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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