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Chapter 21 – Beginnings

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After spending another day together in Ithilien, the King and Queen returned to the City together, in much calmer spirits than when they had left separately.

They were well received at the stables.  Aragorn even wondered if he could detect some relief in the City personnel, to see the two monarchs as a couple again; despite any lingering doubt from the revelations he and Arwen had made to each other, the release of the experience had done more good than harm.

Aragorn dismounted first, before helping her out of her saddle.

“Alright?” he asked, as he held her waist.

Arwen nodded.  “And getting better.”

As she settled next to him she saw that the green jewel around his neck had slipped out from underneath his tunic.  Her glance hesitated on it for a moment, but then she reached for it, and with care tucked it back underneath the fabric.  In response Aragorn kissed her cheek briefly, and felt her smile as he did so.

“We should let the children know we’ve returned,” Arwen added.

“Ah, I do not think that will be necessary,” said Aragorn with a chuckle.  As he looked up he observed their daughters entering the stables.

Mírra came with Elenna seated on her arm, and Lúthea skipped just ahead of her sisters.

“We heard word that you were coming,” said Lúthea as she ran to meet her parents, her face bright, “So we could not wait to come down and meet you.”

Elenna waved eagerly, and Mírra let her down to the ground, and she ran to her parents.

“Nana ada!”

Aragorn bent to greet her first. “What a pleasant welcome,” he said with a grin, picking her up.

“Oh my darlings,” said Arwen softly, taking first Lúthea, then Mírra tightly into her arms.  “I’ve missed you.”

“But you have only been away a few days,” said Mírra.

“I know,” Arwen whispered, almost to herself.  The time before she left seemed to be a different world, one she would be careful she did not return to.  “Have we missed very much?” she asked, putting her arm around Lúthea again.

“At least one thing of importance, I think,” Aragorn responded, with Elenna still in his arms.  The little girl was smiling as broadly as she could, with a small finger pointed into her mouth.

Arwen chuckled, noticing the new tooth.  “Quite a collection you are getting.”

Elenna took this as a cue to reach for her mother, and soon found herself happily settled in Arwen’s arms.

Mírra edged closer to her father, quiet for a moment before she spoke.  “All is well now?”

He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and nodded.  “I know things were a bit, ah, stormy for a while.”

“But in every storm,” Arwen added quietly, “There is always light after the thunder.”

Aragorn paused to smile.  “Indeed.”

Mírra and Lúthea watched their parents meet each other’s eyes.  Although they wondered what thoughts could be transpiring unspoken between them, they were unexpectedly cheered to see it.

* * *

When Aragorn finally retired that night he expected to find that Arwen had done the same; it had been a tiring few days for both of them.  But instead, he saw that his wife was still in the bath.  He took some time removing his heavier over-garments, wondering if he should go in to see Arwen, or if it would interrupt her solitude. 

Things seemed well enough between them now, but tonight had been quiet.  Arwen had said little at dinner… but then their three daughters were more than capable of providing enough conversation of their own, Aragorn thought with a smile.  Perhaps he was wrong to fixate on such details.

He paused at the entrance to the bath chamber.  Arwen was lying back comfortably in the marble tub, her eyes closed.  Her long damp hair was twisted up into a knot, and her head rested on a folded towel.  Hearing Aragorn’s knock, she turned her face toward him, following his approach with warm dark eyes.

“Do I disturb you?” 

Arwen shook her head.  “No.”

He knelt down and perched folded arms on the edge of the tub, observing the flush of pink in her cheeks from the temperature of the water.  Arwen took one of his hands, droplets falling from her skin as she raised her arm out of the water. 

“My wife seems content,” said Aragorn in a quiet, low voice.  He reached out and pushed away a lock of wet hair from her forehead.  The scent of lavender oil filled the still room. 

Arwen’s lips stretched slightly, her own voice soft when she replied.  “She is.”

Aragorn ran his hand lightly over her arm, down to caress her wrist. Her heavily lidded eyes strayed briefly.

“I would not want you to mistake my silence for uneasiness,” she continued. The smile that had begun to form now spread to her rosy cheeks. “At the moment I am thinking of nothing but the fact that it feels good to be home.”

Aragorn nodded, smiling back.  “Agreed.”

Arwen took in a deep breath, and let it out in another long, calm sigh.  Sitting up a little, she put a hand to the side of her face.  She knew very well the water was too warm, but it was impossible to resist when the effect was such pronounced relaxation. 

Looking back at her husband, she saw him observing her quizzically, with sparkling eyes.  “Well?” he asked simply.

Arwen nodded once, in confirmation of her own thoughts.  “Bed, I think.”

“As you wish.”

Aragorn reached for a towel, and after Arwen stood out of the water, wrapped it loosely around her torso.  With her still-damp arms around his shoulders, he held her waist as she stepped on to the floor.  He was beginning to feel decidedly overdressed in his thin tunic and trousers.

Arwen paused for a moment and looked up at him, feeling pleasantly limp from the hot water.  Regarding his face, she thought back to the words they had said to each other merely days ago.

It was impossible to forget the past, or to ignore what would come in the future, but for now, the present was a very good place to be.

She spoke gently.  “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Hmm…”

“I love you.” She smiled, finding his clear eyes with her own.

Aragorn tilted his forehead down to meet hers.  “Im mil le, undómiel-nin.”

* * *

It was already late in the morning, but Doreth sat outside, near the back of her kitchen, where she had remained for the last hour.  Her task had not truly changed in that time, but she had found different things with which to distract herself.  At present, her daughter was helping her to shell peas.

Doreth kept one eye on the green contents of the bowl, and another on the hillside in the direction of her brother’s home.  She had not seen Doran all morning, which was not unusual in and of itself, but considering recent circumstances… she wondered if he truly would go through with the plans he had discussed only briefly.

It was Ailsa who spotted her uncle first.  She looked up from the green pod she had been concentrating on and waved. 

Watching him, Doreth followed her brother’s approach carefully.  He smiled at his niece before turning to his sister.

“Adair is at the barn?” he asked simply.

“Yes, with the boys.”  Doreth stood and studied his face.  “You’re leaving then?”

He nodded.  “I’ll go and say goodbye to Nolan now.  But the day is already almost half gone, I should have left hours ago.”  Instead of looking back to his sister, he turned to Ailsa, who came over to him, toying with the pea pod in her hands.

“Are you going away?” she asked in a soft curious voice.

Doran nodded again, stroking his niece’s hair. 

“For just a few weeks, not to worry.”  He turned back to his sister. “I must be mad, or something near to it.”

She smiled.  “You have been to the White City before…”

“Yes, but that was under entirely different pretenses.”  They were both speaking in quiet voices, as if someone might overhear them, despite the calmness of the pastoral surrounding.

“What will you do?”

Doran opened his mouth to speak but, finding no words, only gave a shrug.  “Ride to Minas Tirith.  Request an audience with the King.”  He released a breath.  “...And hope he does not send me to Far Harad for my presumptuousness?”

Doreth bit her lip.  “I should hope not.”

“You were the one who was putting me up to this to begin with, and that is all the support you can muster?”  he replied wryly, almost concealing his nervousness.

“Well, I…” his sister began, grinning pleasantly, “…I can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.”

Doran smiled, his eyes straying off into the distance briefly.  “Neither can I.”

* * *

Taking a rather enjoyable time away from his study, the King was settled in the sitting room in the family’s wing of the palace.  Given the ripples of uncertainty that had recently passed through their family, there seemed no reason to spend so many hours of the day apart. 

A task as routine as catching up on correspondence was even relaxing, in such a setting.  While Aragorn read through messages, Arwen sat near and commented from time to time, looking at sections here and there and composing letters of her own.  Lúthea and Mírra sat to the side, sorting through a stack of poetry volumes that needed cataloguing.

Aragorn nudged Arwen with a bit of news.  “Do you remember the Lord Alacar?  It seems he will be wed next month, to a lady from this city.”  He made a brief chuckle to himself as he scanned the next few lines.  “Well, that settles that, I suppose,” he added softly.

Mírra’s ears picked up a bit at her father’s comment, even though it was not meant for her.  She had shared a dance, perhaps two, with the noble lord from Arnor.  That was all it had been, though she had wondered if he had taken more than a passing interest in her.  It all seemed moot now, nevertheless.  Later that night he had also danced with a striking red-haired woman, whose name Mírra recognized as the one Aragorn had just read from the paper.

There was a knock at the door, and a messenger entered and bowed, bringing a newly arrived packet of letters.  Mírra jumped at the chance to sort through them.

“So eager?” her mother asked wryly.

“Just seeing what is here,” she replied, trying not to blush.  Flipping through the stack, she found a set of identical looking notes, all with the same blue seal, and addressed to each of the four of them in the same hand. 

Mírra also saw one very different letter, with a much rougher seal.  It was addressed to her, just like the others she had received since Midsummer.  Her heart quickly began to pound.  She pocketed it quickly, positive that no one else had noticed it.

“Well, what is there, anything of merit?” Arwen continued, looking up not a moment too soon. 

Mírra swallowed and regained some of her composure.  Doran’s letter felt heavy in her pocket, but she could not open it here, especially considering what else had been delivered.

“Eldarion has written,” she said happily, “to all of us.”

“Yes?” Arwen’s face brightened noticeably, and Aragorn caught her eye.

Lúthea hopped up from her seat and eagerly collected her message, while the King stood to read his.  Arwen watched him carefully break the seal before slowly wandering the edge of the room, eyes fixed on the paper.  Eventually he drifted off to sit on the balcony.  She saw her two older daughters settled back on the sofa on the other side of the room.

With pleasant excitement Arwen finally opened her own parchment.  She chuckled at the opening pleasantries, the formal remarks he had been trained so dutifully to make.  Soon enough he came to more personal writing.

The business with Annúminas has not been going as expected, which is not to say it is going badly.  In fact there is much more to be done than previously anticipated.  The warm weather of the last few months has proved very advantageous and we have already been able to travel from Rivendell and back several times.  But I do not think you will be as interested to hear about those dull things. And in fact I am more interested to tell you about the time spent at my family’s home.

It is difficult to fathom how past few months that have passed, naneth.  I wondered for a time if I had left Minas Tirith too hastily, not knowing what I would expect to find.  And I know you must have been apprehensive about it.

I do not remember how much I told you in my previous correspondence, about my time in the valley.  I am only just now beginning to take the time to explore this place.  There is a peacefulness about it that I enjoy very much.  The house is so isolated, and yet at the same time surrounded by so much.  The sound of the river is now most pleasantly familiar to me.

Arwen sat back in her armchair, as images of her home flooded her mind.  It was not with the same melancholy that had accompanied the discovery of her mother’s diary.  She felt something touching pride, to know her son was thriving in the place where both she and Aragorn had lived, the place that had so much meaning for her.

I am pleased to say I have visited the northern hill, the one you told me about, and the view is as spectacular as you said.  It is hard to describe in words, but I know you will understand.  One morning I went out early, and climbed the hill before Anar had risen.  I found a place where I could see the river, and the house, and the greenery that surrounds them.  It surprised me, but I do believe I sat there until hours after sunrise, watching the light spread, seeing the valley turn to brightness.  It was a kind of solitude I have never felt in the City, or even in Emyn Arnen.

My uncle Elrohir has been most kind in riding with me to survey this region of Arnor.  I am constantly impressed with his skills in navigating such terrain, and he has no end to tales of what it was like to do the same with father, when he was young.  When I have been able to spend time in Imladris, Elladan has been informative and very helpful.  The library here is more extensive than I had imagined; my grandfather’s collection is impressive.  When I told Elladan of how you had been helping my sister with the books he sent to Minas Tirith, he was very pleased I think.  I said you would be able to tell him more, since I imagine by this time Lúthea has been through them with her usual excitement.

This letter seems too short to convey my encounters of the past few weeks, and so I will write again soon.  I know that when I left I was unsure of how long I would stay, but I hope you will not be disappointed to hear I do not wish to leave yet.  I am most curious to experience the winter season in Imladris, and all that it would bring.  Rest assured I shall tell you of what I decide.

I hope my father and my sisters are well. I am sure I have missed much excitement in the City this summer, and look forward to hearing of it.

My uncles send their greetings and love,

With affection,

Eldarion

Arwen swallowed a lump in her throat.  She was brought out of her concentration by her husband’s hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him, smiling, knowing their son’s letter to his father must have touched on much the same themes.  “He thrives.”

Aragorn met her eyes, but did not worry to see traces of tears there, for they were not for sadness, he knew.  “I am most glad to see it, for he was uncertain for so long.”

“Do you think he will stay the year?”

“Perhaps it should not surprise us,” he murmured, “I hope he shall take as long as he needs.”

Arwen nodded her agreement.  Still sitting, she leaned against Aragorn standing next to her.  She held him briefly, and he kissed the top of her head.  It was enough to confirm their mutual delight in the news they had received.

When Aragorn sat down next to her, he only then noticed something amiss.  “Has Mírra gone?”

Arwen looked up in surprise, unaware that the princess had slipped away.

“I think she only went to see if Elenna was awake yet,” Lúthea answered her parents from the sofa, somewhat cautiously. 

Aragorn’s eyes fell to one unopened letter on the small table nearby.  The one from Eldarion.

“It is strange she would have forgotten her letter, I would have expected her to take it up immediately.”

Arwen felt slightly perplexed herself; she thought she had seen her daughter pocket something earlier. “Indeed.”  She composed herself, rose to take up the neglected piece of parchment.  “I shall bring it to her myself then.”

* * *

The Queen thought to find the princess in her room, but when she knocked on the door, there was no answer at first.  She pushed open the oaken panel, wondering whether she had knocked too softly, or if her daughter was elsewhere.

Stepping into the room, Arwen saw that Mírra’s attention was simply captivated by something else.  The princess was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes fixed on a sheet of parchment in her hands.

Mírra looked up, somewhat dazed, to see her mother enter.  She drew in a silent breath, and tried to quickly fold the letter from Doran out of sight, but was not fast enough.

“You left this behind.”  Arwen held out Eldarion’s letter. Her voice was light and warm, perhaps to mask the notice she had taken of her daughter’s awkward actions.  “I was surprised, you are usually so eager to read news from your brother.”

Mírra smiled a little shyly.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know where my mind was.”  She took it from Arwen and unsealed it, skimming the first page.  After a moment she crossed to her writing desk and set it down, concealing Doran’s underneath it.

As she turned back she found her mother’s grey eyes regarding her curiously.

“Is everything alright?” 

Arwen sat down on the bed and clasped her hands in her lap.  She knew if she did not, she would begin fidgeting.  Mírra hugged her elbows.  She took a few steps closer to the bed but hung back from joining her mother. 

“I know I have not been myself these past weeks,” continued Arwen, “I truly am sorry for it.  You may speak to me, darling, of anything, you need not worry.”

Mírra bit her lip, hesitation evident in her fair face.  “The gentleman that father mentioned earlier, Lord Alacar?  He is to be married?”

The Queen’s eyebrows lifted.  Had her daughter been dwelling on such a thing?

“Yes?”

“It is nothing, it is just…” The princess shrugged. “Somehow I thought he was interested in me.  I thought father wanted me to dance with him to get to know him.”

“Ah.”  Arwen smiled understandingly.  “Perhaps just a little.  I believe Lord Alacar might have made a suit to you, but I think your adar simply wanted you to decide your feelings on your own.  In any case he would preferred you to wait, I think, before entering into such a decision.”

“Mmm.”  Mírra sat down and perched on the edge of the bed, but she could only look at her hands.

Arwen took her daughter’s silence to mean she was still dwelling on this particular matter.  “Not to worry, my dear.  When the right gentleman comes along, you will know it.  There is no harm in taking it slowly for now.”

There was a brief glimmer in Mírra’s eyes, then it was gone.  “What if the right gentleman has come along?”

Arwen’s smile half faded with surprise.  “What do you mean?”

She took a breath so she could get the words out.  “I’ve met someone.  I’ve fallen for him.”  She saw her mother’s mouth drop open slightly.

“But, I am not sure I understand… who?”

“He is not of this city, or even of a noble family, but you have met him.” 

Mírra began to explain, and the story tumbled from her mouth, the things she had already told her mother, but never before in full.  About how Doran had found her, and brought her to his family’s home.  About talking with him in his stables, and how he had made her feel safe.  How she had walked with him when they visited the City.  How he had watched her skip stones by the stream, and how he had kissed her on Midsummer.  She blushed to tell of it.

Arwen reached out for her daughter’s hand, a gesture that was in part to reassure her daughter, and partly to reassure herself.  “How do you feel about this man?”

A warmth was evident in Mírra’s voice, despite her nervousness.  “I feel… only good things for him.  I want to be with him.”

“But do you truly know him?  You have spent so little time with him…” Arwen began, only to have the sentence completed by her daughter.

“Ten days.”  Mírra gazed vaguely at the carpet, while her thoughts bended to the memories that were clear in her mind.  “It always seems like more, somehow, until I actually count them.”  She shook her head, repeating softly to herself, “Ten days. How I wish it were more.”

Arwen was silenced by a flood of questions she could barely begin to voice, and watched her daughter’s face.

With hardly a word Mírra rose and crossed directly to her desk.  After reaching into a drawer, she removed a packet of papers – letters – all neatly folded, secured into a bundle with a ribbon.  For a moment she could only look down at them, before returning slowly to the bed, where her mother sat, unable to conceal her quiet astonishment.

“I responded to each of his, and he to mine,” Mírra explained, beginning to sound slightly awestruck herself.  Unexpectedly to Arwen, she offered them to her mother.

The Queen took the packet between gentle hands.  With her fingertips she felt the texture of the plain parchment.  As she looked up she saw that her daughter’s face was hopeful, and she smiled.

“He has given me no token, and neither have I given him one.  We have written words, those things shared between us.  But I am more certain of them than I have been of anything.”

Mírra watched her mother look down at what she was holding.  She wondered if she would look at them, perhaps see for herself the truth of what she had told her.

Seeing no reproach, Arwen’s curiosity got the better of her.  She loosened the ribbon and opened the first letter, and skimmed across the words written in the plain but surprisingly careful hand. 

I can feel every mile of the distance between us... there is hardly a moment of the day when I do not wish to be where you are. You occupy my thoughts, and my heart.

“I… know not what to say,” said the Queen softly, looking slightly awestruck. 

Mírra’s wide eyes rested on her lap for a moment, before turning back up. “If that your reaction, then what will father do?”  Apprehension crept over her face.

“I cannot tell.  But I am sure he will be more than surprised.”

Arwen saw Mírra’s shoulder’s sag.  After placing the letters on the bed beside her, she reached out, and took her daughter into her arms.  She held her tightly.

“Oh, my girl,” she whispered.

Mírra rested her head on her mother’s shoulder.  “How did you feel, when you knew you loved him?”

Arwen let out a breath she did not know until then that she had been holding. 

“I felt…”  A rush of her own memories began to confront her, and made her pause to sort through them.  How different those times were, how different the weight of her choice.  “I was frightened.”  She pulled back to look at Mírra.  “And yet so wonderfully excited.”

The princess was wearing much the same hopeful expression.  She nodded.  “I think I understand.”

Arwen saw the glimmer in her daughter’s eyes again, and a smile of recognition crossed her face.  “Yes… I think you do.”