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Chapter 23 – Introspection and Indecision

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“How did you enjoy dinner?”  Mírra asked Doran with a cautious smile.

After the evening’s meal was ended, the princess royal somehow managed to slip away for a few moments with her newly-arrived visitor.  With a feeling of relief, the pair found a quiet corner of the hall to talk.

Once again, Doran held his hands comfortably behind his back as he stood beside her, which did not escape the princess’ notice.  She smiled inwardly at his determined formality.

“Your brother the prince is not in the City, at present?” Doran asked.

Mírra shook her head.  “Eldarion is in the North, with my mother’s family.  From what he’s told us, I think he is enjoying his time there.”

Doran knew of the Elves Mírra spoke of, but only in the songs his parents had known.  “They are in Arnor?”

The princess nodded.  “A valley of the River Bruinen, in Eriador.”

Once again he found himself reminded that the lady next to him was half-Elven.  It was not as shocking as it has been at first, but he found her no less stunning because of it.

Mírra caught his curious expression with a sidelong glance.  She paused in her step, still holding his hand.  “I have said something amiss?”

Doran gave a small smile as his face relaxed.  “I was only thinking… that when I was young, Eriador seemed too far away even to imagine.” 

“Will you ever go there, do you think?”

The question made her pause in reflection.  “Strangely enough, I had not thought of that for a long while, but it used to be all I could think about.  Perhaps so.”  She smiled again, quiet for a moment.  “But I think I would like to see the north country, some day.”

"What is it?” asked Mírra, noticing his silence.

Doran once again saw those eyes looking back at him, the clarity that had captured him so many months ago.  It was that same quality he had noticed then, that way she had of looking so directly at him when she spoke, but yet so comfortably as well. 

“Ah, ‘tis nothing, my lady.” He cleared his throat gently, and felt his ears redden. “I should perhaps retire, and leave you to your family.” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “That is, if I can find my way…”

The princess chuckled.  “One of the attendants may help you, my lord.”

“I would be grateful for that,” Doran smiled back, “There are more corridors and stairways here than I can count.”

Mírra grinned, and took his hand, not even minding that her parents were within sight on the other side of the hall.  “Thank you for a pleasant evening.”

He felt the warmth in her gaze, and gently kissed the back of her hand.  “Thank you, my lady.”

* * *

Arwen chuckled as she listened to the chatter coming from the small girl in her lap.  She looked over Elenna’s shoulder at the picture book she held open for the two of them to look at. Elenna pointed to the bright images and named the ones she knew, receiving delightful reinforcement from her mother. 

“But isn’t it past the time for her to be asleep?”  Lúthea asked her mother, as she crossed to the other side of the nursery. They had left dinner hours ago, but the evening seemed reluctant to end.

The Queen smiled as her second daughter came to join her and Elenna on the couch.  Although Lúthea was still smaller than her older sister, she had grown a little in stature, in the last year.  Arwen noticed her sitting taller in her seat, the features on her eager face a little bit finer, a little more mature.

“Ah, I do not mind if she is not ready to sleep yet,” she said softly. “Your father and I have hardly been back for two days, and I still must catch up on everything she has to tell me.”  She gave a quick glance to Lúthea.  “And everything you have to tell me, of course.”

Arwen turned a page of the storybook, in time to keep Elenna from tearing part of the corner.  They were coming to the end.

Lúthea shrugged cheerfully. She softened her voice, but smiled too.  “I’m just happy now that you’re back, that’s all.”

“I am, too.”  Arwen smiled warmly. 

With that, Elenna helped her mother turn the last page of the book, and as Arwen set it down on a nearby table, she energetically squirmed out of Arwen’s lap to run over to select a new tale.

The brown-haired girl went over to the nursery’s small shelf and began to pull out a few small volumes.  Within a moment or two, however, she had settled herself on the floor, absorbed in her own babbling.

“I… I did leave in a bit of a hurry, didn’t I?”

There was a moment of quiet before Lúthea responded again in a small voice.  “Is everything truly alright now?”

“Well… I do not think those things I was thinking about have truly left my mind,” she said honestly, “But I will not let them overwhelm me, as they did then.  Perhaps… perhaps it was only being confronted with my parents’ writings, after avoiding them for such a time.”

Lúthea frowned slightly with concern.  “You miss them very much, don’t you?”

Giving a melancholy smile, Arwen nodded. “I do.”

In trying to read her daughter’s expression, she sensed it was her that was more in need of reassurance.  Now having her lap free, she took the moment to put her arms around Lúthea. The princess hugged back, as her mother kissed the top of her head.

"But what I told you before is still true.  It does not mean I do not want you to learn about your family, that part of your history.”

Lúthea looked up with a tentative smile.  “I liked Eldarion’s letter, too.  He told me all about where my uncles live, and everything he’s seen at Rivendell.”

“I would like very much for you to see it too, some day.”

This seemed to cheer the princess, and her expression became calmer.  “When Elenna has grown?”

Arwen gave a decisive nod. “Definitely.”

The girl in question came over then, clutching a new piece of reading, her eyes bright.

“One more, nana, ‘nother one!”

Arwen grinned.  “Alright, but only one more.”  After settling Elenna back on her lap, she turned again to her other daughter.  “Will you join us as well, for the conclusion?”

Thinking a moment, the princess gave a quick, appraising glance at the nearby table, and took up one of the smaller volumes she herself had been looking at.  Seeing her mother looking back curiously, she blushed a little to explain. 

“Maybe… maybe I will also go and do some reading before I sleep,” she said.

Arwen could not resist grinning.  “Try not to stay awake too late, sell-nín?” Her tone was good-natured.

“I won’t,” Lúthea replied, her cheeks still pink. 

The young princess took a few steps toward the door, but turned again.  She paused for a moment, looking unsure about what she wanted to say.

“Mírra… is she really going to marry Doran?”

Arwen wondered how long Lúthea had been holding the question in.  “Perhaps.  It hasn’t been decided yet.”  She looked thoughtfully at her daughter.  “What do you think of him?”

Lúthea gave a good-natured smile.  “He’s quite nice.  I like him.”

“I do too.”

The girl gave another moment’s pause.  “What does adar think?”

“He is… still deciding,” said the Queen wryly.

“Ah. Alright then.”  She went over to her mother and exchanged a good-night kiss on the cheek.  “Good night, naneth.”

“Sleep well, darling.”

Many minutes after Lúthea had slipped away, after looking at yet another storybook, Arwen found her youngest daughter was still nowhere near sleeping.

"Are you not ready to say goodnight yet, hmm?” 

Elenna fussed slightly as her mother stood up and walked about the room. 

“Ah, perhaps a song, then,” Arwen whispered.

She hummed softly, rubbing the little girl’s back.  Elenna rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, listening.  Long lashes and heavy eyelids wavered over her sleepy light eyes, before they finally closed.

Arwen held her securely, almost protectively.  Sitting back in a rocking chair, she continued singing, in part ensuring her daughter was asleep, in part out of a desire not to let go of the melody, and the memories that went with it.

She was not sure how much time had passed before she opened her eyes, to see Aragorn at the door, his expression calm with quiet adoration.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute,” Aragorn replied reassuringly, his voice quiet to avoid disturbing their daughter. He almost gave a chuckle.  “I thought I would be the one up late, but here I still find the two of you.”

The Queen gave a look of relief.  “She’s finally resting,” she whispered.

Aragorn reached out and smoothed a hand over Elenna’s hair.  She was fast asleep, cheeks red from the excitement of the day, arms curled up against her body.  Arwen gently helped her husband to lift up the little girl.  She laid her head against his chest, completely given over to slumber.

Arwen watched him settle her in amongst her blankets, and came over to join him. Aragorn took her hand and they moved to stand by the window, still able to watch their daughter sleeping from the short distance away.

“That song you were humming just now,” Aragorn whispered, “I remember you used to sing it for Mírra, when she could not fall asleep.”

She slipped an arm about his waist, and leaned into him.  “My mother used to hum it for me.  Strange, how such things can be remembered, from so long ago.”

“Mmm.”  Aragorn drew an arm around her shoulders.  “I’m so very glad that they can.”

In agreement she nodded.  Hugging him tightly, she rested her head underneath his chin. 

Before long, he noticed a more prolonged silence from his wife.

“Does your mother still trouble you?” He whispered, not entirely able to conceal his concern.

He felt Arwen swallow.  “Only days ago, all I could think about was how I had lost her,” she said faintly, “How I feared I’d lost you...”

Her face began to look fragile.  Aragorn’s expression softened in response and he raised a hand up to her cheek.

“I was not foolish enough to think it was forgotten, only hopeful that it was better.”

“It is, truly, Estel-nin,” Arwen whispered. 

Still in Aragorn’s arms, she looked up at him, curling her hands up on his chest. 

“Ah, it was my mother at first, and then I was here, sitting and thinking, and all the events of the last week confronted me.”  She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “To hear from Eldarion… and then Mírra’s news, and everything today...  After so frightening a time, when I felt such emptiness in my own life, I am reminded of how full their own lives are becoming.”  She smiled thoughtfully, her eyes unexpectedly wet.  “Our children surprise my emotions, sometimes.  And I do love them for it.’

“Even if some days are more surprising than others?” His eyes were kind.

Arwen wrapped her arms around him again and squeezed tightly.  “Especially on those days.”

* * *

"We will have to return sometime, I fear,” Mírra heard a familiar voice say.

Still seated on a hill overlooking the river, underneath the shade of a tree, Mírra turned as she heard Doran approach.  Although Doran’s visit had already lasted as long as his previous stay in the White City, it still made her heart lift, to be able to hear him speak to her, his voice as gentle and deep as she remembered.  She smiled to see his sand-coloured hair fall into his eyes.

“Your family will be wondering what is keeping us,” he concluded. 

There was the slightest trace of anxiety in Doran’s statement, but all other signs in his manner indicated he was comfortable staying right where he was.  The late summer sun was still high, with only a few clouds to obscure its rays.  The Anduin flowed swiftly in the bright light. 

Mírra smiled warmly and extended a hand to Doran, who linked his own hand with hers before taking a seat beside her on the grass.  She almost did not want to know how many hours had passed since they had ventured out together. 

“Let us have a few moments more,” she said calmly.  “It is too lovely a day, not to spend it alone with you.”

Doran’s cheeks reddened, but he smiled.  “You flatter me, lady.”  He found himself very aware of her hand in his, of the softness of her skin. 

As if on cue, Mírra added her other hand to his, and gave a light squeeze.  “Ah, perhaps it is the river.” Her eyes gleamed. “If I am near it, you must be as well, to keep me safe.”

Doran’s face clouded subtly, remembering the alarm of those first hours of their meeting. It did not go unnoticed by the princess.  She paled at the thought of having spoiled the peacefulness of their company.

“It was only in jest, Doran, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “Nay, do not worry.” 

He too remembered the first letter she had written to him: “For those briefest of moments I was lost, frightened, alone. I thought that memory would stay with me always. But now a different memory has replaced it, and I am not frightened anymore.” It was seeing those words that had made him know how truly their acquaintance had changed, gone beyond her recovery and become something more.

“Is it not strange,” Doran began, “how something that was so upsetting, could turn into…” He almost laughed.  “Well, could turn into this?”

Mírra smiled in relief.  “I am so glad that it did.”

As he reached one arm around her shoulders, she settled into it, and they sat together, looking out at the landscape of the Anduin.

After a moment, Doran spoke again, quietly.  “You are certain we should not return?” 

Mírra took in a breath and let it out very slowly.  “We should.  I know. To be truthful, I am simply happy to have come this far with you, but…”  Her voice began to trail off.  “Perhaps I only want to avoid the inevitable conversations that will follow.”

He sighed in agreement. “I expected the King to turn me away the moment I arrived.” 

“Part of me would like to think that, if was going to say no, he would have said it before now.  But I know he has doubts.”  She looked down at her lap.  “He has every reason to, after all I have kept from him, until now.”

“He wants what is best for you… to marry well.”

She swallowed hard, her voice impossibly quiet. “A nobleman, as befits my station?”

Doran watched her expression dim, and for a moment did not know what to say.  Once again he took her hand.

"Should we not admit it?  That perhaps this cannot be?”  He could not hide disappointment, but neither could he avoid the honesty.  “Marriage to a man of no fortune, from such an unfamiliar place?”

It was what Mírra had kept hidden in the back of her mind, had hoped would stay hidden, but she knew Doran was right to admit it.

She reached out and put her arms around his neck, and felt his strong arms close around her, holding her close against his broad chest.  As if for security, she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Not such a very unfamiliar place,” she whispered.

Doran pulled away gently, with a questioning look.  “You were only there once, only for two days.”

“It is where you live, and I know what I remember.  I know what you have told me.”  Mírra’s eyes were clear, her voice and face calm.

“Tell me, then.”  He spoke quietly but began to smile, curiously.

Mírra grew thoughtful for a moment.

“There is a hillside, where your sister’s house sits,” she began reflectively, “and I remember the clover in the grass.  Just on the other side is a pasture, where the sheep graze. When I awoke that first day, I looked out the window and saw you, tending to the flock.”  She blushed almost imperceptibly. “Past the field is your house, where you live with your son. Even though I have not seen it, I know you stand outside in the evening, after Nolan sleeps, and you look at the sky.” 

Her voice became even gentler, as she met his brown eyes when she spoke.

“The stables are where you work when the flock does not take priority, and you care well for the horses there.  I remember, when I was frightened to ride a horse again, you restored my trust.  When I needed safety, you helped me.  More than anything… I remember you.”

After listening with such rapt attention, Doran could hardly find words to respond.  The details of his life seemed so much less unremarkable, when it was she who described them. 

He saw a lock of dark hair had fallen out of her braid, and tenderly he pushed it behind her ear.  “You could have so much more, Mírra,” he whispered, “So much more than my small corner of the world.”

Mírra looked at him with earnestness in her eyes, her voice hushed to match his.  She shook her head. “It would seem like more to others, but not to me.  I want a life with you, and that does not feel wrong. Does it feel that way to you?”

Doran traced her hairline with his fingertips, moving down to cup her cheek.  “No.”

With her hands still resting on his shoulders, Mírra had only to make the smallest of motions, before Doran reciprocated, to take hold of her mouth in a kiss.  As they wrapping their arms around each other, bringing the embrace closer.

When they broke apart, Doran bent his forehead to her temple, and so they sat holding each other, for a long while.

"Such doubts… when I am with you, they vanish, and it feels so right to be with you, it surprises me,” he finally whispered.

The warmth Mírra saw in his eyes was enough to convince her.  “I would live with you, ride with you.  I would be your companion.”

“And so I would be for you.”  He began to stroke her hair again, brushing away small strands that had blown free in the breeze.  “Can it be so simple?”

“But it is that simple.  I want to be with you, Doran, always.”

She tilted her chin to kiss him, and once again they embraced, underneath the shade of the tree, near the river, and the warmth of the afternoon sun high above them.

* * *

Upon returning to the city, the pair were met by none other than the King.  He extended his hands to greet his daughter first, and then her companion with a touch more formality.

"I trust you spent a fine afternoon,” Aragorn asked Mírra, giving a nod to Doran.

“We did indeed, the weather was quite splendid,” she replied, smiling. 

Mírra looked from Aragorn to Doran with some hesitation.  Her father seemed unusually alert, aware of every mannerism her companion made.  She, too, found herself thinking on her own appearance, wondering there was anything out of place, anything to give her father any doubt.  Doran stood by with as much calm as he could muster.  Even after a week in the company of the royal family, he still did not feel quite natural.

“May I ask a favour of you, mir-nîn?” Aragorn said simply, taking his daughter’s hands.

“Of course, father.”

“Will you let me have a few minutes with your guest?”

Mírra swallowed.  She gave a quick glance to Doran, who she could tell was feeling much the same flash of anxiety.  Her father seemed more relaxed than she would have expected. “Alone?” 

“It will not be long,” The King turned to Doran.  “Come, I believe your horse is still saddled?  Would you join me for a brief ride?”

What else was there to say?  “Of course, your highness,” Doran gave a short bow.

Before the two men departed again for the stables, Mírra caught her companion’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Be back soon,” he told her.

“Just come back,” Mírra replied teasingly.

Surprisingly enough, the King was quiet for the first short portion of the ride.  The afternoon was still as sunny as it had been when Doran and Mírra had been by the riverside, and perhaps had a subduing effect on what might have otherwise been an even more awkward meeting.

While riding, the King cast a few subtle, appraising glances to the man who had shared his daughter’s company over the past days.  Doran kept his eyes ahead unless addressed directly, and held the reins loosely in one hand.  He sat tall in the saddle, but with the comfortable air of one who knew horses well.

Aragorn had to admit there was nothing untoward in his manner, nothing antagonistic or unkind.  But perhaps he had been looking too hard to find such qualities.

"How have you enjoyed your stay this week?” the King asked.

“Ah, very well indeed, your majesty,” replied Doran.  He cleared his throat slightly, wondering if he was only imagining the nervousness in his voice.  “The White City is indeed magnificent.  Perhaps even more so on this occasion than my first visit.”

“It does get quite crowded at Midsummer, certainly,” Aragorn concurred.  “And how does your son, and family?” he continued cordially.

“My sister and her family are well, as is Nolan,” said Doran.  “I am trying to remember everything of my experiences here, to tell him later.  He is always quite full of questions, after I return from traveling.”

“You must miss him during those times.”

Doran gave a thoughtful nod.  “Indeed I do, your highness.”

The two continued to ride.  Each time Aragorn fell silent after a moment of conversation, Doran found himself scrutinizing his own behaviour, wondering if he had answered the questions appropriately.  He was being truthful, which was perhaps all the King wanted to hear.  Still, he realized there was more to this small expedition than pleasantries.

Aragorn brought his horse to a stop, and turned directly to Doran.

“The purpose of your visit, I know, was to court my daughter, and I know she has been happy in your company this week.  For this reason I have not pressed the matter, but now I must be plain.  Have you made promises to Mírra?  What have you asked of her?”

The younger man looked abashed.

"I… have made no request of vow to Mírra, only professed my affection for her. Forward though this may have been… I should not have done so unless I believed her feelings to be the same as mine.”

Aragorn seemed to accept this, but his face revealed very little.

“Already, noblemen have offered theirs suits to my daughter, but I dismissed each of them.  Now, however, I find myself in a strange situation.  For the fact is that Mirra feels affection for you, which means I cannot simply dismiss this.”

Doran was unsure how to reply, and so only gave another nod.  “I am not foolish enough to have forgotten how far her station is above mine, your highness.  But in that I think we are in agreement, for I do feel affection for Mírra also.  And so I have found myself unable to dismiss it either.”

“So I have also come to realise.”  Aragorn paused.  “The other fact that I cannot ignore is that my daughter is still young, and I would not have her wed so soon, no matter who it was that courted her.  Therefore I cannot give consent to this now.”

Doran did not find this wholly unexpected.  “I understand.”

“The kindness that you and your family showed her has not been forgotten.  It is often in my mind, how things could have been very different.”

“And in my mind as well,” Doran replied.  He met the King’s eyes clearly.  “The first time I met Mírra, I only wanted to protect her.  That has not changed.”

The King regarded him for a moment.   “I believe you.”

* * *

Much later that evening, Arwen had made herself ready for bed, only to find her husband seated on their balcony, deep in reflection.  She came out to join him, smiling peacefully.

“Should I be surprised to find you out here, thinking?”

Aragorn gazed upon his wife, extending a hand for her to join him.  “’…to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers.’” He gave a small melancholy smile.  “So your father told me, when he knew of our attachment.”

Arwen raised a hand to tenderly brushed her fingers over the fine lines on his forehead, then held his cheek in her palm.

“How earnest you were, then,” she said with fond remembrance.

“My heart was genuine.”

Arwen wondered if such memories had been in his mind for the length of Doran’s visit. 

“Mírra is too young to marry.  In that you are not incorrect.”

Aragorn exhaled in weariness.  “And yet if the decision was that simple, I would not be awake with worry over it.  How do I know he is right for her?” 

She took his arm.  “I know your misgivings, for I have them too.” There was something about the quiet of the evening that made them speak in hushed voices. “But… must we force them to part?”

“I would not want to hurt her so.” 

“There will be no decision yet, then?” she asked softly.

“Not completely.” He sighed again.  “I cannot grant them permission, but I think… I can give them something.”

“Yes?”

“Time.”

He was relieved to see his wife nod, and as she clasped his hand, he gave a faint smile.  Arwen leaned into his chest and put her arms around him.

“It is a good decision.”