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Arwen's Heart  by Bodkin

Games

The twins bowed formally, hand on heart, dipping their heads to conceal identical grins. 

‘My lady,’ they said together.

Arwen looked at them graciously.  ‘You are most welcome here in Lothlórien,’ she told them.  ‘We are pleased that so many have responded to the challenge sent out into the elven realms.’

‘Who could resist the command of the Evenstar?’ Elladan asked, shooting a somewhat feral glance at the assembled warriors of the Golden Wood.

‘You are the last to arrive.’  A sister’s disapproval tinged her tone.  ‘We have greeted a contingent of archers from the realm of Aran Thranduil and even some from far Mithlond.’

‘My apologies, Lady fair,’ Elrohir said easily.  ‘We had a slight – problem – to deal with before we left the borders of Imladris and our departure was delayed.  But we are here now.’

‘And with tonight’s feast,’ Arwen declared, ‘the games will commence!’

Celeborn leaned closer to the lean figure of Glorfindel.  ‘What problems might those have been?’ he asked.

The golden-haired elf cast up his eyes.  ‘Do not ask!’ he said.  ‘Nothing that concerns the safety of elvendom in Arda, at any rate.  Although I would tell you now that the vagaries of adolescence are enough to make any sensible adult prefer the simplicity of battle.’

The Lord of the Wood grinned.  ‘Ah,’ he said.  ‘Isildur’s heir is proving as obstinate as his bloodlines suggest, is he?’

Glorfindel turned to look at him.  ‘Elrond is missing his daughter, Celeborn,’ he murmured.  ‘He is sure that this path is for the best – but I am not convinced.  I argued against it at the start and I still feel . . .’  He shrugged.  ‘Elrond needs Arwen’s support, my friend.  There are difficult years ahead.  I can smell it in the air.’

‘Later, Glorfindel,’ Celeborn insisted.  ‘This is neither the time nor the place to talk of such matters.’  He paused.  ‘I was surprised that Thranduil agreed to send warriors to take part in Arwen’s challenge.  He is not, as you know, too fond of my wife and tends to discourage links between our realms.’

‘He did not send his son though, I note,’ the Vanyar remarked.

‘I am told that Legolas suffered injury shortly before the party left – and that he was desolated to disappoint Lady Arwen by failing to take up her invitation.’

‘Convenient.’

‘Very convenient,’ Celeborn agreed.  ‘I suspect that only the fact that the challenges were issued under Arwen’s name brought about the polite fiction.  My cousin would have no hesitation in being far ruder to me.’

‘You are remarkably patient with his hostility.  I believe there was a time when you would have been inclined to try to beat some sense into his head.’

‘Please!’ Celeborn looked pained.  ‘I have learned the skills of diplomacy since my headstrong youth.’

‘Acquired them painfully,’ Glorfindel agreed.  ‘Learned as are all the best lessons.’

Celeborn laughed.  ‘Come with me, my friend,’ he said.  ‘Let us share a skin or two of wine and you can tell me of my son-in-law’s suffering at the hands of the latest scion of Elros’s line.’

***

Estel glowered. 

He had shot up recently, Elrond thought with resignation, and now he was all legs and floppy dark hair.  And surliness.  He must not forget that.  It seemed only ten minutes ago that the eager child had been only too willing to go out of his way to please his ada, but somehow, from somewhere, Estel seemed to have acquired the belief that he knew best.   The Lord of Imladris would have blamed his sons for the newly acquired attitude, if they did not clearly find the boy’s sheer contrariness just as irritating as he did.

‘You may not go with your brothers,’ he said patiently.  ‘You have your studies and your training – and I am not prepared to have you leave the safety of Imladris’s borders.’

‘There will be no training while Glorfindel and his chosen warriors are away,’ Estel argued.  ‘And Elladan and Elrohir cannot work with me, for they will be gone too.  I do not see why it should make any difference if I travel with them!  Glorfindel can give me lessons in history and – and languages while we are gone.  Travel is good for the mind.’

‘You will have plenty of opportunity to broaden your mind that way when you are older, Estel,’ Elrond said firmly.

The boy turned his scowl on his naneth.

‘No,’ Gilraen said simply.  ‘Lord Elrond is quite right.  You have work to do here – and, regardless of that, it is your duty to obey without complaint.  You get your own way far too often as it is – and I will not have you badgering Elladan and Elrohir until they intercede for you.  You will be adult soon enough, my son, and then you can make your own decisions, but for now you will do as you are told.’

Estel opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without saying anything.  His naneth, he had discovered, put her foot down rarely, but, when she did, she was unyielding.  His adar might be willing to listen to reasoned arguments, although he rarely changed his mind, but when the pair of them stood shoulder to shoulder, Estel knew he did not stand a chance against them.

Gilraen and Elrond waited briefly to see if he would object to their ruling, then dismissed him to attend to his studies.

He was quite impressed with himself, Estel decided, for managing to leave Adar’s study without slamming the door, but, nevertheless, he had no intention whatsoever of mincing off meekly to listen to Erestor going on endlessly about mathematics.  He slouched along the corridor, his black mood obvious enough to deter any of the passing elves from speaking to him. 

Elladan found him in the small room at the end of the library where some of the oldest scrolls were kept, carefully wrapped in silk.

‘Clever,’ he said admiringly.  ‘I believe the search has extended to the stables and the training fields, but no-one has thought to look in the library for one escaping the trials of education.’

‘Except you,’ Estel replied, more mollified than he would have thought by his foster-brother’s approval.

‘Well . . .’ Elladan said deprecatingly, and laughed.

‘Did you hide here, too?’

‘Once or twice,’ the twin admitted.  ‘It is the last place Adar would have expected to find me.’  He grinned.  ‘Here, or the schoolroom,’ he added.  ‘Just in case you want another good place.’

‘They will not let me come,’ his young brother told him sadly.

‘I thought not.’  Elladan put a hand on Estel’s shoulder.  ‘But you are not the only one, my brother.  After all, Adar is remaining here – and he must want to go and see Arwen.’

‘I have never met her,’ Estel remarked.  ‘It seems odd that you should have a sister I have never seen.’

‘I am sure you will see her one day,’ his foster brother consoled him, ‘and it is not as if you would find the acquaintance too exciting – she is, after all, an elleth, with the usual unreasonable objections to such things as frogs in her bathing chamber and nettles concealed under her sheets.’

‘I am just so sick of being too young for everything I want to do,’ Estel groused, ‘except for all the times when I am considered old enough to know better.’

‘You will outgrow the problem soon enough.’  Elladan eyed the youth.  ‘You are growing like a weed, Estel.  Within five or six years, you will be a man – and you might look back and wish that you had not been in such a hurry to grow up.’

Estel’s expression of betrayal would have been funny, Elladan thought, had it not been for the gleam of resentment in his eyes.

‘Come,’ he commanded.  ‘You had best seek out Erestor and apologise for missing your lesson – before Adar decides to speak to you about courtesy and consideration.’  He grinned.  ‘And then make your peace with your naneth.  She is not pleased, Estel.  You are unlikely to escape without penalty.’

Estel frowned, but allowed himself to be led towards the advisor’s office, pulling away from his foster brother’s hand at the last minute, as if to assert his independence.

‘We will see you later, then,’ Elladan sighed with resignation as the youth tapped on the door and advanced reluctantly into the room.

***   

‘He ran away?’ Celeborn said incredulously.

‘Daeradar, please!’ Elrohir lifted a hand in denial.  ‘He decided that, if he was not respected for his true worth in Imladris, he would remove his unwanted presence and take himself off to camp in the woods.’

‘How is that different?’

‘He intended to come back, of course,’ Elladan grinned.  ‘Once everybody had had a chance to realise how essential his company was to their comfort and peace of mind.’

‘I was tempted to leave him,’ Glorfindel admitted.  ‘Give one or two of my best scouts the task of ensuring his safety, of course, whilst making sure that he found no game, little shelter and lost track of where he was.  It would have been a salutary experience – and shown him that he is nowhere near as skilled as he thinks he is – but Elrond was not prepared to allow him to suffer the consequences of his actions.’

‘Not in that way, anyway,’ Elrohir qualified.  ‘He should have a far deeper understanding of the ins and outs of food preparation by the time we return.’

‘Kitchen duty?’ Arwen grinned.  ‘It is not as painful a penalty as Adar seems to think.  Iavas seems to feel that those sentenced to labour in her kitchen need regular feeding with honey cakes and berry tarts.’

‘You ended up scrubbing pots and peeling vegetables a time or two, did you not, my sister?’ Elladan asked, putting his arm round the slender elleth. 

‘Nowhere near as often as my big brothers,’ she said airily.  ‘And I am sure you have found the cooking skills you learned to be of use to you.’

‘He sounds to be a remarkably tiresome young man,’ Celeborn said flatly.  ‘I am surprised that Elrond tolerates his tantrums.’

Galadriel shot an amused glance at him.  ‘The feast went well, Arwen,’ she said, deciding that enough had been said on the subject of the Dunedain concealed within Imladris’s borders.  ‘Although each group of elves seems determined to keep apart from their rivals – I hope that some of their suspicions are laid to rest by the time the games are concluded.  This is no time for elves to be wary of each other.’

‘We have not spent enough time in each other’s company over recent centuries,’ Glorfindel said ruefully.  ‘Each haven has become as an isolated island in a sea of men.’

‘Surely not.’  Celeborn lifted an eyebrow.  ‘Men are few and far between in most of these lands.  Orcs, on the other hand, spread like a disease over the face of the land.’

Shrugging elegantly, Glorfindel replied, ‘Orcs or men – what counts is that we have become estranged from each other.  It is no wonder that Mirkwood’s archers look on us with doubt – when did we last emerge from our havens to offer them aid?  When did the elves of Mithlond last come east?  We are too often our own worst enemies, my friend, and in our own pride, we offer up our throats to the blades of our foes.’  He clasped his hands behind his head and gazed thoughtfully up at the golden canopy of broad mallorn leaves. 

‘Were you not there when the White Council drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur?’ asked Celeborn, with a puzzled frown. 

Elladan tightened his hold on his sister and leaned to murmur in her ear.  ‘Is Daeradar’s memory failing him, do you think?’

She smiled.  ‘It is like being home again, and an elfling,’ she breathed, ‘to have Daeradar and Glorfindel squabbling over nothing.  I had not realised how much I had missed it!’

‘All we need is Adar stepping between them to keep the peace.’  He grinned.  ‘I wonder who will take on his role and bring them together?’

She rolled her eyes.  ‘There can be no question!’ she declared. 

‘You know he was, my lord,’ Galadriel said mildly, as her granddaughter beamed at her brother triumphantly.  ‘And Glorfindel knows that we are too few to hold back the tide that comes to swamp us.  But I am pleased that Arwen’s scheme seems likely to remind us that we are all elves, no matter where we live, and that we share a common enemy.’

‘I am not sure that setting different groups to compete for trophies is a way to remind us that we are friends,’ Elrohir observed.  ‘Competition can stir up rivalries long since thought buried.’

‘Yet sharing information is a good way to understand that we are not alone,’ Arwen retaliated. 

‘On whom are you placing your bets,’ Elladan nudged her.  ‘Lothlórien or Imladris?’

‘I am not betting,’ Arwen informed him primly.  ‘It would be most improper in me.  As the organiser, it is my duty to be impartial.’

‘But she will be most disappointed in you if you allow yourselves to be defeated,’ Celeborn smiled at his granddaughter fondly, ‘and will doubtless see you suffer for your incompetence.’ His smile developed a fierce edge.  ‘As will Glorfindel.’

‘We should have stayed at home, my brother,’ Elrohir sighed.  ‘At least Estel has some respect for us and admires us for our multifarious talents.’

‘He has not really had long to get to know you, though,’ their sister teased.  ‘He will learn better in time.’

***

Cúraniel pored over the lists detailing who had achieved what scores and annotated the master copy before sitting back and sighing loud enough to attract Arwen’s attention.

‘Thranduil’s archers are excelling themselves, are they not?’ she remarked to Cúraniel.  ‘Are you disappointed?’

‘It is quite amusing,’ her friend admitted.  ‘Haldir and your brothers were determined to defeat each other – they have been prowling round each other with the sleek ferocity of wildcats – and they have been pushed out of the leading positions altogether.  The Mirkwood bows might be less powerful – but when an archer is as skilled as they all seem to be, it makes little difference.’

‘And they all laugh,’ Arwen said thoughtfully, ‘and claim to be barely competent in comparison to Thranduil’s son.’

‘He must be truly exceptional.’

Arwen raised an eyebrow.  ‘Rumour has it he is rather appealing in other ways, too.’

‘He is fair-haired.’  Cúraniel waved a dismissive hand.  ‘I have seen too many blond elves.  And he is far too young to be really interesting.’

‘Elladan is at the top of his group as far as sword-play is concerned,’ Arwen turned back to the information in front of her.  ‘And Elrohir is doing surprisingly well in unarmed combat.’

‘M’mm,’ Cúraniel agreed.  ‘He is broader in the shoulder – and more powerful.  Once he has his opponent down, it is hard for him to get away.’

‘You have been watching, then,’ Arwen commented.

Cúraniel flushed.  ‘Let me repeat it. I am not interested in your brother.’

‘Of course not – you just enjoy watching half-clad ellyn rolling around on the ground.’

A tiny smile began to play at the corners of Cúraniel’s mouth.  ‘Well, now you come to mention it . . .’ she said, opening her eyes widely.

Arwen giggled.  ‘It is a shame that we did not think to include swimming in the challenges offered.  Think of the opportunity we have missed!’

‘I shall miss this when it is over,’ Cúraniel said regretfully.  ‘This is the most fun we have had in years.’

‘Something else will turn up,’ her friend promised.  ‘I am sure of it.

***

Gilraen sat among the roses with her eyes closed, enjoying their fragrance and considering the problem that was her son.  He was neither one thing not the other, she sighed, that was the trouble.  Were his father still alive and they were living among their kind, Estel would be approaching manhood – old enough, at least, to take some responsibility on his young shoulders.  He would have a role and a sense of purpose that he lacked here in this tranquil haven.  Here – here, he was a child, considered barely old enough to do anything for himself.

The elves, for all their kindness, for all the love they showed towards a boy who had lost his father, simply could not understand the urgency of mortal lives.  Estel – Aragorn – was growing, and he had to be ready to accept the burden of his inheritance.  At this rate, she did not see that happening in the next decade.

He might be competent with weapons; learned in languages; knowledgeable about history – but unless he was permitted to develop as a man, it would be years before he was able to walk on his own, without the guidance of his teachers and the support of those who looked on him as their brother.  And then – then, he would not be able to stand as his father’s son.  How could the Dunedain accept him, take him as the leader he was born to be, follow him to the destiny intended for him, if to their eyes her son was an elf?

She had spoken to Elrond – several times, if truth were told – and each time he had protested that Estel was too young, that he deserved these years of innocence and joy to bolster him against the struggle ahead.  And he was right – she could see he was right.  She did not want her only child to be thrust out into a harsh world when she could protect him here.  But she knew, as Elrond appeared to prefer to ignore, that within a handful of years, that burden must be shouldered.

And he was not an elf.  Whereas as a child he had wept for that and longed to be like his brothers, he was now seeking to learn what sort of person occupied his skin, trying constantly to find just what he could do and butting his head against whatever barriers he found in his fight for some independence.   Unfortunately, she smiled ruefully, he lacked the maturity to be able to express what it was that was causing him to be so difficult and, instead, lurched from one disaster to the next.

But she did not.  Elrond must understand that Aragorn was like a caterpillar outgrowing his skin and that he must be allowed to expand his horizons if, when the chrysalis broke open, he was to be ready to fly.

It would not be easy.  Elrond had taken Estel as his foster son with a devotion that had surprised and humbled her when first she came within these walls.  Who would have thought that an elf lord of Elrond’s great age and might would sit with a grubby, tear-stained child dirtying his fine silken robe, with sticky fingers twisted possessively in his ebony braids?  But he had – and he had loved the child and cared for him as carefully as ever Arathorn could have done.  And now they were to face the hardest task that ever a parent had to endure – they had to let him go.

Gilraen stood.  The time had come for her to seek out Imladris’s lord and speak with him at length on the one subject she was better qualified than him to understand.  She simply hoped that, not only would he listen, but that she could convince him that change was needed to ensure that their hope became the man he was born to be.  After all, she had to.  This was too important for her to fail.

***

‘There is something about Lothlórien,’ Elrohir mentioned, as he and his brother watched the moonlight turn the water to a puddle of molten silver.

‘Mmm,’ Elladan agreed, adding several minutes later, ‘I am not sure I entirely like it.’

‘It is becoming more – remote, I think I mean.  More distant.’

‘Or are we becoming more involved with the outside world?’

‘Maybe.’  Elladan tilted his head back and let the cool light glimmer on his pale skin.  ‘I do not see how Daeradar endures it.’

‘I think he ignores it,’ Elrohir decided.  ‘He has decided that someone needs to be in touch with what is happening beyond the bounds of the Golden Wood – and he just gets on with it.’  A soft breeze stirred his dark hair.  ‘Though it would be a serious mistake to underestimate Daernaneth,’ he added.  ‘She might like the Wood to seem a place apart, but she has her eye on about a hundred possibilities at once and little escapes her watch.’

Elladan waved a hand dismissively.  ‘It is not our grandparents I doubt,’ he said.  ‘They are dangerous, whatever way you look at them.  ‘But those who dwell here – they are so accustomed to the shelter of their shielded little haven, that I cannot see them holding up in the face of sustained attack.  They are – soft.’

His brother threw him an amused glance.  ‘I am sure that Thranduil’s warriors would say the same of those who dwell in Imladris.’

‘Perhaps,’ Elladan granted, ‘but we do not shut out those from beyond our borders – even those who have not left the safety of Adar’s house in centuries are aware of the suffering of those who confront Sauron’s creatures and do their best to offer what aid they can.’  He turned his head and smiled to greet Arwen as she slipped from the shadows between the trees to join them.

‘Do not jump to conclusions.’  Arwen smiled affectionately at her brothers as they made space for her to sit between them.  ‘Many of those you are condemning as effete are anything but!  It is the fashion in Lothlórien to look as if an effect is achieved without any effort and to dismiss praise as unearned – but you have seen Daeradar’s marchwardens.  They are deadly and ferocious warriors – who just like to look as if they can dispose of armies of orcs without raising a sweat or untidying their hair.’

Elladan looped a long arm round her waist and leaned in to kiss her cheek.  ‘If you say so, little sister,’ he agreed amiably.

‘But you are not planning on bringing one of them home to meet Adar, are you?’ Elrohir enquired with a tinge of disapproval.

Arwen suppressed a smile.  ‘You never know,’ she said challengingly.  ‘And if I did, I would not want you tormenting the poor elf.’

‘That is our job,’ Elrohir said firmly, taking her hand.  ‘If he cannot stand up to us, he will not be worthy of you, Undómiel.   Not to mention that you would be able to make mincemeat of him without any effort at all.  Your suitors should thank us for deterring them.  Imagine the sheer horror of an eternity being bullied by you!’

‘I shall bear in mind,’ she laughed, ‘that – should I ever decide I am sufficiently interested in anyone – he will have to be able to take on my loving brothers and defeat them at their own game.’

The three siblings sat quietly, talking intermittently of old times, exchanging tales of their current activities and generally enjoying the rare opportunity to be together, until the moon set and the morning star gleamed down on them, promising another day.

‘I wish I could go home with you,’ Arwen said wistfully.  ‘Much as I love it here in Lothlórien, I miss the Hidden Valley – and I feel I need to spend as much time as possible with Adar.’

Elladan hugged her.  ‘We will pester Adar until he agrees to let us bring you home,’ he said comfortingly.  ‘The passes are safer now than they have been in years.  It would be a good time for you to travel.’

‘You said that before,’ Arwen reminded him sadly, ‘but I am still here.  I do not believe that he or Daeradar will allow me to journey back to Imladris until they are ready – whenever that might be.’

Elrohir dropped a kiss on her ear.  ‘There are times, my sister,’ he said, ‘when you just have to put your foot down and insist.  You cannot let Adar and our grandparents live your life for you – you are too amenable at times.’

‘They are only doing what they think is best.’  Arwen wrapped her arms round her knees and rested her chin as her silken hair covered her back like a cloak.  ‘They wish to fend off some danger that they believe threatens me – Adar and Daeradar are standing shoulder to shoulder on this and Daernaneth is willing to let them try.’  She turned to meet her brothers’ concerned looks.  ‘But she knows that they are fighting something too inevitable to resist.’  She smiled and took a hand of each of them.  ‘We all have a part to play in fighting the Shadow,’ she said, ‘and, for all they would keep me safely tucked out of its range, they will not succeed.  My fate awaits me, just as yours does you – and there is nothing we can do about it.’

His grip tightening on her hand, Elladan frowned at her.  ‘They are not the only ones who would protect you,’ he insisted.  ‘We are not about to let anything threaten our little sister either.’

‘You might be my big brothers,’ Arwen smiled, ‘but there are things that you cannot prevent.’

‘Maybe not,’ Elrohir spoke softly, ‘but we will look after you – one way or another.  On that you can rely.’

‘And you have no idea,’ she said, ‘how much that comforts me.’

 





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