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")