Marriage

Arwen’s attention remained fixed on the brass scales in the window of the discreetly expensive shop.  Why did it have to be that way?  Why was one thing always weighed up against another?  Why did years of happiness with Aragorn have to be countered by the loss of her kin?  It seemed unjust.

‘The goods are not that interesting,’ Elrohir murmured in her ear, too low for the men around them to catch his words.  ‘Dwarves are good with stone, and men with ploughs – but for delicate work, give me elves any time.’

His sister looked at him reprovingly.

‘You may be their queen now, Undómiel, but that does not mean that you have to lose your sense of proportion.’  He grinned and offered her his arm, so that she might step graciously among those few of her people who frequented this quiet street.  ‘It is not far now – we will soon be able to sit under some less rigidly controlled trees and enjoy the scent of some greenery.’

‘If I can change nothing else,’ Arwen smiled, ‘I am going to stop the gardeners pruning the life out of every plant they see.’

‘Sam would agree with you,’ Elladan muttered.  ‘There is a lot to be said for what he calls ‘good hobbit sense’.  He seems to think that the stone has got into their heads and they will not be happy until everything looks like a piece of marble.’

Elrohir pushed open a rather rickety gate and led his brother and sister into a rather aged orchard of lichen-covered apple trees.  ‘It seems deserted,’ he remarked.  ‘Faramir says that many of those who own these houses removed themselves to their country estates as the situation in the city worsened – and some, of course, have not survived to return.’

‘These trees have not been tended in twenty years or more,’ Arwen remarked, spreading her cloak and settling on the lush grass.

Elrohir promptly stretched out and rested his head on her lap.

‘Unfair,’ Elladan complained.

Arwen’s eyes twinkled.  ‘Aragorn might say the same,’ she said mildly, running her fingers through her brother’s hair and gently massaging his scalp.

‘He is busy doing king things.’ Elrohir was smug.  ‘And leaving us to look after his wife.’

She stopped as if he had slapped her.

‘What is it?’ Elladan looked at them with concern.

‘I shall never get to see your wives,’ she said, ‘and your children will know me not.’

‘You never know…’ Elrohir started.

She touched a finger to his lips.  ‘You will sail west,’ she insisted, ‘and live in peace and contentment and have half a dozen elflings.’

‘In which case he will certainly not live in peace and contentment,’ Elladan teased.  ‘I remember how much trouble we were.’

‘We will not sail until and unless we are ready, my sister,’ Elrohir said, clasping her hand in his.   ‘Nor would Adar expect us to do so.’

‘Your presence here will change nothing.’  Arwen looked from Elrohir to Elladan.  ‘My choice is made – and I would not change it if I could – but I would have you sail.  Naneth will need you – and so will Adar.  Promise me!’

‘You ask too much.’ Elladan shook his head.

‘I promise,’ Elrohir told her, ‘that I will not choose not to sail.  We will wait, Arwen.  We said we will not leave you – and we will not.  You might think it unnecessary, but you will just have to live with it.’

‘What does Estel say?’ she asked.

‘He says we are always welcome,’ Elladan pronounced.  ‘His house is ours.’

‘Although he might want to reconsider,’ Elrohir said gleefully.  ‘Once he remembers some of our less responsible ways.’

***

The King of the Reunited Kingdom walked shoulder to shoulder with his foster father and wished that he was young enough to put his head down and howl out his problems for his adar to solve.  But he was a man and a king – and he was the cause of most of the pain that Elrond was suffering.

‘I do not blame you.’  Elrond sounded remarkably calm – and almost amused.  The king was not sure if that was not worse, but Estel found it comforting.

‘Neither do I blame Arwen – nor Galadriel, nor Elros, nor the Valar, nor Eru.’  Elrond stopped and turned to face his foster son.  ‘Partings happen, my son,’ he said.  ‘They are unwelcome and we regret them always – but they happen.  I have not seen my parents since I was an elfling – I do not know whether it will be possible ever to see them, even in the west.’  He clasped his son’s arm affectionately.  ‘I do not wish to leave my daughter – but, unless I wish to preserve her as an eternal child, I could not find a better man to take her into his care.’

‘But there could,’ Estel said in a low voice, ‘be a better elf.’ 

‘Do not let guilt for what must be ruin the years you have together, my son.  My daughter knows her heart – and she has long been certain that you are the one for her.  And you are my son, of whom I am as proud as I am of Elladan and Elrohir – how can I disagree that you are worthy?’  Elrond resumed their stroll.  It seemed the only way to deter those who were still determined to draw themselves to the new king’s attention.  ‘Arwen has always been the one to stay behind – to nurture, to make things right for others – but she, too, is Eärendil’s grandchild.  It is only appropriate that she should be the one to undertake this adventure of the spirit.’  Aragorn halted in surprise.  ‘It will hurt – I make no attempt to argue that we will not miss her as long as the world endures, but…’  The elf lord mused briefly.  ‘My brother took this route, and I have had many years to contemplate the fate Lúthien chose.’  He glanced at the bemused man.  ‘I have often wondered if I took the coward’s way, clinging to what I knew.  Elros was always the one who would seize opportunity and shake what was good from it, while I held back.’

‘Had you not chosen to be numbered among the Firstborn, the world would not now be free of Sauron,’ Aragorn insisted.

‘Perhaps not,’ the elf lord reflected.  ‘Although it may prove that my greatest contribution to the well-being of Arda rests in having given life to my daughter.’  They reached the wall and stood overlooking the circles of the city below them and the wide expanse of the Pelennor leading to the broad ribbon of the Anduin as it sought the sea.  ‘She does not understand yet what is asked of her,’ he said in a low voice.  ‘So far, all her sights have been set on reaching this moment – we have all found it difficult to see beyond Sauron’s fall.   We have tried to talk to her at times, those of us who have any experience of what the next years will bring her – but we know only from observation of the leap of faith that is needed to release one’s fëa and move beyond the world.  There is none who can tell her how it feels to be an elf who will accept the Gift of Men.’

‘How did Elros manage?’ 

Elrond smiled wryly.  ‘He took four centuries to allow his understanding to grow,’ he said, ‘before coming to the conclusion that the time had come for him to seek new challenges.  I do not think Arwen will have that much time.’

‘What if I am killed?’ Aragorn burst out, releasing one of the fears that had been niggling at his new happiness.  ‘Sauron is gone – but there are many others who would happily put an end to my life.  What would Arwen do then?’

‘She would do what she saw as her duty,’ Elrond replied promptly.  ‘She would raise your children to rule Gondor and see them take up their roles as your heirs and then… then she would take the time to think about what she must do.’

Aragorn opened his hands helplessly.  ‘My naneth told me I was looking above myself when my heart set itself on the Evenstar – that our race was too diminished to think of allying itself with the noblest that walked the earth.  I did not wish to see it – and over the long years, Arwen has been a constant inspiration to me – but I fear that Naneth may have been right.  I never wanted my lady to become less than she is because of me.’

‘Gilraen’s sight was clear,’ Elrond told him, ‘but she was not always right.  Arwen does not become less for giving herself to you.  I would say, in fact, that she has become greater – as have you, my son.  Between you, you have given hope to men – and mankind will be the better for it.  But,’ he added firmly, ‘you must stop questioning your fitness to be her husband.  I could never see what made Celebrían choose me when she could have had whomsoever she chose – and you will probably never understand what made Arwen select you from all those who would have wished to wed her.  But they chose us and we must just accept our good fortune.  Love her and trust her and help her understand what will come only too soon.’

They stood together in silence looking over the activity below them.

‘I am still sorry,’ Aragorn said simply.

‘I, too,’ his adar answered.  ‘Sorry that I cannot remain with you both as long as you need me.’

The king smiled sadly.  ‘A first lesson in mortality,’ he said.  ‘Our fathers pass beyond our reach, leaving us to strive to mould a better world for our children, with only the hope of eventual reunion in Eru’s own time.’

***

‘Are you sure?’  Arwen looked at her friend as they inspected the dusty tapestries in the more remote corridors of the Royal apartments.  ‘I cannot imagine anywhere more of a contrast to the mellyrn of Lothlórien.’

‘Oh, I do not know.’  Cúraniel inclined her head to one side.  ‘The dungeons beneath Barad-dûr, perhaps.  The bleak snow-fields atop Caradhras.  There must be some places less congenial to elves.’

Arwen looked doubtfully at the musty stone and faded hangings.  ‘It is hard to imagine where,’ she said.  ‘It will not always be like this – but it will take time to bring fresh air into these petrified halls.’

‘At least it is summer,’ Cúraniel shrugged.  ‘And we can open the doors and windows to let in some of the scent of the outside without arousing too much comment.  Imagine if it were snowing!’  She grinned.  ‘We need to set our minds to changing fashion, too.  I have no intention of burying myself under acres of heavy brocade – or dressing myself in garments that require three maids to lace me in.’

‘Nor I!’ Arwen declared.  ‘Formal robes are bad enough, but I am not going to adopt Gondor’s more peculiar styles.’  She considered what she had seen at the plethora of social occasions with which Gondor’s lords and ladies had greeted the wedding of the king and queen.  ‘They seem designed to keep women helpless,’ she said disapprovingly.

An amused laugh revealed her daernaneth’s arrival.  ‘Not women, but ladies,’ she said.  ‘What is the point of having wealth and position if everyone cannot observe from your dress that you need do nothing for yourself?  If you wander round the lower levels, you will see people far more practically clothed.’

‘I find it impossible to wander round anywhere,’ Arwen complained.  ‘Even here I have little doubt but there is a guard outside the door who would follow me the moment I decided to leave.’

Galadriel raised her eyebrows.  ‘You are an elf, my granddaughter!  I would be very disappointed if you could not evade the observation of an unsuspecting man.’

‘I could, of course,’ Arwen allowed, ‘but it does not seem very fair – he would only get into trouble.’  She smiled.  ‘Apparently his captain was displeased enough when my brothers dismissed him and said they would guard me.  None of them would credit that I am perfectly well able to care for myself.’  She opened a door to inspect another room that looked as if it had not been used since the days of the last kings.  ‘Aragorn asked me to be patient.  He said it would take time to train them to our ways.’

‘They will be willing enough to copy you,’ her daernaneth agreed, ‘just as long as you let them feel that it is their choice.’

‘Perhaps we should let them see us training with our bows and throwing knives,’ Cúraniel suggested.  ‘That could be amusing.  Your brothers could make bets on who would be first to imitate us – and who would be first to injure herself.’

Arwen looked from one to the other.  ‘Daernaneth has not persuaded to offer to remain?’ she asked.  ‘At least I have Aragorn to remind me why I am here.’

‘My lady is not displeased by my willingness to stay in Gondor,’ Cúraniel admitted.  ‘But the choice is mine.’  She gave a little nod.  ‘I have long wanted to travel and see other places,’ she reminded her friend.  ‘And I can think of no better place to be than at your side.’

The Queen of Gondor was surprised to find her eyes filled with tears.  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ she said sincerely.  ‘I will be grateful for your company.’

***

‘I will not leave her.’  Celeborn spoke pleasantly, but he left the wizard in no doubt as to his determination.

‘It might not help.’

‘Who might it not help?’ The elf asked acerbically.  ‘Galadriel, who must needs sail, whether I would ask her to delay or not?  Estel, who already blames himself for an abandonment that he will never willingly make?  Elrond?  My grandsons?  Or are you thinking that the presence of her kin might make Arwen’s choice harder to endure?  And, if you are, would you mind explaining why!’

Mithrandir sighed.  ‘It will make it harder for her to commit herself to another people and another age,’ he said simply.  ‘You will be constant reminders of a life that is no longer hers.’

Light angling through the high windows illuminated the dancing dust motes in the archive of ancient records.  Celeborn stood motionless, considering the wizard’s words.  Could it be true that the kindest thing that any of them could do for Arwen would be to leave her to her new world?  He did not believe it.

The movement of Mithrandir’s beard indicated a tightening of his jaw.  ‘I do not know, of course,’ he added.  ‘How can I?  How often has anyone had to deal with this situation?’

‘If we sail,’ Celeborn said, ‘and it turns out that my granddaughter needs the support of her family, it will be too late for anyone to turn round and admit that they were in error.’  He frowned at the wizard, who endured his disapproval with an aplomb that was only to be expected in one who had confronted a Balrog.  ‘I have no intention of hovering over her like a sick-nurse.’

Mithrandir sighed. ‘I never suggested for a minute…’  He waved a dismissive hand.  ‘I admit I would be glad to have you remain – at least until the age is well under way.  Few may be the elves remaining, but they will be needed to ensure that the lingering effects of Sauron’s malice do not corrupt what seems a fair beginning.’  He smiled slightly.  ‘I cannot, of course, say that Galadriel will be pleased – what is her thought?’

‘We have been parted before.  She will survive it.’

The wizard lifted a bushy eyebrow.  ‘She is reluctant?’

‘She knows that I must do this.  What we want is for you to lend your authority to our plea that my grandsons might delay their choice so that they do not need to sail with Elrond.  If the choice is forced on them now, they will remain – and mortality was never meant to be their fate.’  He extended a hand to rest on the Istar’s sleeve.  ‘It is not much to ask, Mithrandir, that Elrond and my daughter should be spared the doom of losing all their children.’

‘I can make no promises, Celeborn.’

‘Promises, no – but your word must carry some weight!’

‘It does not seem to me to be a problem,’ the wizard admitted.  ‘Although I imagine that their choice cannot be delayed indefinitely.’  He shot a look at the elf lord.  ‘Arwen’s end will be hardest on them,’ he warned.  ‘Even if she has herself come to terms with the Gift – and she probably will not begin to understand the full implications until Aragorn starts to show signs of age – her brothers will find it unendurable.’

‘Knowledge,’ Celeborn declared, ‘is better than ignorance.  They would rather watch over her decline than sit in the comfort of Aman and fear her passing.’

‘Maybe,’ Mithrandir said doubtfully.  ‘But I will lend my voice to your request.  You – and they – are old enough and experienced enough, in the end, to come to your own conclusions on the matter.’

‘And we will.  Of that you may rest assured.  We will do nothing to make Arwen’s fate harder for her.’

***

The guards, Aragorn was pleased to see, managed to keep their faces impassive when passed by their hastily-clothed king in pursuit of their fleet-footed queen in her floating robe of white, feet bare and hair unbound.

She turned to tease him with a provocative smile before bunching up her skirt and leaping down the steps that led into their private gardens.

‘Arwen,’ he hissed.  Quite how the lords of Gondor would react to this unconventional behaviour.…  He realised that did not care.   Gondor’s rules of protocol could be twisted into spills and used to light the fire.  He would do his best for Gondor, now and always – but he had sought the throne for one reason only, and that reason was currently standing in the branches of the only good-sized tree to survive in the Citadel.

‘Come and catch me,’ she teased.

‘You are not the first elf to issue such a challenge,’ he told her, grasping the lowest branch and swinging himself up.  ‘I have been evaded in trees by far more ruthless elves than you.’

‘Is that a challenge?’ she asked, leaning over a narrow branch to admire the sight of the Dúnadan climbing in a remarkably neat and cat-like way.

He paused and looked up at her, Ithil’s light shining on his face.  ‘You cannot go far,’ he pointed out.  ‘This is the only tree to be found here – other than the White Sapling!’

‘We must grow more,’ she instructed her husband.  ‘More trees, more flowers, more fruit, more vegetables, more air – less stone!’

‘I will make it a priority,’ he promised, stretching up a hand to touch hers.

He scarcely noticed her lithe move to join him lower in the tree.  She moved her long fingers gently over his cheek.  ‘You are tired,’ she said.

‘Not too tired for you,’ he vowed, the passion in his voice reminding her of the boy who had seen her first in the glades of Imladris.  ‘Never too tired for you.’

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she allowed herself to sink into the love in his eyes.  ‘My husband,’ she said, tasting the strangeness of the words on her tongue.

‘My queen,’ he replied, the words not strange to him at all.

Their kiss lacked the desperation of the caresses they had exchanged in previous brief encounters – there was no need.  Time, at last, was on their side.  For the present, at least.  It was, instead, a gentle exploration of a bond so deep that even a glance could stir it, yet one that made their senses reel.

‘Shall we retire to bed, my queen?’ Aragorn asked huskily.

‘I am tired of walls,’ she murmured.  ‘And the gardens are private.  Why do we not seek the secluded corner where the roses nod and ...’

The king hesitated briefly, but the ranger’s need surged.  ‘Faramir would be horrified,’ he smiled.

‘Then it is just as well that he is not here.’  Arwen drew her husband from the tree to take advantage of the spot she had noted.  ‘Although I cannot imagine that his shield maiden will not teach him to be – rather less restrained.’

‘You shock me.’ Aragorn slid his hand gently down his wife’s back to cup her hip, slightly disconcerted when she mirrored his move, but recovering rapidly as she responded to his touch and pulled him down to the mossy bed she had chosen.

‘We will have to return to our rooms before they come to search for us,’ he remarked before losing the will to waste energy worrying about how anybody might react to their situation and focusing instead on their mutual pleasure.

***

The lines of horses and riders had followed Théoden's funeral procession to Edoras and Gondor’s Queen had not left her adar’s side – except, on occasion, to cede her place to Gondor’s King.  The passing days, that had never caused her any concern, except over recent years, had caught up with her and every separate moment seemed more precious than a century of her youth.

‘Stay here, my daughter,’ Elrond murmured as they stood on the wide terrace and looked over the whispering grasslands.  ‘There will never be a right time for the words we must speak.  You could ride with us all the way to Imladris – but the parting must still come.’

The noise from the Golden Hall sounded akin to a river in flood, but Elrond and his daughter drew round them a privacy so profound that they heard none of it.  

Arwen’s hand sought his and he closed his long fingers around her palm.  ‘Let us walk,’ he said, casting an imperious glance in Glorfindel’s direction.  The golden-haired elf shrugged and gathered an armed warrior or two to follow at a discreet distance and ensure that they would not be disturbed.

The hills gleamed subtly under the crescent moon and the stars hung bright and low over the open plain.  Neither of them spoke, each seeking only the comfort that came from the presence of the other.

‘I cannot remain,’ Elrond said at last, his voice flat.  ‘I would that I could – I feel that I am letting you down, but…’  He lowered his head to look at his hands, where the light caught two rings.  ‘I go not because I wish to leave you, but because…’  He sighed.  ‘I can no longer endure the weight of years,’ he admitted.  ‘For centuries I have leant on the power of Vilya to preserve Imladris and to hold back the shadow.  For centuries I have been a channel for the Ring of Air and it has left me … hollow.  Drained.  Too tired to endure further.’  He looked at his daughter with a silent appeal for understanding.  ‘And I miss your naneth.  We are one – as you and Estel are now one – and I have been broken for too long.’

Arwen turned and wrapped her arms round him and he rested his head against her dark hair.

‘It aches,’ he said. ‘Like a broken bone – but it gets no better.’  He struggled for a moment, and finally admitted.  ‘It is getting harder.  Your daernaneth believes that there is no healing for us east of the sea.’

‘I will miss you,’ she whispered, her throat too tight to speak louder.  ‘I will always miss you – but I will know that you are happy with Naneth and I will be able to think of you together in the Blessed Realm.  Do not fear for me, Adar.  I am happy.’

‘I will not see your children.’  He smiled sadly.  ‘Speak of me to them sometimes.’

‘Always.’  She blinked back her tears.  ‘They will know and love you.’

He sighed.  ‘The path you have chosen is not an easy one, my child.  Do not close your eyes to what will come, or its bitter taste will spoil Estel’s later years for you both.  Come to understand the Gift of Men – study it and learn to love it.  I think,’ he smiled sadly, ‘the most helpful thing I can say to you here is to repeat what Elros said to me in his last decade – he had accepted that you cannot take all responsibility upon yourself – sometimes the hardest thing you can do is to let go, but there is a special joy in surrender to Eru’s will.’

Arwen smiled.  ‘Perhaps you should have listened to your brother,’ she said.  ‘You have done all you can for Arda – and it is time for you to take some consideration for your own needs.’

They walked together until Anor was high in the sky, exchanging fond memories, speaking of loved ones, holding each other in silence as the time for parting grew closer.

Finally, they could no longer ignore the waiting party.  The Evenstar hugged her daernaneth, their gaze holding steadily, before she turned her attention to her daeradar and brothers, and bade a smiling farewell to those who would not return to Edoras.  As they got ready to ride, she turned again to her adar, as a lodestone to the north, her eyes dark with unshed tears.

‘Until we meet again, my daughter,’ Elrond said.

She clung to him as if she could not bear to let him go.  ‘You are sure that day will come?’ she asked, her voice cracking.

‘Oh yes,’ he told her with supreme confidence.  ‘Of that, I have no doubt at all.’

She did not watch them as they rode away.

***

‘You could have summoned us earlier,’ Elladan complained as he and his brother surged past the servant determined to herald their arrival.

‘I could have,’ the proud father said mildly, ‘but then you would have been sitting here kicking your heels – with no more idea than I had of when your nephew would arrive.’

‘He came before we expected him,’ Arwen informed them, barely taking her eyes from the infant in her arms to look at her brothers.

‘We were early,’ Elrohir mentioned.  ‘The midwives were most disconcerted – apparently elven babies are usually far too well behaved to arrive without invitation.’

‘Elven babies are usually far too well behaved to appear in pairs, too.’

‘Do not be cheeky, little sister!’  Elladan’s grin made it difficult for him to sound properly reproving.  ‘We are your older brothers, let me remind you.’

‘And that means that, in Adar’s absence, you both owe us the respect due to the Lords of Imladris.’

‘I think not,’ Aragorn said with brotherly rudeness.  ‘And, anyway, has Lord Celeborn not taken on that role?’

‘He has gone to dwell a while with Thranduil,’ Elladan informed him.  ‘I think he grew rather weary of our irrepressible cheerfulness and constant activity.  He said it was most un-elven.’  He grinned again.  ‘We sent your messenger on to him.’

‘Let me see our nephew,’ Elrohir demanded, crouching beside his sister’s chair.  Despite the surge of restless energy that seemed to radiate around the twins, the long fingers that pushed back the lacy shawl were gentle and the baby did not even stir.  ‘He is beautiful, Arwen,’ he murmured, touching the fine black hair that covered the little head.  ‘I have not seen such a lovely child since you were this small.’

‘He looks like you did when you were a baby,’ Elladan agreed. 

‘Do my son’s looks owe nothing to his adar?’ the king protested. 

‘His ears,’ Elrohir pronounced.  ‘They are definitely odd.  I suggest you encourage him to grow his hair long as soon as possible.’

‘If you are going to be provoking,’ his sister said firmly, ‘you can go away.  Our son has his adar’s eyes – and he is a big, strong boy.’  Her eyes returned to the sleeping infant.  ‘Are you not, my little pet?’

Elladan looked at his foster brother and brother-in-law.  ‘They are besotted,’ he said, shaking his head.  ‘I will warrant the news of your son was well received in the White City.’

‘The noise of celebration did not settle down for several days,’ Aragorn admitted.  ‘I would not have thought that one small child could cause so much excitement.  And the gifts that have been sent!’

‘Most of them totally inappropriate,’ Arwen disapproved.  ‘What need has a new-born baby of barrels of wine?’

Elrohir grinned.  ‘They could be used to wet his head,’ he suggested.  ‘Drunk out of duty by his loving relatives.’

‘I hope you will not feel the same way about the gifts we have brought,’ Elladan stroked his sister’s hair and dropped a brotherly kiss on the top of her head.  ‘Daernaneth and Adar would be most distressed to think that their forethought had not been appreciated.’

‘Elladan!’

The teasing look left his face and he glanced swiftly at his twin, who fetched the pack that he had brought in with him.  The parcels he placed swiftly on the low table to be looked at later, burrowing deeper among the soft contents to bring out a carved box. Elrohir knelt before his sister and opened the lid towards him, so that she could see what it held.  

‘Letters,’ she marvelled, tears welling unbidden in her eyes.  ‘From Adar.  From Daernaneth.’  Her fingers stilled as she touched a third missive addressed in a flowing script of particular elegance and her breathing paused.  Disturbed by her tension, the baby in her arms began a protest they all ignored.  ‘Elrohir!  Elladan!  It is from Naneth!’  Her breath caught so that her voice was reduced to a whisper.  ‘Even as she left us, she knew this day would come and prepared for it.’

***

‘It is when I see her here, Legolas, that I know I have trapped an elf in a city of stone.’

The Queen of Gondor chased her last-born daughter into the trees, musical laughter ringing with unconstrained delight as it never did in the formal Citadel.

‘You have not trapped her, my friend, any more than my adar trapped my Silvan naneth in the corridors of his Stronghold.  If servitude it is, then it is a choice they both made through love.’

‘How did Thranduil make the confinement in ritual more endurable for her?’

Legolas cast him an ironic glance.  ‘As their son, I really do not think I should be the one to explain.’  He laughed as his friend flushed slightly.  Aragorn’s occasional flashes of puritanical Gondorian propriety were enormously entertaining – and he knew that Undómiel took great delight in teasing him into abandoning them.  ‘You are king, Aragorn – you have been king long enough that the members of your council do not need to have you guiding them at every moment of the day.  Put your foot down and take your wife and children off into the woods.  Build yourself a hunting lodge in some remote mountain area and disappear – they will soon write it into your schedule.’

‘When it will become as much part of the ritual as everything else.’

‘It is not just Arwen, my friend, is it?’ Legolas said shrewdly.  ‘You, too, feel trapped in a velvet prison.’

‘I find myself constantly having to pore over my blessings,’ Aragorn admitted.  ‘And remind myself of how much I have gained that I never thought to win.’

‘You need to get away.’  Legolas spoke with conviction.  ‘These last few years, you have not even had the excuse of taking your armies into the field.  You have encouraged Faramir to take time away from the routine of ruling and take his ease with his family.  Why do you not grant yourself the same grace?’

‘I hope you have better luck persuading Estel than I have.’  Arwen’s flawless face peeped at them from the tree above their heads.  ‘Eldarion has taken on the task of pursuing our daughters and making them squeal,’ she said with satisfaction.  ‘It has done him good, too, to get away from the city to come where he can permit himself to be young and silly and learn to be himself rather than a Crown Prince.’

Aragorn smiled up at her with undisguised adoration.  ‘You are all ganging up on me,’ he said with obvious pleasure.

‘You are, here, among those who do not need to grovel to the King Restored,’ Legolas informed him.  ‘We remember – only too well! – when your kingdom consisted of a single horse and a broken sword.’  He grinned.  ‘And we refuse to take your dignity too seriously.’

‘And I am glad of it, my friend,’ Aragorn puffed out a breath that expressed his dislike for the constant weight of sycophancy. 

‘You may have imprisoned an elf in the Stone City,’ his wife said in sympathy, ‘but I know that I have captured a ranger from the wild northlands and that, for me, he has moulded himself into a king.’ 

‘Leave the city behind for a time, my friends,’ Legolas advised.  ‘Give yourselves time to be.  The walls will still be there when you return.’

***

Faramir’s frailty was only too apparent, Arwen sighed, but his eyes shone with content and he was clearly at peace with himself.

She took his hand as she sat beside him on the wide terrace overlooking the tranquil fields and woods of fair Ithilien.  He curled his fingers round hers and smiled at her.

‘It is nothing to dread,’ he said with the straightforwardness and understanding that she had come to love in this son of Gondor.

‘Is it not hard to leave this behind?’ she asked.

He shook his head slightly.  ‘It becomes unreal as the Gift draws you on,’ he said.  ‘There is a glory beyond this world that you glimpse as the barriers thin.’  He drew a deliberate breath.  ‘And I think more, as time goes on, of those I miss and with whom I wish to be reunited.’

Arwen sighed.  ‘I find it hard to see how anyone can grow tired of the song of Arda,’ she said in a small voice.  ‘And I fear…’  She stopped.

‘That you will cling to it.’  Faramir’s grey eyes gleamed silver in the soft light.  ‘Has Aragorn not spoken to you of this?’

‘We avoid the subject,’ she admitted.  ‘It makes him feel guilty – he has never forgiven himself for being the cause of my choice.  If he could restore me to my Adar after his death, he would do it.’

‘Of course,’ Faramir mused, ‘Aragorn grew up among elves.  He has his own doubts, I think, as to whether the Gift of Men is a liberation.  It must be hard, when you are raised by those who will live for ever, to see that a short life ending in death might offer a greater freedom.’

‘How can it?’ she murmured.

‘Men strive,’ the Steward told her.  ‘We strive to build as best we can for a future we will not see, but, as the years pass, we are forced to yield our responsibilities to our children.  Elboron, now, is Prince of Ithilien in all but name, as I have grown too weak to do what must be done.  And I am left’ he smiled, ‘to prepare myself for what is to come.  Lord Elrond never needed to pass his duties on to your brothers – they remained always sons and grandsons: children in the eyes of their elders – and his tasks never ended, never changed, never offered him respite.’

‘That is how it is,’ Arwen said defensively.

‘Eldarion – will become king,’ Faramir continued thoughtfully.  ‘Not soon, but one day.  Aragorn will hand on the Winged Crown and be free of its constraints.  You, too, have been offered the same release.  You have spent long enough confined to duty and you let can go of it and move beyond this world to begin a new adventure.’

The light in Faramir’s face showed more clearly than his words that he anticipated his release with unreserved joy.

‘It is a matter of accepting change,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Of trust,’ he added.  ‘Of taking that step in the dark to emerge into the light.’  His fingers tightened on her hand.  ‘You will see it,’ he told her with certainty.  ‘When the time comes, you will be ready.’

***

The Queen of Gondor slipped her hand into the King’s grasp and squeezed convulsively as she watched the expression on her son’s face.  ‘It seems only yesterday,’ she murmured.

‘She will be good for him,’ Aragorn smiled, tilting his head slightly to glance at her from the corner of his eye while still retaining his formal pose of regality.  ‘A man should be married.’

A spurt of laughter shattered Arwen’s gracious demeanour.  ‘It has not taken Eldarion as long as it did you!’ she reminded him.

‘I only wish Faramir could have seen this day.’

‘His granddaughter will make a fine queen,’ Arwen mused.  ‘But, far more importantly, she will make Eldarion happy.’

‘I doubt your son knows quite what has hit him yet.’  A light elven voice spoke at the king’s shoulder.

‘Legolas! I wish you would stop doing that!’ Aragorn complained.

‘From the expression on his face, the lad has begun to wonder if he is quite as much in control of this as he thought.’  The dwarf, his grey beard braided with an abundance of jewelled mithril beads to dignify the occasion, made no attempt to approach quietly.

‘Which is as it should be.’  Arwen’s eyes twinkled as the three males looked at her accusingly.

‘Females are dangerous creatures,’ the dwarf grumbled, boldly voicing an oft-held belief that the other two were too wary to utter.  ‘They have a liking for tugging the rug from under your feet when you least suspect it.’

‘We should send them on their way soon,’ Arwen judged, ‘while Eldarion is still able to maintain his dignity.’

‘And before the bride’s kin from Rohan have any more to drink,’ the dwarf agreed.  ‘Have you somewhere safe for them to retreat – where they can evade the traditional pranks?’

‘Would that not be undiplomatic?’ Aragorn asked with mock seriousness.  ‘We would not wish to embarrass our brother king.’

Arwen laughed.  ‘The Rohirrim will be permitted their traditions – and the bride and groom will be oblivious to it all in a location I will not reveal.’

The wedding ball continued with even greater enthusiasm after the departure of the guests of honour, ending finally only as the oncoming dawn began to lighten the sky.  Arwen stood by an open doorway as the servants began the business of clearing the wide hall and, in the gallery above them, the musicians packed away their instruments.  She drew in a deep breath of the fresh early morning air, before impulsively crossing the terrace to kick off her shoes and walk on the dewy grass. 

‘If our new daughter makes Eldarion one tenth as happy as you have made me…’  The ranger had abandoned his robes and circlet to stand looking over the Pelennor.  ‘He will have fortune beyond the deserts of any man.’

The light of Eärendil’s star gleamed in Aragorn’s eyes and Arwen drew closer to him to run her fingers through hair that had lost its glossy blackness to become as grey as smoke.  ‘No greater fortune than has been mine,’ she said softly.  ‘Every day I thank the Valar for giving me the chance to be by your side.’

He lowered his head to lean his brow against hers.  ‘I age, Undómiel,’ he confessed.  ‘I begin to feel the passage of years.’

She pressed a finger against his lips.  ‘It does not come yet,’ she said.  ‘It is still too soon.’

‘But come it will, my Evenstar – and there is nothing we can do to hold it back.’

‘Then let us savour every moment we have,’ she said, and they held each other close in the rose-scented breeze as another day dawned.