives."

His wife chuckled, stealing a kiss. She began to rise, tugging him with her. "Come."

The walk to the falls seemed much longer than Arwen had remembered it. Perhaps the heat of the summer day clouded her perception. A haze had settled over the day, growing heavier with the height of the sun. But it was the eventual promise of relief from the heat that drew them so far from the shade of the house.

Aragorn looked up from his newly stabilized position from the pool of water, to where his wife was undressing at the ledge above. She called down to him.

"How does the water feel?"

"About as cold as I remember it."

He let his arms drift out to his sides and turned his face up to the sky. The water was indeed cold, but the summer sun flooded the air with intense warmth. He floated calmly for a few moments.

"Join me!"

Arwen slipped her gown from her shoulders, let it fall to her feet, and stepped out of it. After leaping surely off the stone, her pointed toes were the first part of her body to hit the water.

She surfaced and smoothed slick hair off her face. Treading water, Aragorn smiled easily as she swam over to him. He drew her to him, felt her shiver a little.

"Somehow I don't remember it being this cold." His body, though, was still warm, she noticed.

"I shall warm you, then."

He kissed her once, placing his hands at her sides. Their embrace was precarious, as they tried to keep above the water's surface.

Smiling, Arwen released herself from his hold and swam out a little farther. She reached down and dove, touching the stony bottom before she came up for air. She repeated the motion a few more times before surfacing a final time, and finding her bearings again, saw Aragorn stroking towards her.

"Do you think that space is still there, behind the falls?"

He nodded in the direction of the falling water. Looking over at the object of his glance, she smiled slyly.

"Not the same one?"

The subtlest expression of mischief appeared on his face. "Do you remember it?"

He saw her cheeks flush as she replied. "I remember what we did there."

Her hand found his as they treaded water. Aragorn led her closer to the small waterfall. Simultaneously they drew breath, and resurfaced on the other side.

Arwen found the ledge first, and rested her back against it as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She could feel his pulse racing in his throat.

"Feels the same to me."

His lips were on hers as he steadied them against the rock. "You're not shivering anymore."

As if to challenge his statement, Arwen let out a shiver of pleasure as she next felt his breath on her throat. She smoothed wet locks of hair off his face, feeling her own breathing grow ragged.

"Not quite." She kissed him again, hooked her ankles around his waist. "Now, lover… Warm me."

After leaving the water, the pair found a place to rest in the shade of an elm tree, near the waterside. For modesty they partially dressed again, Aragorn in his trousers, and Arwen in her shift, but in the still-present heat of the afternoon those few garments were all they could manage.

The King sat back against the trunk of the elm, eyelids resting closed, his wife lying comfortably against him. Arwen set her head in the crook of his shoulder, relaxed. Absently, she walked two fingertips over his leg, up over his hip. Smiling slightly, Aragorn found her hand and brought it to his lips briefly, before finally opening his eyes.

"Content, meleth-nîn?" he asked gently.

Arwen set an arm around him and drew herself close. "Very much so." She pressed her lips to his chest and settled against him again. "Forty-six years ago it was."

"Almost to the day." Aragorn held her at the small of her back, becoming absorbed in her company. "A different Age it was, then." He watched her thoughtful face somewhat curiously, tucked a slightly damp piece of hair behind her ear. "What are you thinking?"

Arwen did not answer at first, only played her fingertips over his chest for a moment. "The time in the beginning… those first years with you." She turned her face upward toward his. There was a flush on her cheek. "I think I had expected it to lessen, the need I felt for you. Not the love, of course. The desire for your body."

The corners of his mouth slowly curled, eyes sparkling. "Honestly?"

Arwen shrugged, looking pensive. "I had always been taught that, among my people, those desires faded over time. I suppose I expected we would have a child, perhaps two, and then…" Her voice trailed off, smiling a little. "Well… I do not know what I expected then." She released a small laugh, wondering at the expression on his face. "You've become far too quiet, herven."

Aragorn's chest quivered as a deep chuckle came from within. "I see I spent far too much time away from Minas Tirith, indeed…"

He received a playful slap on the shoulder in return. Grinning, he drew both arms around her. "I am not sure what I expected either, to be honest. But then, I do not know if I imagined anything to begin with. I was happy enough to simply be with you, when before I could not."

Arwen reached up for his cheek, brushing her thumb across his beard. "We could have gambled so much, you and I. Not knowing what would happen."

"Nay…" Aragorn shook his head slightly. "You were the one thing I was sure of, in all that passed." He tilted his forehead to hers. "Though I wandered, I was never lost, with you to guide me."

Thoughtfully she traced the outline of his lips with the tip of her index finger. "Such control you always kept, with others… your uncertainty you kept for me."

"If there was any left, it vanished forty-six years ago." He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I keep only good things for you now."

"As I still keep the strength for you." She brought her lips nearer to his as he clutched her, welcoming the caress of his breath.

Aragorn held her face, the back of her neck, moving his hands over her pale skin that began to grow flushed.

"Im mil le, herven…"

With gentle urgency her fingertips traveled down his body, bringing his voice quickly to a whisper as garments were once again pulled away.

"Always, tinuviel-nîn… Always."

While some members of the household took indoors for shade, others found comfort in the slight breeze outdoors. So had the oldest princess done, taking up a seat in the fragrant garden next to the northern terrace.

While earlier in the season she and Eldarion had taken time for longer excursions and ventured farther into the valley, more recently Mírra found herself wanting quieter pursuits. Now that they had been in the north for almost a year, she found herself thinking more and more on what she had left behind to the south.

She was concentrating so carefully on the letter she was reading, that she did not even see Mîrlinde approach. Mírra looked up with a start as she finally noticed her.

"Forgive me," said the elf-lady calmly, "I do not mean to disturb your solitude…"

"No, please, it's alright." The princess spoke hurriedly, a little embarrassed. "My head was somewhere else."

Mîrlinde gave a thoughtful smile as she noticed the paper in Mírra's hand. "Or with someone else?

Mírra's cheeks warmed. "Aye, perhaps so."

The two women sat. "I came to tell you that tea is served shortly, indoors. But the garden is refreshing also." Mîrlinde spoke easily, without haste in her voice. It was something Mírra had noticed often here, among her mother's kin. No action was hurried without need. "So then," she asked kindly, "you have a suitor?"

Mírra nodded. "His name is Doran. He is a man of Gondor, and is a shepherd, and keeps horses also."

As she spoke she felt the inadequacy of this description. For Doran was all of those things… but it was not all she knew of him.

Mîrlinde saw her hesitate, and tried a different line. "How does he write?"

"Briefly." Mírra relinquished the word firmly, but still managed to convey doubt. "There are barely two hundred words to put together from greeting to farewell. I do not know what to make of it. He must surely tire of the task of writing to me."

The elf-lady's brow knitted into attentive creases. "But what does he tell you?"

Mírra absently ran a fingertip over the edge of the letter, making the paper curl. "His family is well. His little boy is grown taller, he says, since the winter. The horses are well, but his youngest mare has been lamed… He says his sister sends regards." She searched the words for a moment longer. "At the last he says he thinks of me, and bids me safe journey south."

"He tells you of his life, of the people closest to him." Mîrlinde's eyes were calm. "I think this is the sort of letter I often write to Elrohir, when I am at my home and he is here."

This seem to set Mírra at ease somewhat, and some of the tension left her face. "You've known my uncle a long while?"

Mîrlinde nodded. "A good while. I first came to Imladris long before the War of the Ring began. But Elrohir and I have only become close in recent years."

"And did… did you always know you would be married to him?"

She paused reflectively. "I cannot remember exactly, when I knew. But at some point there came a day when I had to leave, and was without him, and I regretted it. I realised I was happier with him than without."

Mírra nodded, smiling a little to herself. "There have been many moments like that, for me, but then I wonder now if they are what I think." Her smile faded slightly, and she sighed. "He came to ask for my hand. My father… my parents, they preferred that I wait."

Mîrlinde did not seem surprised by this. "They wish to give you time, I deem." The princess looked up. She had not thought of it in that way. Mîrlinde tilted her head inquisitively. "Why do you regret this time apart?" Her question was simple.

"At first it felt unkind, as though my parents did not understand me, or him. And now that I am apart from him, I begin to question things."

"But you write, yes?"

Mírra nodded. "As often as I've been able to. And he replies, but…" She hesitated slightly, thinking through her response. "He isn't as good with words. When he speaks, he chooses them carefully… says little but means so much." Mírra looked down at her paper, her voice growing quiet. "Except now the separation means there is no other choice but to write. Some part of me fears once we meet there will be nothing to say, and all the words will be used up, because they've put on paper without a chance to be spoken. And risk that in the meantime we might grow apart."

Mîrlinde saw her unease, but could not help a small smile, something touching recognition. "I think I felt the effect of love before I knew that it was love. And some part of the anxiety you have now."

"You didn't know what to say to Elrohir?"

The elf-lady rested her cheek in her hand reflectively. "In the time I've known him, I think we've spent more time apart than together. Well, perhaps not recently." She cast Mírra a small grin, knowing the meaning was clear. "I used to imagine conversations with him. Wonder how next we would meet. Prepare myself for all possibilities."

The princess began to look a little unsettled. "To better meet his expectations?"

"No, that is just it. When I was apart from him, it was always harder to be sure. But when I was in his company again, those worries disappeared."

Mírra sat back. "I wish I could have that certainty now. I do not know what is worse… this feeling of doubt, or the fear that my doubts are not unfounded."

Mîrlinde took her hand and squeezed it lightly. "I have not been on this Arda for as many years as your mother, but this is one thing I can tell you. However you feel for this man, you will know it in time. But in order to know it, you must take the necessary time. Because in time, you will also grow to know yourself. And so become the better to know him."

Mírra listened, and turned her eyes to the letter again. When she looked up again she was calmer. "Your words are reassuring. Thank you."

The elf-lady nodded with a smile. "I'm glad."

Chewing her lip for a moment, the princess was thoughtful. "Perhaps I shall stay out a while longer, if my company is not missed for the afternoon."

"Ah, do take the time you need." Mîrlinde nodded again as Mírra thanked her and rose.

As the princess wandered at a slow pace through the gardens, Mîrlinde turned back to the house, just in time to meet Elrohir, on his way to find her. Her expression made plain that she was pleased to find him again. He slipped an arm about her waist, standing with the closeness that could be afforded by privacy.

"Is all well?" He wondered a little as Mírra strayed along the garden path, eventually settling down to sit back against an elm tree, eyes still fixed on the paper.

Mîrlinde watched the same, but noticed what Elrohir did not, a trace of a telling smile on the princess's face as she became immersed again in the letter.

"Well indeed. I believe she is only catching up on important reading."

Mirlinde caught her betrothed's hand in his. As she looked down she saw the now familiar silver ring settled comfortably on his index finger, and smiled.

It was getting to be the last few days of the royal family's visit, and Arwen found herself becoming aware of all the details that had been left to the last minute. The packing had barely begun. The journey south was only partially decided. She needed her husband for reassurance.

She had looked in every room, every hall, and had even asked a servant to check the gardens. It did not even occur to her to look in the hall of portraits – when she found Aragorn there it was by chance, in passing inside from the terrace.

When she saw where he was seated, the details of travel left her mind, for her husband was clearly occupied with something weightier.

The woman in the portrait across from him was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She was shown on canvas as she was happiest; before she was concerned with the darker days of the Third Age. Her hair was dark as was common for the Dunedain. Arwen found herself recognizing some of her husband's features, in this likeness of his mother.

As she took a seat next to Aragorn he remained quiet in reflection, but took her hand, and squeezed it.

"Your mother was a lovely woman."

At this, Aragorn smiled a little.

"She always felt… safe here. But I do not think it was ever quite… I believe that was why she did not stay, toward the end."

Arwen nodded gently. "I remember how she spoke of her own country. It was dear to her."

Aragorn looked at the painting for a moment more, then bowed his head.

"So many years I spent alone, away from her, away from you. I could say, 'Things should have been different,' but it does not change the past. It does not change what I needed to do." At another time his words would have seemed confident, but at this moment they betrayed well-concealed regret.

"She was proud of you, and would be even more so today."

This relieved a part of his melancholy. He sighed slowly, his voice hushed. "How I wish she could have lived to see what passed."

"Would you take it all back, if you could?"

For a long moment, he did not speak.

"No. Perhaps not. I only wish… it could have been different. I wish… I had not needed to say too many farewells to her."

At this, his jaw tightened as he swallowed once, in a moment of emotion. Arwen saw Aragorn close his eyes, knowing he would say no more, and did not need to.

In the back of the study, Lúthea was seated in the window, knees pulled up to her chest. She had been dressed for the journey since the very early hours of the morning, but had only just put on her sable cloak and gloves. Her parents and uncles were making the last few preparations before they set out for the south, the belongings at last packed.

Lúthea knew her family would be gathering to make last farewells in only a few minutes, but she did not want to wait out on the terrace. She wanted to be here, where she could look out at the garden, and be with the things she was most reluctant to part with. In the corner of her grandfather's study, she could almost hide.

She was so silent that when she heard a voice at the door, she almost jumped.

"Here you are after all," said Elladan, stepping quietly around the last bookshelf. "Your parents would almost have left you behind," he said in gentle jest.

Lúthea replied softly, smiling a little. "They never would."

Soon enough Elladan saw her smile fade, and she turned her face away, resting her cheek on her knee.

"Muinthel-iell?" He put his hand behind her shoulder. "It is time to make ready."

Lúthea swallowed a lump in her throat, her reply muffled. "I don't want to go yet."

"Ah, come now…" Elladan put his arm around his niece's shoulders, comfortingly. She blinked a few times, her chin trembling slightly. "Truth be told, I shall be reluctant to see you go also. It has been a far different year, with you here." He waited a few moments as Lúthea settled. "But in truth also, I shall be disappointed for you not to return to Gondor."

The princess looked up, confused. "You will?"

Elladan smiled kindly. "Aye. For how else would I have an excuse to visit."

Lúthea was cheered by this. Her cheeks reddened, especially as she saw Arwen enter. She did not want her mother to see her upset.

The Queen held out a hand to her daughter. "The horses are ready, I am told. Ada and Mírra have made sure."

Lúthea nodded. "I'm ready too." She turned to say farewell to her uncle, and put her arms around him in thanks.

The elf-lord returned the hug from his niece. "Imladris will always be here when you need it." Elladan met his sister's eyes briefly, and she caught the meaning of his words. "Whenever you need it."

Arwen smiled, her eyes clear. "We shall all of us remember it."

Lúthea parted, and took her mother's hand. Arwen brushed the cuff of her sleeve briefly across her cheek, drying it.

"Come then," said the Queen. "Our travel awaits us."

The three made their way outside, for last farewells, and the journey south began.

Translations (Sindarin):

meleth-nîn: My love
Im mil le, herven: I love thee, husband
tinuviel-nîn: My nightingale
Muinthel-iell: Niece (lit. "sister-daughter")

Author’s Note: This chapter turned out much longer than anticipated, so I’ve split it into two parts.  The second part is written except for just one or two scenes, and will be posted within the week!

Much thanks again to Nemis for the beta reading.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 27 – A Long Expected Meeting

* * * * * * * * * *

Some weeks after leaving Rivendell, a small party of the Royal family of Gondor crossed the last remaining stretch of the Plains of Rohan.  As the City of the Rohirrim came into view, the travellers were relieved to know their journey would soon be broken. 

Aragorn and Arwen had decided that after travelling south as far as the rivers would take them, Edoras would be an ideal stopping place before the return to their own city.  It would be an opportunity to reacquaint with the Lord Eomer after so much time in the north, and make for Lúthea’s and Elenna’s first visit there.

As the last few days of riding approached, they divided the small company in two to complete the remaining distance on horse back.  Aragorn and Mirra had set out ahead first, allowing the rest of the family to follow at a more leisurely pace.

Upon finally making the last ride, and being escorted to the famed stables of the Rohirrim, Eldarion could not tell, between his mother and his two youngest sisters, who was more relieved to have finally arrived.  They had had more than enough help along the way to keep Elenna occupied, but a cross-country journey had pushed the limits of the three-and-a-half-year-old’s temper, as well as their mother’s characteristic reserve.  The Queen was shown quickly inside to quarters, with the little girl, leaving the prince and Lúthea to follow.

The other princess dismounted eagerly but slowly, finding her now somewhat gangly legs a little shaky upon finding firm ground again.  She could not help a wary feeling that her mount was just as thankful to have the journey concluded as she was. Collecting herself, she rubbed a hand over her eyes and cheek.

“How do you and Mírra do this?” she said, blinking, looking up to Eldarion.

The prince chuckled good-naturedly and put a fraternal arm around her shoulders.  “Ah, it takes practice. You did well though, you did. It’s not a short distance we’ve come.”

Lúthea managed an ironic expression.  “So I knew when we left…  What I didn’t know was how I’d feel at the end of it.”

“Becoming an armchair traveller, are you?”

She shook her head and laughed lightly. “Maybe so.”

As their belongings were collected by the attendants, brother and sister made their way from the main stables.  Just as they left, the princess royal found them.

“At last!”  Mírra took the last few steps down the sloping path into the stables at a comfortably quick pace.  She smiled warmly and embraced her sister, then her brother.  “I’ve been wondering when you’d arrive… it’s far too quiet here with only father and I.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” said Eldarion as they made their way toward the Golden Hall.

“No? He and Lord Eomer are in no shortage of points of discussion. Only, they are all political.  When they are not about the Great War, that is.”

His sister answered wryly, but Eldarion seemed interested to hear it.  “Really? Do you know what about? Are they drafting a paper, or is it the Rohirrim company?”

Mírra’s expression was enough to indicate the small likelihood of her providing Eldarion with a response.  “You’ve been here all of one minute and already you want to talk of business?”

The prince grinned.  “Of course.”

She smirked back in jest. “I think Elrohir was a bad influence on you.”

Standing between her siblings, Lúthea chuckled quietly.  Mírra cast a sidelong glance at her sister, remembering the length of the journey they had just completed.

“There should still be time before the evening meal, if you need to get settled in?  I can show you the way.”

Lúthea brightened, feeling more comfortable in the company of her full family again.  “That sounds perfect.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Better?”

“So very much...”

Aragorn settled an arm around his wife, now reacquainting after the newly arrived party had settled.  Arwen sat close and leaned into him cup of tea in hand.

He brushed his lips across her hair.  “Was the remainder of the journey too difficult?”

“Well, I would not say that…,” said the Queen, bringing the cup to her lips, “But the next time we propose a cross-country trip with a child who is just shy of her fourth birthday, I will offer you the chance to escort her.”

Aragorn kissed her forehead.  “Ah, I shall make it up to you, and Elenna, I promise it.”

He moved his lips to her cheek, lower.  Arwen tilted her head back and kissed his mouth once, then again. 

“She will like that,” she smiled gently. “All things considered, she did very well.  And I think Eldarion was very much a good influence on Lúthea, for she did not take as easily to it all.”

Hearing this, Aragorn sighed a little regretfully. “I had hoped she would get more accustomed to it.”

Arwen watched his face carefully.  She rested her hand on his thigh, and squeezed gently. “Ah, it is only the weak complaints of weary travellers from a two week ride, and foolish at that. For it was a good year, and a good experience to give all of the children, and they are glad of it.”

The King tilted his head down, lightly meeting his wife’s forehead.  “You always reassure me.”

She smiled kindly, and touched his face, and kissed him again.

After setting her cup on the table, Arwen settled in more comfortably next to her husband. “Have your days here with Mírra been well?”

Aragorn rested an arm around her waist, and as he gave a slight pause, Arwen could tell he was considering his answer. 

“I think so. She was somewhat quiet on the journey here, and I was unsure why.  Here at Edoras, she seems more content, but a little restless. But, now that you’ve arrived, she may brighten a little.”

Arwen gave this some thought, and nodded. “I think so, but…” She sighed a little. “Well, we both know what has been on her mind for the last year, and I’m sure it has not changed.”

Meeting his wife’s eyes, Aragorn nodded.  “Aye.”

“She has not spoken more on the matter?”  Arwen asked tentatively.

He shook his head. “To me she says little on it… She is not as comfortable with me, discussing such matters, I think.”

“I…” She began, absently stroked his beard with a fingertip.  “I believe there is part of her that hesitates now.  Now she has been given the time to consider it.”

Aragorn let out a breath. This was ground they had covered in many previous conversations. “As perhaps it should be. This is not a decision to be made without such consideration.”

“No.”  Arwen let her eyes drop.  She sighed silently, rubbing her thumb against her palm.  “I have asked her about it, often when we were at Rivendell, but only gently. She says little, but is thinking on it a great deal. She would spend days composing letters, and even more time considering his letters to her.”

Aragorn’s face was still, lips pursed in thought.  He rose and passed a hand over his forehead, crossing slowly to the desk.  Arwen watched him, wondering if this conversation would conclude unresolved, like so many others had. 

He carefully turned a few papers over. “Even with the distance of the past year, they continue their correspondence, and so they have only been separated in company.”  Finishing his sentence, he glanced back at his wife.  “It is this she must miss, certainly.”

Arwen nodded gently, with a rueful smile.  “She was most affected when he departed the city last year.  As affected by his visit, it seems.”

The King did not make verbal agreement or disagreement, but made the same brief nod in return, and rubbed his beard as he found the right paper among the contents of the desk.  He returned to the sofa and passed it to Arwen without explanation.  As she read it he watched her expression, waiting for her response.

After a moment, she looked up in wordless surprise.

Aragorn answered the question she had not voiced.  “He is here for the market, and will be for the next week. I did not wish to send it without agreement with you.” 

Something started to dawn on her.  “Was this on your mind, when you arranged for a stay here at Edoras?”

He did not answer immediately, but gradually revealed a curious, gentle smile.  “Perhaps in part.”

Arwen knew how long it had taken for him to come around to this matter. She took her husband’s hand.  “You know how pleased you will make Mírra?”

Aragorn let out a breath.  “They will have… much to discuss.”

She reached up and took his cheeks in her hands, and kissed him, a flush of excitement on her face.  “You’ve done a good thing, meleth-nîn.”

He kissed her back, and was heartened.

* * * * * * * * * *

Looking back later, Doran was never sure how he made it through the entire market, that day. He attended to every matter as he was accustomed, spoke with traders as he always did, shook the hands of men whose faces he immediately forgot.  Today, the chaos of the crowd, that so often set him ill at ease, fell away. The only thought his mind was able to hold on to was the meeting, this afternoon.

He had heard the King of Gondor was here when he arrived at Edoras, but not the princess also.  Then he had received the letter, and suddenly the idea of speaking with his lady in person, not only on paper, was no longer a concept in the abstract.

Her last letter had been nearly two months ago. Since responding, he had gone over his own reply so many times, feeling sure, just like the other times, that he had not said enough, or had not expressed himself as he should have.  Mírra’s words were always so composed. She had always so much to tell him, and the details of his life seemed so trivial by comparison.

He wondered if Mírra would meet him outside. Would they sit and talk? Or perhaps the King would wish a meeting together also.  He did not know what to expect.  In his correspondence with the princess they had spoken only of their own lives, what had happened in each other’s absence, but never of the question that had been unresolved at their last parting.

Climbing the steps to the hall, he made a note in his mind for the hundredth time to thank Doreth for her insistence that he pack an extra good tunic, just “in case.”  He tugged at the collar for a moment, and smoothed the sleeves.

Upon reaching the hall, an attendant met him, and all he had to do was wait – but for what, he did not know what to expect.

* * *

Mírra’s nerves were so on edge that her sister’s soft tap on the door was enough to make her jump just slightly in her seat.  She looked up expectantly as Lúthea flitted over to her, unfolding her closed palms to show her sister what they contained.

“This necklace is naneth’s, but she did not mind for me to borrow it,” she explained, holding out a chain of small lavender stones, “And also this one, but it is a little plainer, perhaps.”

Mírra took up the second necklace, a pendant of garnet.  She caught her lower lip in between her teeth, considering it.  “It is more what I would wear usually, but…” She reached for the amethyst chain. “This one has more weight, it seems more… more fitting for the occasion, maybe.”

Mírra thought that she had never spent so much time fretting over her appearance, than she had today.  She had to look right for him, just right.

Lúthea took up the second necklace and helped her to put it on.  Her face showed visible excitement, unlike her sister’s.  When she spoke her voice was light and cheerful.

“You look so lovely, Mírra, no doubt he will hardly know what to say when he sees you.”

The older princess gave a nervous laugh. “Nay, I hope not… surely it is what I am afraid of.”

“Ah, never…” Lúthea smiled supportively. “You have not seen each other for so long, you will have so much to say, for certain.”

Mirra tugged a few times at the cuffs of her sleeves. Her fingers kept reaching absently for the jewels about her neck. She took a slow breath in and out again. “I hope that will be so…”

Earlier today, when her father had told her Doran was at Edoras, she had been so excited, and then nervous, and then the anxieties that had surfaced in Rivendell came over her again.  It had been so long. She had looked over his last few letters again, trying to get a sense of what she could expect.  He had spoken of ordinary things, and so had she – the events of the time they had missed since parting, an attempt to keep up on their separate lives.

Lúthea sat next to her sister again, observing her mannerisms with a little concern. “But you’ve been looking forward to seeing him for so long… I did not think you would be nervous now.”

When Doran had left Minas Tirith the previous year, Mírra had thought the day of their next meeting would never come soon enough.  The truth was that now that it had arrived, she realized how unprepared she was for it.

“Neither did I.” She became quiet again. “It is just… He saw something desirable in once, Lúthea, but after so much time apart, will he still see it now? What if he has changed, or I have?”

Lúthea was not sure what to say, for she had not experienced the things her sister had. She only knew what people wrote about love, not the feeling of it. 

She offered her sister her hand, and smiled hesitantly. “If there is still something there, you will know it, Mírra, I’m sure of it.”

Mírra gave her hand a squeeze in return, and ventured a smile.

There came then a knock at the door, as an attendant entered to bring message of Doran’s arrival. 

Mírra rose, feeling butterflies in her stomach. Lúthea gave a nod encouragingly, and she returned it.  As she followed the attendant with deliberately calm steps, she reminded herself for the hundredth time, simply to breathe. 

* * *

Doran stood still as the princess entered.  His feet felt heavy underneath him, his back straightened just a little more.

The year had not changed her appearance greatly, but there were differences he could still see in her.  She seemed to stand a little taller, walk with more grace.  He noticed that though her dress was plain, there were jewels about her neck, and he had not expected it.  In his mind, she was the lady who had woken in his sister’s house after the storm, the one who had no need for ornament to be beautiful to him.

Mírra turned to her guest.  Her throat was suddenly dry, and she did not know how properly to greet him. 

She set her eyes on Doran and stepped toward him, but there was a moment – only a moment, but painful in its awkwardness – where she hesitated. She paused within a few steps of him, trying to reacquaint the image of the man she remembered with the one who stood before her now.  It seemed so long ago now.

Doran was unsure how to greet her.  He wanted to put his hand out to her, but there was that careful distance between them. But she was a lady of the court, who deserved respect, and so he bowed, his stomach twisting into a knot as he did so.

This gesture took Mírra by surprise. She had hoped he would hold her. She placed one foot behind her and gave a very well-practiced curtsy. He rose with her. 

“My lord.”

“My lady.”

Mírra held her hands together at her waist, to keep them steady.  Her mind grasped for what would seem appropriate conversation. 

“Has the market been well today?”

She knew the question was wrong from the moment she asked it.  She had meant to ask about him, his family, his letters, anything… but they all came to her mind at once, and she chided herself for rushing.

Doran nodded kindly. “Indeed. The fine weather is good for trade.”  He clasped his hands behind his back, and made as though he would speak further but could not, unsure what she wanted to hear.  The familiarity he had felt before seemed out of reach.

There came a tentative smile on her lips, while she thought of how to proceed.  She held out an arm, gesturing to the courtyard beside them.  “Shall we walk, my lord?”

She showed him the way, but still remained just a few steps away, and Doran was not sure what it meant.  He nodded all the same.  “Certainly.”

They took measured paces.  He turned his eyes to her, then to the view in front of them when she did not immediately speak.

Doran cleared his throat as quietly as he could, and ventured conversation. “Your time in the north was well spent, then?”

She smiled, but her eyes seemed too bright to him.

“Oh… very well. It was such lovely country, and so different from Gondor. I should like to go back, some day.”  Mírra stopped herself. She felt as though her tongue was running away from her.  “And you? How fares your stable, the pasture?”

“Well.” He knew he had told her this already. It confused him why she would ask again.  “Two new mares, and Adair and I would like to extend the barn in the spring, and we will need to build.”

“Ah yes.” She smiled and nodded.

He had to ask. The silence seemed too unlike her. 

“My lady, is everything… alright?”

“I’m sorry, I…” She looked down, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know how to properly do this, to court someone.”

Doran paused, his feet stopping. For a moment his eyes turned down, and he looked away. This was only formality. His company was awkward to her, he realized.

He straightened again, his expression a careful mask. It they were to continue in such a way, he would save their clumsiness.  Looking down, he turned to face away from her, not knowing how to compose his words.

Mírra felt his gaze leave her, as she saw him turn.  Ai, why could she not start over, from the beginning, when she could have done it all right?

Without a thought she stepped forward and reached out, her hand touching his arm. It was the easiest action she had taken since she came to meet him, and the most urgent as well.

Without a thought she stepped forward and reached out, her hand touching his arm. It was the easiest action she had taken since she came to meet him, and the most urgent as well. All she could think of was how close she was to him, how very aware of his body she was, and how very much she wanted not to move.

“Please, Doran, don’t turn away. I don’t want you to.”

Her touch brought his gaze back to her again, and his eyes were tender and troubled.  He swallowed, and whispered, “I won’t.”

Doran raised his free hand to cover hers where it still lay on his sleeve.  The connection was so immediate, he felt as though if he breathed he would damage it.  Yet there it was, the contact that had been missing for so long. He felt a chill in her fingers, and tried to warm them.

She knew the affection in his gesture, and was comforted by it.  When she spoke she found her voice was quiet, without any of the composure she had shown in her writing. “I wanted… It’s been so long, I… I don’t want you to think I didn’t…”

Doran could not keep his eyes from hers now, and realized now how much uncertainty there had also been for Mírra in the last few moments, but had not been revealed to him.  “The words I wrote to you, they were too plain, I know… But it felt as though I was speaking with you, and you with me, as comfortable and easy as any thing I could do.  Did I imagine that feeling?”

There came a flush on Mírra’s cheeks, warm memories returning. She shook her head, a feeling of lightness coming over her. “No.”  

Doran still held her hand closely as though to steady her, but he found himself just as reassured by the touch.

“The year has felt so long, I did not know what you would think to see me, whether you would still even desire… what your decision…”

Mírra’s hands still held his arms, and she was anchored by him. “I wanted to reach for you, the first I saw you today…” Her grey eyes were wet.  “Forgive me.”

He saw her lips shake, and it pulled his heart. “I wanted to hold you, but you did not come near, and I was afraid it would press you, because I was not sure…” Doran broke off, tongue-tied. “Because I was afraid you…”

She waited for him to continue, but when he did not, prompted him tentatively.  “Afraid I…?”

Doran swallowed. “Afraid you no longer felt love for me.”

Mírra stopped still, her expression changing from uncertainty to surprise to relief.  A sudden tearful smile appeared on her face, and she reached up to touch his cheeks.  “I love you, Doran. I haven’t stopped.”

He wondered, then, if she had grown taller in the year they had spent away. For now, instead of meeting her on tiptoe, Doran had only to bend his head, and their lips met.

Mírra greeted him then as she should have from the start, by pressing her lips to his and kissing him deeply.  She felt his hands in her hair as he held her, and the shape of his body as she drew closer to him.

Doran broke once, finding air for a brief moment, and smiled against her lips before taking them again with his own. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, then full on the lips again until they both parted breathlessly once more. 

He rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.  Her hands had rested on his chest, and he took one, gently. Her fingers were trembling.

“I love you, Mírra.” The words came to him easily, as though they had been held back, now finally released.

She watched his face, knowing his relief.  This was the man she remembered. The one who had stolen a kiss when no one was looking, who had broken with her father and made a promise of himself. 

“I don’t know why I thought I had to act that way, to be so formal for you. I only wanted to act right.”

He spoke gently. “You don’t need to court me, for you already have me.”

She felt herself blush. “It could be that, when it comes to conversing in person, we are out of practice.”

Doran exhaled again, relaxing. “Practice makes perfect, so they often say.”

Mírra grinned and kissed him briefly again, almost in verification.  But now, there was no longer a need. 

She breathed deeply as he had, taking in his face, his presence, every small unspoken gesture in his eyes.  He remained silent, still, and she found herself blushing.  “What are you thinking?”

The soft creases at the corners of his eyes appeared as he smiled.  The hands that had held her now went to her hair, to the sides of her face.  “I am thinking, how beautiful you are.”

Her lips stretched wide in a smile, and all she could do was look back at him as her cheeks reddened.  The twist of tension in her stomach had gone. She felt relief, and more. Pleasant hope. Quiet excitement.

Gently she flitted her fingers over his shoulders, his chest, his face.  “You’re here,” she whispered eagerly, meeting his eyes again, “Here with me.”

Doran’s smile widened then, watching how she ducked her head even as she could not keep her eyes from his.  He smoothed his wide palm down over her hairline, brushing his thumb across her skin.  She wasn’t a voice on paper. Now, she was tangible. 

Sensing the closeness, Mírra blushed further, feeling giddy with the lightness in her heart.

He touched her lips, and his brown eyes brightened.  “I won’t turn away.”

The princess reached her arms up and around his neck, raising herself on the tip of her toes to hold him.  Without hesitation Doran wrapped his arms about her, so securely that she was lifted gently off her feet, and held her as though he would never let go.

The conclusion to Chapter 27, but not the conclusion to the whole fic just yet. *g* There will still be just a few chapters to come, but they should be properly happy and fluffy now.

I'm not sure how many people are still reading, but if you are I would love to hear from you in a review. :)

Hope you enjoy!

~ RR

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 28 – You Have Only to Ask

* * * * * * * * * *

The country of Rohan offered far fewer forests than Gondor, in which to spend an afternoon’s walk.  Edoras, though, was surrounded enough with markets and sloping streets that Mírra and Doran could find ample location for a private outing.  They went with the easy pace of two people whose attention could be captured just as well by their own company, as the bustle of the crowds around them.

Mírra turned over a cloth-wrapped parcel in her hands as she walked close beside Doran.  “Will this be right for Nolan, then?”

Doran watched her face, seeing how she thought intently on the purchase.  It made him smile inwardly. “He will be very happy to have it, certainly.”

“He wouldn’t prefer a toy instead, a small game over a book?”

Doran gave a light shrug.  “He is interested in fewer toys than when he was smaller… something to read would be fine for the age he is now.”

Mírra relaxed.  “My oldest sister became much interested in history when she was Nolan’s age.  I thought he might enjoy the same.”  She had chosen a small volume about Gondor, which included several illustrations, and pieces of description about each major town and outpost along the White Mountains. 

“Aye. Since seeing your city last year, he has grown curious about the country. Nolan will be happy to have something from you.”

Mírra’s expression warmed greatly.

Doran held a comfortable distance at her side and, finding himself slipping naturally into the proper gestures for the company of a female companion, always putting himself between the princess and the crowd of the street. He was used to keeping his eyes just low enough not to draw attention, but with the princess by his side, this became a different matter.  He was not used to pausing, and seeing gentlefolk nod to him in greeting.

“There,” he said to Mírra after the third time, “That gentleman, he purchased two colts from me last summer.”

At first she did not know what he meant. “He must have been pleased then, for he remembers you now.”

Doran shook his head lightly.  “He greets me because I am with you.”

“Ah…” Mirra began to understand. “I confess I’ve grown accustomed to it. At home in the city, it often happens when I go out to the markets, especially with Eldarion or naneth or adar.”  To Doran, she appeared thoughtful, but her cheeks reddened just a touch.  “I suppose I hadn’t noticed it now, because I’ve only been thinking about walking with you.”

She saw the familiar creases appear at the corners of his eyes, as he smiled more openly.  His voice quieted, conveying both courtesy and affection. “You do me an honour, lady.”

Mírra’s heart lightened undeniably.  As they continued to walk together a pleasant silence fell over their conversation.  Almost as an afterthought, Mírra drew her sable shawl up, and wrapped her hair and shoulders, cloaking herself more completely.

Doran was not sure what it meant, the added concealment, but he could not help wonder if it was his presence that hindered her.

“But you need not cover yourself… folk will not see you for who you are.”

“Nay, perhaps not,” Mírra said softly, her gaze growing tender as she looked back to him. “But they will see I am with you.”  She set her hand in the crook of Doran’s elbow, and he was reassured.  “And that is just enough.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The afternoon was already a few hours old before Eldarion at last ventured outside the Hall.  A cool wind greeted him as he stepped out over the courtyard that bordered the highest part of Meduseld.  Autumn had arrived, bringing an extra touch of gold to the plains.  The prince neglected his cloak, however, enjoying the freshness of the air.

Reaching back, he stood and stretched for a moment.  He had left his father after the meeting concluded, and would likely see him with his mother in a few hours, for dinner.  Since Doran’s arrival, his oldest sister had been much occupied with him.  His youngest sister would be sleeping.  He wondered if Lúthea was about.  Her company was always calm.

He found his question answered as he turned a corner to a private seating area, where Lúthea was settled on a bench, in a most familiar pose.  She was concentrating on a book in her lap, an apple core in one hand.  As she reviewed another page, she took a careful few bites.

As Eldarion neared, he saw her set the greatly diminished core neatly on a napkin beside her. She was closing the book’s cover when he stepped beside her, and she looked up and smiled.

“I thought you were meeting with the Lord Elfwine?”

“’Tis already done,” he said simply. “And the afternoon beckons.  Well… at least, what’s left of it does.” He gave his sister a grin.

This cheered Lúthea. She had spent so little time with her brother since their arrival. Having grown accustomed to his company on the journey south, and from the last few months in Rivendell, she realised how much she had missed him the previous summer.

Eldarion collected an apple from the dish where Lúthea had found hers, and took a seat beside his sister.  He stretched briefly, resting his eyes on the landscape of the Plains before them.  Looking over her shoulder, he glanced at her reading.

“Moving from the history of Arnor to Rohan with no difficulties, I see?”

Lúthea nudged his elbow at the jest.  “In part.”  She opened the cover and turned a few pages for him.  “I told Elladan I would take notes along our way south.  There is much to tell about Edoras, of course.”

The prince gave a curious smile.  “He gave you it as a task?”

She shrugged a little. “Sort of. I offered also.”  The wind caught a piece of her hair and she tucked it behind her ears again.  “He said, to tease me, that I had read so much I must have had all of Middle-Earth committed to memory, before I even set foot out of Gondor.”

Eldarion took her meaning.  “But now you can commit it to memory yourself, as you see it.”

She smiled sheepishly and ran her hand over the leather cover, before setting the book down again.

“I don’t know, sometimes.  I like hearing about places from other people… it becomes a story, that way.  But to go to them yourself, seeing so much like adar has, like you and Mírra want to do…” She bit her lip gently. “That is a different kind of challenge. I don’t know if it’s for me yet.”

Eldarion chewed a bite of apple thoughtfully.  “Journeying can often be challenging, yes.  But I’ve found that the destination makes up for that.”

Lúthea looked over at him calmly.  “Rivendell did.” A corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.

Eldarion gave her a nudge back.  “It rather did, didn’t it?”

Her smile widened.  “When you wrote to say you would be staying there for the winter, I was so disappointed because you wouldn’t be home.  But after we came too, I understood why.”

“There you are, then,” he said kindly. “Don’t sell yourself short, for you took to it just as it was your home.  Better than Mírra did, certainly.”

The princess looked out at the view, her expression becoming subdued. “She liked being there. But she had Doran on her mind.”  She looked back at Eldarion again. “And now we’re in Edoras, and he’s still the only thing on her mind. Now he’s here, she spends time only with him.”

Eldarion saw her shoulder sag slightly. It wasn’t something that had escaped his notice either, but he was beginning to realize that Lúthea had not understood until now what their sister’s new relationship was going to mean, in the grand scheme of things.

He sighed. “Well… she loves him. It is only natural.”

“I know,” said Lúthea in a quiet voice.  “I know she wants to marry him also, even though father has not said yes yet.” She stopped and hugged her arms gently against the cooling air.  “Do you think Doran is a good match for her, Eldarion?”

He held back the smallest of smiles at the question, for his sister was never nothing if not direct.  Giving a small nod, he answered simply. “Yes. I do think so.”

Lúthea sat up, looking back at her brother curiously. “Even though he is not a nobleman?”

He nodded again, calmly. “Even so.”

“Why, then?” Her tone was inquisitive but not accusatory. She simply wished to know.

Eldarion gave a very faint sigh. This was also something he had turned over in his mind, but by a different route than his sister had taken.  “Because from what I know of him, he is a good man, from a good family. He loves Mírra, and would care for her, and she would care for him.”

“I think so too.” Lúthea relaxed a little.  “But adar wanted her to wait, and so I thought she would, and perhaps wait for someone of her station.”

“Someone she did not care for?” Eldarion shook his head.  “Nay, she is lucky.”

Lúthea cocked her head. “Yes?”

Eldarion sat back. “She has the freedom to make a choice for love, now. Without obligation.”

Lúthea watched his face, and now began to understand his meaning.  “You mean to say, she is free to make a choice in a way that you might not.”

He gave a rueful smile, and tapped his nose.  “There you have it.”

She tucked her legs up on the bench, holding her knees as she thought.  “But there is no reason it should not be that way for you.”  She poked a finger at her brother’s sleeve. “I see the way the ladies in the court look at you.”

He answered wryly. “And how is that?”

Lúthea grinned suddenly. “Like they wish to look at no one else.”

The prince shook his head again, with mirth. He set his apple core aside and stood, brushing his hands together. “They may look, of course. But nothing more, not for a while. It is not my time yet.” 

Eldarion knew any woman he married would have obligations his sisters’ husbands would not. He was also well aware of the many pairs of eyes that followed him around court.  There were ladies that had in fact known him more closely… and though his second sister had grown older, she was not so mature yet that Eldarion would tell her about them.

Lúthea did not stand yet. She drew her lips together contemplatively. “The lady who marries you will be Queen, one day.  And since she will likely not also be peredhel, your life will exceed hers.”

The prince tapped his nose again. “For me, this is not a decision to be rushed.” His expression softened. It was a matter he had also given thought to.  “But I am happy for our sister all the same.”

She took his meaning, and nodded, not pressing him further.  “I am too.”

He let himself smile again, and extended a hand to Lúthea as she stood too. “Come.” The breeze was now becoming cooler as the afternoon wore on.  “Shall we go inside?”

Lúthea’s eyes brightened with an idea. “Chess?”

“You are sure?” The prince gave a wry look as they walked back to the Hall. It was a game they often played, but his sister had never won.

She nodded.  “I do not know if I shall win, but I like to play it with you.”  She thought for a quiet moment more. “But I shall still call for the white pieces.”

Eldarion grinned, and they went inside.  “Fair enough.”

* * * * * * * * * *

As uncertain as their initial meeting had begun, with it in the past Mírra and Doran seemed to have run through their quota of awkward moments, and their following days were spent in greater comfort with each other.

By the end of the week, Mírra had made a habit of meeting him in the market after trading had concluded.  When she found him today, he was packing a few last items.

She tapped on the doorframe.  He looked up to give a nod, straw-coloured hair falling briefly over his eyes.  Smiling, he paused in his work as he watched her step in closer.  He noticed there was extra colour in her cheeks from the walk outside.

“Am I too early?”  Mírra greeted him as he stood. 

Doran shook his head.  As she came beside him, he set a light hand at her back. “I would never refuse extra company of yours.”

She beamed slightly, raising her heels briefly off the ground.  No one was nearby to see, and she kissed his cheek. His skin flushed pleasantly.

“What may I do to help?”

“Ah, you need not trouble yourself.”  He was accompanied at the market by one of Doreth’s assistants, and her husband, who were more than capable of tending to things with Doran.

“No, I am happy to.” Her hand fell against his arm, and she slipped it into his palm.

He brushed her palm with his fingers.  “Alright, then.” Looking about the stall, he nodded to indicate the stacks of cloth that had not been put away.  “My sister would be flattered for you to help with her weaving, I believe.”

Mírra found a spare sack, and took up her task.

To Doreth’s credit, there were very few pieces of her cloth that had still gone unsold.  Mírra took one out, of a deep earthy green colour, and looked at it with friendly appraisal before refolding it carefully. 

Doran observed out of the corner of his eye as she ran her hand over the very fine weave.  “Green suits you.”

Mírra met his eye again, looking coy and flattered.  “That is what my mother often says.”

He made almost to respond, but stayed quiet for a moment, lacing a sack closed.  “She does not often use that colour.”

“No? It is lovely.” Mírra looked up but his eyes were on his work again, and she could not read his face.

Doran’s voice was calm when he spoke again, but more cautious than before. “…It was Nola’s least favourite colour. I think Doreth avoided it more out of habit than anything else.”

“Oh…” Mírra said softly, gently biting her lip. 

She ran her hand over the fabric again, examining it thoughtfully.  When she packed it with the rest, she handled it carefully, as though now wary of some unseen damage her hands might cause.

As her task was completed, Mírra returned beside Doran, placing her sack next to the others now ready to be stowed away.  His silence seemed contemplative, as hers had been.

She brushed the back of her finger over his arm, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“Is it difficult for you to speak of her to me? Of your wife?”

Doran’s eyes were warm as he turned.  “But we have talked of her, who she was to me. …Have I said too little?”

“Ah, I do not know, I did not mean to make you uncertain…”  Mírra leaned beside him, tucking her hand around his arm.  “But I do not wish you to feel as though you need to hold things back from me.”

He brushed her hair back, smoothing a small dark braid behind her ear.  “I will be honest with you, always.”

Mírra smiled timidly, laying her cheek against his shoulder.  “May I ask you something, about her?”

“Yes?”

She met his eyes briefly.  “How Nola was to you, how you felt for her… is it the same as it is for you with me?”

Doran’s breath caught faintly. What she asked was unexpected. “Ai, my lady…” He felt tongue-tied.

Mírra saw his hesitation. “What I mean is, I… I did not want to you to think I was… taking the place of your love for her…”

He shook his head. “Nay, neither should you feel that way….”

Mírra swallowed. She started to speak just as he did, which stopped them both

“She was such a part of your life, the mother of your son, but I… Do I fit also?”  Her expression was a mixture of questions. She asked not to press him, only a desire to understand.

Doran held her eyes a moment, thinking carefully, and took a slow breath in.  Taking her hand, he sat down on a nearby bench, and Mírra took her seat next to him.  She watched his face as he considered his words.

“I love you, and I loved Nola. But you are not the same person, and these are not the same times, and…” He stopped himself in mid-sentence. “No… I must say more than that.”

She nodded in support, masking her expectation.

“When I was a very young man, I looked ahead to the future so rarely… because the way it was then, was the way I thought it would always be.  I was married. I had my farm, and my house, and I was content.” His voice quieted.  “But it changed. And the things I had thought dependable… they fell apart when Nola passed.”

Mírra held his hand as she listened, knowing he had still more to say.

“I know there are reasons for all these things, but we are all Children of Iluvatar, and only He can explain them. Only now I am beginning to realize there may have been more in his plan for me, than I had planned for myself.”

He swallowed to steady his voice.

“We have made our peace together, Nola and I. I will always cherish her. But I know she would not want me to hide from my life, from possibilities, from love.” He held Mírra’s gaze, and his eyes were clear and warm.  “When I met you, it was the first time I knew those possibilities were real.” Stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, he was reassured.  “And so you fit because there is no need for me to question why.”

Doran released a long slow breath, and Mírra covered his hand with her other one, clasping it gently. She did not know what to say. It was more about himself than he had revealed before, all at once. She loved him, and in that moment, she knew it.

Mírra’s voice was hushed, and genuine. “To find a companion… a true companion. This is a rare thing indeed.  But… so I would be for you, if you would be for me.  And I would live my life well if it was a life with you.”

He touched her cheek with his free hand. “How I do love you.”

She leaned in and kissed him then, and her heart was opened wide to him. Doran kissed her back, pulling her into his arms.

So they sat together for many moments, in silent affection. With closed eyes, Mírra turned her face to his and comfortably brushed her lips against his cheek.

“You are certain, then?” He asked quietly, reluctant to disturb their shared stillness.

Mírra opened her eyes to meet his, and nodded as her cheeks flushed. “You?”

Doran mirrored her gesture. “Yes.”  He pushed a piece of her dark hair behind her ear.  “What is next, we both know, then?”

Though some butterflies of nervousness still fluttered in her stomach, Mirra smiled hopefully, and whispered. “You have only to ask.”

* * * * * * * * * *

In principle, it was a simple enough question. And Doran had already asked it once of her father already, Mírra reminded herself.  But there was no denying that this time, there was a much greater weight attached.

Eldarion watched his sister fidget as she went to look out the window yet another time.  He set aside the papers he had been reading.  “Remember what naneth always says about a watched pot?”

The princess flashed him a quick look.  “Ada’s been talking with Doran for an hour already.  Nana even went to meet them, but she has not returned either.”  She glanced out again, hoping to see them return through the courtyard.  Biting her lip, she came back to her seat next to her brother on the sofa.  “The questions they must be asking him…”

“Well, it isn’t simply an ordinary conversation they’re having,” said the prince a little wryly.

“Ai, I know.” Mírra found herself very aware of her breathing again, just as she had before she had first met with Doran a week ago.  She had to think at least part of it was excitement, hope.

Eldarion saw her fidgeting again, and smiled sympathetically. “Doran can handle himself, Mírra.”

She looked up, and then down again, but eased a little.  “It will be fine,” she said almost to herself.

Their conversation was interrupted as the door opened, with a brief knock.  The King entered, looking to his daughter.

“Ada…?”  There was no frown or stern look about him. He was kind as he always was.

Aragorn extended his hands to Mírra as she rose expectantly.  He took her shoulders gently and pressed a simple kiss to her forehead.  The princess found the gesture unexpectedly calming.

“Will you walk with me a moment, mîr-nin?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

They stepped outside, walking slowly to the courtyard.

Mirra looked up at her father, trying to anticipate what he would say. “You’ve spoken with Doran?”

Aragorn nodded. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

She gave an exasperating, almost teasing smile.  “Please, ada, you cannot keep me in suspense any longer.”

Aragorn smiled gently.  “I won’t. I only wish to ask you something.”

“Anything.” Mírra felt there was nothing she could keep hidden now, and did not wish to.

“Doran has spoken truly, and has come in good faith, and with good intentions for you.  I believe his is more certain about this now that he was a year ago.”  The King’s voice was careful, but he did not intend to test her.  “When you and I spoke then, you knew why I questioned the match.”

Mírra nodded briefly, anticipating what he meant. “You wished to give me time to think, time to myself.”

Aragorn paused just before they reached the courtyard.  “Was it the right course?”

She was unsure about the question until she realized her father did not ask it because he was uncertain about his decision, but because he wanted to know how she felt about it.

Mirra considered her answer for a moment.  "At first I did not understand quite why, and when we were at Rivendell, I missed Doran so very much.  But the time made me reflect on him, and myself. I hadn't expected I would feel so nervous when he arrived here... I had changed more than I thought I would, I think."

Aragorn listened attentively.  "How has this week been for you?"

She gave a tiny smile.  "It's been... ah, to see him in this way, with his work, and to be able to speak with him about so many things... To learn so much about him..." Her voice trailed off as she paused happily to try to find the words.  "It has been so comfortable, now.  I've come to know him in a way that I could not have, before."

When she looked to Aragorn for a response he was at first quiet, and though his smile was kind, there was what seemed to her a trace of melancholy in it.

Her expression warmed. "Have I give the right answer?"

Aragon's eyes became merrier then.  "You've spoken well, sell-nîn."  He took his daughter's hands.  "All I ask to know, is how you feel for this man."

“I…” Mírra swallowed, her expression softening. As she answered her father, she spoke with the honesty of her heart. “I love him, ada. I wish to be with him.”

He nodded, reflecting on her words, and then smiled curiously. "I had not expected this day to come as soon as it has. To give my daughter's hand to another."

Mirra's eyes brightened with sudden hope, and realization of his decision. "Yes?"

Aragorn smiled to see the joy in her face.  "Yes, mîr-nin, if you wish it to be so."

She put her arms around her father. "I wish it so, ada."

He held her tightly, until it was time to let her go.  Mirra saw him nod again to indicate the courtyard, where Doran was entering with her mother.

Aragorn spoke low enough that only his daughter would hear.  "Go to him."

Mírra kissed her father's cheek and did not notice the happy tears coming to her eyes. "Thank you."

He was only a few steps away, but she ran until she reached him, and was caught lovingly in the arms of her betrothed.