The narrow mountain gorge suddenly opened into an
upland dale. Campfires and stands of torches showed
row upon row of small white tents. The rudy light
reflecting off the fair hair and steel corselets of
the Men moving between them.

   A trio of riders came towards the Company at a hand
gallop, all three were armed but the leader was
unhelmeted with long grey hair flying in the wind of
his speed. They reined to a neat, collected halt
directly in front of Halbarad and Barahir spears
leveled.

   "Who are you strangers, who intrude uninvited upon
the muster of Rohan?" the old Rider demanded.

   "No stranger to you, Grimbold." said Barahir. He
put back his hood, took off his helmet and smiled into
the other Man's stunned face.

   The Rider's mouth worked a moment before words
emerged: "Elfstan? But it cannot be! You are his son
perhaps?"

   Barahir shook his head. "No son but Elfstan
himself." His eyes twinkled. "Do you remember the time
you mistook the pots and painted my shield with
quicklime that ate through the wood, my careless
squire?"

   The old Man's eyes went round. "My Lord Elfstan, it
is you! But..but you have not aged a day!"

   Barahir grimaced. "Oh yes I have, but not enough to
show by this light. I am a Dunedain of the North, my
companions and I come seeking our Chieftain, Aragorn
son of Arathorn. We were told we would find him here."

   "He is here. He is housed in the Hold, along with
the King."
***

   The 'hold' of Dunharrow was no more than a mountain
shelf where the King, his earls and household troops
were encamped. It was reached by a narrow path
zig-zagging its way up the mountainside. At each turn
was a huge, humped statue so weathered as to be almost
unrecognizable as the work of Men's hands.

   "Pukel Men the Rohirrim call them." Elledhir, the
eldest of the Company, told Arwen quietly as they
climbed. "Stone sentinels set up by the Druedain who
made this place as a refuge from the malice of other
Men during the Dark Years."

   She looked at him in surprise, and he smiled. "I
too have served in Rohan in my time. The smile faded.
"I came here with Folca, at the end of the Orc Wars,
to hunt the boar of Everholt. And I helped carry his
body back home to Edoras to lie beside his fathers."
he sighed. Then turned to smile wryly at her. "That
was five generations, or more, of the Rohirrim ago.
There are none of their folk now alive who would
remember me." (1)

   Arwen nodded recognizing a familiar grief, one the
Elves shared with the Dunedain, the remedyless sorrow
for the quick passing of other Men.

   Arwen entered the King's tent with Halbarad, his
sons, and her two brothers. The rest of the company
dismounted and waited outside.

   Theoden King, like Grimbold, recognized Barahir at
once but was far less shaken. "The Lord Aragorn told
me your right name but I do not remember it."

   "I am Barahir. This is my father, Halbarad, captain
of our Company."

   Now Theoden's eyes did widen, as he did his sums
and realized the Man facing him must be at least twice
his own age.(2)

   "This is my brother, Halladan." Barahir continued.
"And Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond Half-Elven.
And their sister the Lady Arwen, who is Aragorn's
affianced wife."

   It seemed to Arwen a stricken look flashed across
Theoden's face at the words, but it was gone so
quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it. Certainly
there was nothing but kindness in the smile he gave
her along with his hand. "Welcome, my lady, please
sit. Would you care for some wine or other
refreshment?"

   "No, no thank you." her heart was begining to pound
uncomfortably hard and she sank gratefully onto the
cushioned stool, but would surely have choked had she
tried to swallow anything. Suddenly she was not at all
sure of her welcome. What if Aragorn was angry with
her? What if he didn't want her, sent her away?

   She heard his voice outside the tent, greeting the
Rangers of the Company, and her heart leaped into her
throat. Then the tent flap was pulled aside and he
came in, looking tired and disheveled in an unbelted
red shirt she didn't recognize. Not one she had made
for him.

   The King, still bent solicitiously over her, made
her a slight, courtly bow. "I will take my leave."

   Aragorn looked after him, puzzled. Then at
Halbarad. "Uncle, what are you doing here?"

   "Word came to us from Rivendell that Aragorn had
need of his kin. So I gathered as many as I could in
haste, thirty all told as you will have seen." he
nodded towards the twins. "Elladan and Elrohir chose
to ride with us. And another caught up with us on the
road."

   Aragorn turned towards her and she stood up,
putting back her hood. "Arwen." he breathed, but it
was impossible to tell if what he felt was unexpected
joy or deepest dismay.

   She tried to smile. "The days now are short. Either
our hope comes or all hopes end. And so I have come to
thee, to share with thee whichever fate befalls."

   He closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Oh, Arwen, you
shouldn't have come. I thought we'd agreed your
destiny lies in the West with your people."

   "No, that is what you and my father agreed between
you!" suddenly she was furiously angry. "Who are you
to decide my destiny? The choice is mine and I have
chosen the Dunedain for my people. Here I stay, to
live and die a mortal Woman in my home of Middle
Earth." she paused for breath, fought to keep her
voice steady. "If you no longer love me you have but
to say so and I will never trouble you again."

   She was trembling, tears briming in her eye so she
couldn't see his face properly, but the pain in his
voice was unmistakeable.

   "You don't believe that." he took her by the
shoulders, almost shook her. "You *cannot* believe
that."

   "Sometimes it's very hard not to," she managed
thickly as the tears overflowed and ran down her
cheeks. "when you keep putting me off year after year
after year..."

   He gathered her to his heart and she gave in to her
tears, sobbing freely into the strange shirt. After a
long moment he pushed her gently away and wiped the
tears from her face with his sleeve. Then he took the
Evenstar from around his neck and offered it her. Her
heart nearly stopped.

  "You gave this to me as a gift." he said softly.
"Take it back now as my pledge to thee, of heart and
hand as long as my life shall last."

   The tears began to flow again as she clutched the
familiar jewel tight in her hand, the sharp edges
digging into the flesh. *At last, at last!*

   "Arwen," Elrohir prompted gently, but with an
undertone of amusement. "You must give him a token in
return."

   She fumbled with the brooch at her throat. "Recieve
this elfstone, my Elfstone, in token of my pledge of
heart and hand so long as my life lasts."

   And then he was kissing her, and she was clinging
to him, never wanting it to end.

   From somewhere far away she heard her brother
Elladan say. "Well thank all the Powers *that's*
finally settled!"

   "And about time too." Halladan agreed.

   They broke apart. "We thank you for your good
wishes, Brothers." Aragorn said, rather breathlessly
as she snuggled contentedly into the curve of his arm.

   Halbarad smiled, a little sadly. "Since neither of
you has any parent here an uncle must serve." He held
out his hand, Aragorn laid his in it, and Arwen put
hers over it, then Halbarad covered them both.

   "May the One who is Father to us all bless your
union and give you long years together. Though parted
in body may you never be so in heart."

   "So let it be." they all responded. Then Arwen put
her arms around Halbarad's neck and kissed him.

   "Thank you, Halya." she whispered, and tried not to
think of the father who had so determinedly refused
her marriage his blessing.

   "You are welcome, Niece!" the old Ranger replied
with a sly twinkle behind the tears in his eyes. "And
I expect to be treated with all the respect due an
elder kinsman from now on, Arwen Undomiel."

   "Yes, Uncle." she said quickly, mock demure.

   "Now, Dunadan," Halbarad continued over her head to
Aragorn, "are we to ride with the Rohirrim?"

   "I almost forgot," Arwen cried before he could
answer. "I have something else for you, Husband."
Reaching under her cloak she unbuckled a sword belt
far to long for her sleander waist and brought out the
long, heavy weapon to present it across the palms of
her hands to Aragorn.

   "From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from
the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that
was broken, The crownless again shall be King."

   For a moment he just stared at the sword, as if
unable to believe his eyes, then he took it from her
and drew it. Sunlight and moonlight ran along the
remade blade outshining both lamp and brazier. Aragorn
read aloud the runes on the blade.

   "I am Anduril, Flame of the West, who was Narsil
the sword of Elendil. Let the thralls of Mordor flee
me!" slowly he nodded. "This only was wanting." he
turned suddenly, the blade flashing in his hand, to
his foster brothers. "Hallam, Amin, do you remember
the dream we shared when we were boys?"

   The looks on Halladan and Barahir's faces showed
that they did, the twins too seemed to understand but
Halbarad looked as baffled as Arwen herself. (3)

   "It was the year the White Council drove Sauron
from Dol Guldur." Aragorn explained. "Hallam, Amin and
I all dreamed one night that we were sailing on black
ships to the rescue of a white city of seven circles.
You were with us, Uncle," he looked down at Arwen,
"and I had Narsil - Anduril in my hand and you at my
side." turned back to the others. "I have Seen Corsair
ships ravaging Gondor's coast, keeping the levies of
the South provinces from coming to the city's aid.
They must be stopped."

   "We're still short an army, Aragorn." Barahir
pointed out.

   "Not to mention having the White Mountains between
us and the sea." added his brother.

   "Father sent you a message, Aragorn." Elrohir said
suddenly. "He bid you to remember Isildur's Heir may
walk roads closed to all others, and summon to him an
army more deadly than any that walk the earth."

   Aragorn nodded slowly. "The Paths of the Dead. I
have thought of taking that road."

   "You would call on the oathbreakers?" Halbarad
frowned. "Traitors and murderers, an unchancy tool at
best."

   "I know." said his nephew. "But we must have an
army and a road to the sea. Here in Dunharrow are both
ready to hand. We have no choice if we are to save
Minas Tirith." no one made any answer to that. "We
ride the hour before dawn. Get what rest you can in
the meantime." the Men nodded and left.

   Aragorn turned to Arwen. "I must speak to Theoden
King." taking her arm he led her to the tent flap and
pointed to another domed pavillion nearby. "That is my
tent. Wait for me there, Wife."
***
  
   The Rohirrim had housed Aragorn according to his
rank in a tent fully as large and well furnished as
the King's own, but lacking the banners and other
touches of royal ceremony. Arwen took off her riding
dress and sat in her shift combing the dust of the
road from her long hair.

   *At last! At last*

   It seemed a very long time before Aragorn finally
came in, his face clouded by a trouble Arwen knew had
nothing to do with her.

   "Theoden is not pleased."

   A rueful smile flickered across his face. "Not
pleased at all." a sigh. "The Rohirrim know the
Dimholt gate. From time to time princes and lords of
their people have passed it seeking adventure. None
ever returned."

   "But you and those who go with you will return."

   Another wry smile. "So I told him. I don't think he
believed me." he looked at Anduril in his hand. "Where
did you get the belt and the scabbard? they are
beautiful."

   "I made them." she answered, voice suddenly husky,
as he laid the sword carefully on a table and came
towards her. "There's a banner too. I've had more than
enough time for needlework waiting for you."

   He reached out to run a gentle hand through her
hair. "I'm sorry."

   "So you should be." she said breathlessly as he sat
down on the bench beside her. "Beren made Luthien wait
too - it must be something in the blood."

   "All Men are fools." he agreed, leaning towards
her.

   "Women too." she said, just before their lips met.

****************************************

1. Elledhir comes of an ancient noble house of Elven
descent. he is one hundred and ninety one years old,
and only now begining to show signs of age.

2. Halbarad, a contemporary and cousin of Arathorn, is
one hundred and forty-five years old.

3. See 'Last Homely House' by this author (adv.)