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.

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Chapter 27 – A Long Expected Meeting

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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.