She managed to make it safely back to her chamber
before the tears began to flow. Why did he keep doing
this to her?

It was at moments like this, after partings like
this, that she came close to despair. Why couldn't he
understand? She didn't care about crowns or kingdoms
or safety or peace. She knew what a Ranger's life was
like and had prepared herself to share it. She could
use sword and bow, heal the wounds and sicknesses of
Men and animals, tend garden and dairy and do all the
other duties that fell to the mistress of a holding.

They could have been married years ago. Father
would have been unhappy, yes, but the matter would
have been settled. He'd have had no choice but to
accept it. As it was he kept hoping, kept arguing. Oh
this was his doing, she knew it was! She'd overheard
him before, telling Aragorn he would only bring her
to misery and death, making him believe it.

The brief spurt of anger died. She knew only too
well how much it would hurt Elrond to lose her, how
could she blame him for putting up a fight? Wouldn't
she do the same in his place.

Besides, it wasn't Father who'd made Aragorn give
her back her ring all those years ago in Lorien and
tell her he had nothing to offer her to match what she
would have to give up, that they must forget each
other. That had been his own idea, his own belief. And
she'd never, for all her efforts, been able to change
his mind.

She'd lain awake all that long, miserable night
listening to the golden leaves rustling around her
chamber and remembering Aragorn's father and
grandfather and all those other Heirs of Isildur who'd
loved her so passionately as boys and forgotten her so
completely once they were Men. And it was in the dark
watches of that endless night that a terrible fear
entered her heart, fear that Aragorn had tired of her,
like all his fathers before him, but was too kind to
tell her so.

By daylight she'd known the thought for the
nonsense it was. Had seen the love and the pain in his
eyes and known that he truly believed she would be
better off without him. Aimlessly idling the long
years away in the peace and beauty of Rivendell and
Lorien.

But it was too late for that. She knew it, even if
he didn't. Neither Aragorn nor her father seemed to
understand she'd changed. She was no longer the blythe
Elf child she'd once been, and never could be again.
The Mortal side of her nature had become very strong
over fifty years of loving a Man and fitting herself
to live among his people. She was more Woman than Elf
now and she knew in her heart Aman was not for her.

Even if Aragorn died, or truly tired of her and
never wanted to see her again she would stay in Middle
Earth and grow old and die alone if she must. Like her
brothers before her she had found her true self and
there was no going back. Even though she knew it would
break her father's heart, and her mother's, and her
grandparents' too.

She wiped her eyes. If Aragorn returned she would
tell him that, and he'd finally stop being so blasted
noble and self sacrificing and let them get on with
making a life together. If he didn't return, she'd
find him again beyond the Circles of the World, as
Luthien their ancestress had found Beren. Either way,
they'd be together - and that was all that mattered.