Epilogue
The Lady from the Sea

May 3026, Minas Tirith

“Ada!”

A small boy’s voice, shrill with excitement, made the King turn his eyes from the parchment he was reading.

“Ada, where are you? There’s a visitor in mommy’s room, and she’s a pirate!”

The boy appeared on the doorstep; a mop of dark hair, the sea gray eyes of his mother, “his father’s stubborn chin” (as Arwen used to put it with a very un-elvish grin) and three feet of glowing energy. He came to a slithering halt directly in front of the King’s desk. Aragorn felt the warm surge of pride, love and stunned surprise that still overwhelmed him each time he saw his firstborn son.* He smiled, raising one eyebrow.

“Eldarion, I’m quite certain that your mother doesn’t keep the company of pirates,” he said calmly. “You must have mistaken that visitor for someone else.” He leaned over the desk and studied the boy’s face. “Tell me – does she have a wooden leg? Or does she wear big, golden earrings and an eye patch?”

Eldarion’s eyes lit up.

“Like the Corsairs of Umbar, you mean?” he cried, jumping up and down. “Do they wear eye patches? All of them?”

“Not even half of them,” the King stated grimly, “though they certainly lost one or two eyes and a few legs when we taught them some manners seven years ago. But –" He rose from his chair and walked around the desk. "I would still like to know more about that visitor of your mother's. If she doesn’t wear an eye patch and golden earrings and if she still has both legs, what makes you think that she is a pirate?”

Eldarion shuffled his feet, slowly losing interest in the whole matter, but still willing to enlighten his father.

“Because she says she’s come from the coast,” he said, “and she has brought gems and pearls in a wooden chest that looks like one from Aunt Lothy’s tales. Ada? Are there some cookies left in your drawer?”

“No cookies,” Aragorn replied firmly, swooping the five-year-old boy up into his arms. “And Aunt Lothiriel should definitely change the subject of her ghost stories.”

“No, she shouldn’t,” his incorrigible son said. “Her stories are so much better than Uncle Éomer's. All he talks about is horses.”

“He isn’t called Horse Lord for nothing,” his father retorted very reasonably, carefully hiding a sympathetic twinkle. “But now you have made me curious. I think I will join your mother and have a look at your ‘pirate’ myself.”

He carried a boisterously shrieking Eldarion out of the study and upstairs to the royal family's private quarters. In the anteroom of Arwen’s bower he found the nanny; she had already been looking for the little prince and now showered him with an exhilarating mixture of rebukes and promises of a snack of lemonade and cake. She was quite successful – Eldarion loved everything that was sweet and sticky – and while the youngest heir of Gondor’s throne sat down to a luxurious afternoon meal, the King entered the sunlit chamber of his Queen.

He was greeted by female laughter… from his wife, clad in white and blue and radiantly beautiful, her belly ever so slightly rounded by the first months of her second pregnancy. The visitor wore a simple dress made of deep green silk. Her hair was braided to a crown around her head, an unusual blonde, shot with streaks of gold and silver, obviously bleached by the sun. When she turned her head in his direction, he saw high cheekbones, a narrow nose, full lips and bright almond eyes.

“Your Majesty.” She rose and dropped into a perfect, formal curtsy. “It has been a long time.”

Aragorn took a deep breath.

“It has indeed,” he slowly said. "But it is good to see you again, Lady Artanis.”

“And the realm of Gondor is blooming splendidly, my King,” Artanis replied. “It was a blessed day when Isildur’s Heir came back.”

He listened to the dark, melodious voice, silently recalling the memory of an entirely different sound – croaking, sometimes fading and in the end broken with pain. This could not be the same woman – or could it? The face was still narrow, but what once had been all shallow, tired and pointy was now pleasantly rounded, forming quite remarkable features. The body under the green dress had also developed some more curves (though she was still slender enough), and the silvery eyes were a spectacular sight against the warm tan of her skin.

He realized that he was actually staring at her, but before he could think of a proper remark to end the silence, he was saved by the soft laughter of his Queen.

“You know what my husband is thinking, don’t you, Artanis?” She took a goblet and filled it for the Princess of Lebennin. “He is wondering if all exhausted patients should be sent to Dol Amroth to regain their health and strength, as you obviously did. And I might add that many a lady in the court would kill to know the cure that made you look the way you do.”

Lady Artanis actually grinned.

“I guess they are rather disturbed that someone who always looked like a plucked chicken suddenly turned into… well, not a swan, but at least a much prettier bird.”

The grin faded, but the light remained in her face, and suddenly she stepped forward, took Aragorn’s hand and kissed it in a gesture of unfeigned reverence and thankfulness.

“You saved my life,” she simply said, “by giving me the chance to get away from former bonds and duties… and by letting me see the ocean.”

Her gaze was very direct and serious.

“Prince Imrahil was the most friendly and thoughtful host anyone could wish for,” she continued, “He gave me a house three miles from the harbor, with a housekeeper that cared for my well-being, and I had all the time in the world to walk along the beach and to soak up the music of the waves.”

She sat down beside the Queen again and took the offered goblet.

“It took my body half a year to fully heal, and my soul needed two more to do the same. My uncle Castamir left his house in Pelargir and agreed to take over the duties of the Prince of Lebennin as long as I wanted to retire and to recover. When I return to Dol Amroth, I will ask him to stay as my advisor and chancellor; he is the most worthy lord anyone could wish for, much better than I could ever be. And he sent my cousin Eldacar to be your new Keeper of the Jewels, while I wasn’t able to do that duty.”

A small smile raised the corners of her mouth and vanished again.

“Meanwhile I fought my memories, my anger and my shame until my heart calmed and I adjusted to the rhythm of the ocean. I still dream sometimes, and not all dreams are pleasant… but I sleep much better now. And I have finally been able to complete an order you gave me seven years ago, your Majesty.”

She produced a small bag from a pocket in her skirt, loosened the cord and spread the fingers of both hands. A shimmering rivulet trickled down, gently swinging in front of her… pearls over pearls, knotted to a long, perfect string, pearls of a rare, gray luster. Aragorn looked at it and was immediately reminded of an iridescent dawn over the sea at the turn of summer to harvest time. He glanced over at his wife and saw the feelings displayed on her lovely features: surprise, awe and finally a deep, disbelieving joy.

“I always thought that a month was not nearly enough time to create a treasure like this,” Artanis said softly. “I once told one of my most trusted merchants that completing a string of pearls like this might be the work of a lifetime. And I had seven years to answer your wish and to be satisfied with the result. That was sooner than I expected.”

She reached out and Arwen took the pearls out of her hands.

“Would you wear this?” Artanis asked. “If my King agrees, I will give this to you as a gift of the House of Lebennin, a sign of love and fealty, hopefully strong enough to banish the old shades. Do you accept it?”

Arwen smiled and wound the string around her neck.

“I agree with pleasure,” she said, “and as long as you live, you will be welcome at this court, a beloved guest and a trusted friend of the King and the Queen of Gondor.”

Artanis bowed deeply.

“I have brought yet another gift,” she said, “and I would like to send it to the Ringbearer.”

Aragorn’s heart sank, but Artanis didn’t seem to notice it.

“You know… when I was lying in the Houses of Healing, he visited me, sitting beside my bed for hours, and one day he told me about one of his dreams. He said that he felt himself flying on invisible wings, sailing on a gentle breeze… and beyond him he saw the shore of a distant land appear, green and white under a slowly rising sun. I was not the Shire he came from, not the fields and the woods he was used to, but a new world, fresh and lucid as if Eru had just created it for him.”

The Queen reached out and took her hand.

“That must have been a kind of prophetic dream,” she said, her voice indefinitely gentle. “He left the shores of Middle Earth five years ago and sailed to the Undying Lands, to live with my kin and to heal from his wounds… and his memories.”

Artanis stood very still, her face unreadable. The silence deepened, until she finally spoke.

“He left Middle Earth?”

Aragorn nodded. “We still grieve for him,” he said, “but we have learned to live with his decision as well as we can.” For a moment, he closed his eyes. “But we will always miss him, of course… all of us.”

“I know.” Artanis lowered her eyes, again rummaging in her pocket. “This… this is what I brought for him.”

A single, rosy pearl lay in her palm, shaped like a perfect tear. The Princess of Lebennin sighed and gave a wistful smile.

“I guess this little thing is nothing compared to the wonders Frodo Baggins is able to see now,” She offered it to the Queen. “Would you like to have this pearl, your Majesty?”

Arwen shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “The gift you already gave me is more than enough. But Samwise Gamgee – Frodo’s best friend who’s life you helped to save – has a beautiful little firstborn daughter. I am sure she would love to wear it on a beautiful necklace when she is grown up.”

“Would you send it to her?” Artanis asked.

“I will.” The Queen took the pearl and carefully stored it in a small sandalwood chest on the table. “And what will you do now, Milady?”

“I will go home,” Artanis said, her silvery eyes turning to the face of the King. “I have bought the house Prince Imrahil gave me when you sent me to the shore; he agreed to sell it to me years ago. My cousin is a skilled Keeper, isn’t he?”

“He is indeed,” Aragorn replied, “and he continues the service of your house splendidly.” He hesitated, once more recalling the unsociable young woman he had first met shortly after the Ring War. “Don’t you miss the gems and the gold, Lady Artanis?”

The Lady pondered his question for quite some time. He studied her face, again surprised by the life and warmth he found where once had been only fear and frozen loneliness.

“I did, in the beginning,” she said slowly. “But every time my mind wanted to flee into the imaginings of dead treasures, I thought of the noble soul who helped me to heal… the one who taught me more about the danger of gems and gold than even my father’s greed.”

Her eyes darkened.

“Frodo Baggins was a stern teacher, but his lesson, however painful, brought me the healing I needed most. I don’t want to cling to cold gems anymore… from now on I shall lay my hands on living things only. I have laid out a beautiful garden, and there are berries and flowers waiting for the harvest. With your permission I will return to Dol Amroth tomorrow morning.”

“You have it,” Aragorn said, honest warmth in his voice, “and my blessing.”

Arwen smiled.

“Farewell, Celebhen***,” she said. “The next time we visit Imrahil, we will make sure to pay your house a visit, too.”

“You will find that my doors are always open for you,” Artanis answered. “My garden is lovely… and you will love my beach.”

She bowed deeply once more, and then she left the room. The King and the Queen stepped over to the window that looked out over the rose gardens. After a few moments, Artanis appeared, walking down the path, past the bush where Samwise Gamgee had cut his fingers seven years ago. She walked very upright, her hair shining in the bright spring sun, and together they watched as the young woman passed the marble pillars and vanished behind the hedge.

“Celebhen,” Aragorn murmured, his lips close to Arwen’s temple. "What a very appropriate name.”

“And what a remarkable woman,” his wife replied, turning her head to brush her lips against his in a butterfly-soft touch. “No wonder Frodo spoke so gallantly in her defense.”

“He never told me what he said to you,” Aragorn remarked, “and you didn’t, either. Would you tell me now?”

“There is one thing he said that I remember particularly well,” the Queen said, her gaze fixed on the abundance of flowers in the garden. “It is in your hands – and in the hands of Aragorn – to set her free. Perhaps a journey to the shore will be the first step in her healing… and a clear sign for her that there is something like kindness, understanding and mercy.”

She turned to him, her eyes shining.

“Perhaps Artanis is not the only one who found mercy,” she whispered, “perhaps he has found it, too – and his freedom.”

*****

When King Aragorn rode north 1432 to stay for a while at the shore of Lake Evendim, Elanor the Fair, daughter of Samwise Gamgee was a guest of the royal couple, along with her parents. She became a maid of honor to the Queen, clad for the special occasion in pale blue silk, her blonde hair open and unbraided, and everyone praised her loveliness.

She nearly wore no jewels that day, except for one: a fine, golden necklace with a single rosy pearl, shimmering on her skin like a great and perfect tear.

THE END _____________________________________________________________________________________

*There is no birth date for Eldarion; some assume that he must have been ninety when he followed his father on the throne, because this was the usual age among the Dúnedain to take over the Chieftainship. But this would mean what it took Aragorn and Arwen more than 30 years to produce an heir, and… sorry, folks, that’s ridiculous.

**Celebhen – Sindarin for Silvereye