——————————-

Arwen had been in travail since the small hours of the morning, experiencing undulating waves of pain with intermittent gaps of cessation. Melian had been with her since the first hour administering relief in any way that she could. The two cousins were seated facing each other and their two dark raven heads were bent and almost touching.

“It has passed,” Arwen gasped. With unseeing eyes, her glance fell on her own fingers intertwined with those of her cousin’s; her prints were clearly visible on Melian’s skin.

“Now will you take something to drink?” Melian gently pressed. “You have not eaten anything this morning and it is already one hour before noon.”

Arwen conceded; Melian poured her a glass of water and placed it into her hand. “Where is he?” Arwen asked impatiently. She could not be easy until she could hear that her husband had come.

“You are not thinking clearly,” Melian rejoined, tenderly. “Only, consider how long it must have taken the riders to get to the elves’ city; it must have taken a few hours, at least.” She took the half empty glass from Arwen and replaced it securely on the side table.

“I just wish that he was here already,” Arwen reflected resignedly.

“I know you do, dearest,” Melian gently replied as she adjusted the pillows behind Arwen’s back to render her more comfortable. “I too, wish that he was here.” When she was done, she said, “There. Is that better?” It was and Arwen thanked her. She reclaimed her seat before her cousin, whose anxiety was still apparent. A thought occurred to her and she immediately relayed it to Arwen. “It is such a pleasant day,” she proposed coaxingly, “and there is a bewitching aspect from the terrace. With your consent, we can remove there.” Arwen was willing, and after some ado, the two were comfortably settled there.

————————–

In the north, Amandil had returned to a land that was, in part, foreign to his memory. Throughout the years that the kingdom of Arnor had remained in a persistent state of desolation, its people had existed in the like similitude of a folk dispossessed of their land; but despite even this, the people had proven themselves resilient in bearing their heritage continually within their hearts. Hence, it was with a full heart that Amandil saw for the first time the mirror of this heritage in physical revelation.

Much had changed for Amandil; Meneldur, his brother and senior by twelve years, had rallied the people to accomplish great things. Likewise, Elladan and Elrohir had honored their avowal to King Elessar and had brought what aid they could to fortify the efforts of the Dúnedain. Nevertheless, there was much still to be undertaken and Meneldur was especially glad of the help that his brother would give.

One of the more extraordinary facets of the rebuilding efforts that Amandil had witnessed among his people was their united toil to build homes for each household. After nine, long, arduous years, this spirit of fellowship still prevailed; their gratitude for the restoration was in no way abated and was just as potent as it had been nine years before; the inexorable years of hardships kept their purpose foremost in their minds; the scorn endured, the thankless deeds, the harsh privations, were vivid recollections that further fueled their determination to succeed.

Overall, Annúminas was a shell of a budding city. Meneldur had shown Amandil a goodly piece of land on the shores of Lake Evendim that was set apart for the king and his household. He had also shown him plots for the king’s farms and vineyards that were deferred, by the king’s command, until every man was settled to his own in that land. Amandil also had it in the reservoir of his thoughts to solicit the help of the elves to instruct his people in the building of ships that would be serviceable between the two kingdoms; as his ancestors, in the ancient blessed land, had learnt craft by the hands of the elves, so too he intended to see it done unto his people, if the elves were willing.

But for the present, he worked alongside the other Dúnedain. He was pleased to be once again among his brethren. Though all knew something of what had befallen him, no man asked ought of him. In their eyes, at least, he was unchanged; the peculiarities that distinguished him were ever present; he was still as reticent, keen and sagacious as they had always known him to be.

When news of AmandilÂ’s return had spread abroad, it was a curious thing to his comrades that whereas before every man had to fend for his own fare, they were suddenly and consistently regaled with a daily repast. It became a common jest among them that if any man was desirous of a good dayÂ’s meal, let him attach himself to AmandilÂ’s company. But though Amandil was appreciative, largely from the benefit derived by his friends, he was continually unmoved by the wiles of even the fairest of his admirers. He appeased his conscience by observing that as long as his behavior towards them was irreproachably harmless, nothing untoward would result. Thus consoled, he gave no further thought to the assiduous attentions that prevailed into the succeeding months.

As touching his home life, his parents, Meneldur and his wife, Gîliel, and their two children completed the whole. Despite his habitual reserve, he enjoyed a warm relationship with his family. His mother, especially, was his heart; she was slender, singularly youthful in appearance, very beautiful and profoundly sharp; yet, she was as gentle as a lamb and deeply compassionate. His father, who was considerably older than his mother, was a tall, austere, handsome man whose locks were steel like grey in stark contrast to those of his mother’s. Meneldur possessed a like temperament to that of his father and brother but was more sociable than both. His wife was a fair, sensible woman of a little stature, who had borne him two sons, who were both under ten years of age.

After the novelty of AmandilÂ’s return had waned, life at home had returned to its usual self. Amandil delighted in his nephews and acted his part in their nurture when he was so disposed to it at evenings. Otherwise, he would sit with his father and brother to discuss their progress and the difficulties that they still faced as a reviving kingdom.

Occasionally, Minas Tirith came to his mind. He loved the North Country and the changing seasons, but he also regarded his personal service to the king. It was the reason that drove his desire to build ships. He had discussed it with Elrohir, who had just recently departed Annúminas, and he was equally devoted to the idea, as it would bring him more quickly to his sister. But in the interval, he felt that the need for his presence was greater fulfilled in the north.

One evening, after his mother, Indilë, and Gîliel had returned from visiting other families abroad, the following conversation ensued:

“Are you never to shorn your hair?” asked Gîliel of her brother in law as she took away his plate. “It has grown quite long.”

Amandil was undisturbed by her question. “Leave him be, Gîliel,” Indilë calmly protested. “My son does as he sees fit. And whatever he does is good in my eyes.”

“Mother, he knows that I meant no offense,” insisted Gîliel, as she continued to assist the servants in clearing the table. “I also know that he does as he likes; but it seems to me that it is more befitting of our lords to wear their hair shorter.” That was another vicissitude to which Amandil had to acquaint himself; he had returned to Arnor to find that titles had been restored among the houses. While there was no kingdom, titles outside the royal line had served little purpose and were, over time, abandoned.

“Dear Gîliel, we have heard your opinion,” responded Indilë, “now will you give us leave to eat this pie?” She glanced at her son tentatively. “So, my dear, what is this that I hear of provisions dispensed daily at the building sites?” she asked Amandil. “I know you have considered your position.” Her keen, light grey eyes examined his inscrutable countenance; she was used to this, having known him all his life.

He got up and kissed his mother on the forehead. “You know me, Mother,” said he placidly, “I never regard my actions lightly.” He glanced at his sister in law. “I said that for your benefit as well, Gîliel.” He kissed his mother’s hand lightly. “It was a lovely dinner, Mother.” He made to go and she detained him.

“Take this piece of pie to your father while it is still warm,” she said, giving him the plate that Gîliel passed to her. “And where is your brother? It is unlike him to come this late.”

“Meneldur is with Father,” interposed Gîliel, “He arrived when I went to check on the boys.”

“There you have it, Mother,” Amandil said, “Now, I must be off. I am late already.” Indilë had watched him go with concern. Her son was on the cusp of his fiftieth year and she had begun to fear that he would never be settled. His convictions on liberty worried her; it seemed to her that there was a restless streak in him now that the nomadic years of his ranger life was ended. She held no particular ambition for him, desiring only his happiness; but it had begun to take shape in her mind that the biggest adversary to that happiness was his own certitude and judgment; certitude because of his implacable views on his own freedom and judgment because of his biased opinion on the same.

Now, on the day that the events had transpired in Ithilien, Amandil and a few of the Dúnedain were guests to the elves of Forlond. These were a remnant of elves that had migrated westward with the hope of passing o’er the sea, but found that when the choice had come, they were divided in heart.

Here, in Forlond, they dwelt near the sea, in distant sight of their blessed land. Calyanë, the elf lord who led this modest realm, was a Noldorin elf of the House of Fingolfin, who had lately resided in Imladris before Lord Elrond had forsaken these shores. Arthon was also his name, after the Sindarin tongue, and it was the name used most frequently by the people to address him. He knew the Dúnedain from past relations and welcomed them warmly among his people.

Amandil and the Dunedain were there to resurrect the friendship that had once existed between these elves and their people, which had grown dormant in the gathering darkness of the war of the ring. But while there, a certain noteworthy incident occurred that would, in a remote time, weave together a story that was nearer to him than he could have possibly imagined. The incident was this:

While walking with Arthon in the shadows of the trees that fashioned his kingly halls, an elf, followed close on the heels by an elf message bearer, had come in haste to find him.

“Urgent tidings, my lord,” hailed the forward elf.

“Speak on,” said Arthon, looking pass him to the messenger.

“A missive, my lord,” said the elf messenger. “I must return with a reply.”

Arthon took the letter, cracked the seal and began to read. An obvious displeasure marred his fair face and he was at once wroth with the messenger; the letter withheld no truth from him.

“What are these evil tidings that you bring to me?” he remonstrated though he did not expect an answer; the elf messenger was clearly blameless and knew nothing of the ill contents of the missive. In his mind, Arthon rebuked his brother who sought to bring this trouble upon them; his brother’s lack of foresight and total disregard for diplomacy incited his indignation. Moreover, he desired to retain the favor of him in whom this thing would work the greatest offense. But it was too late; he knew it was already done.

——————————-

At noon, Aragorn arrived in great haste. On the stairs, Aredhel, who had charged the servants to send word to her as soon as the king had arrived, intercepted him. In a trice, he learned that his wife had begun to experience birth pains since the wee hours of the morning and that she anxiously awaited him.

“I have just left her,” said Aredhel. “There is no danger presently. The midwives wait.” She touched Aragorn’s hand to stay his ascent. “You will find that the adjacent bedchamber is prepared for you.”

“I will not come to her now,” Aragorn said, “but send word of my arrival.” He desired to wash up before he went to her; it was a hot day and the ride to Minas Tirith had been a fatiguing one.

Aredhel confirmed that she would directly. “And Estel,” said she, “it will all be fine.”

Aragorn nodded and resumed his ascent, taking the stairs three at a time. As Aredhel had informed him, he found that he was banished from his quarters and that everything was laid out for him in the adjacent chambers. An emotion of melancholy awoke in his heart when he realized for the first time that their lives, his and ArwenÂ’s, would be different henceforth; there was another to come who would hold a dearer claim upon her affections.

In light of his expulsion, these thoughts came involuntarily to his mind and they repulsed him; he was not selfish by nature and he certainly did not intend to be overcome by such meditations.

When he had washed and dressed, he went immediately to his wife, who was still sitting with Melian on the terrace, conversing quietly. She saw his advance and held out her hand to him; he took it and pressed it to his lips. Melian relinquished her seat to him and was intending to slip from the room quietly.

“Stay,” said Aragorn to his kinswoman. “I have news from Ithilien,” he gravely added. He turned to his wife, caressing her hand lovingly. “How do you do?”

“Better, now that you are come,” answered she; Aragorn discerned that she was in some discomfort but not to the point of distress.

“And the pain?” asked he.

“Subsided,” said she.

He kept his eyes upon her a while longer. “It is no use concealing this from you,” he began, turning his eyes suddenly upon Melian. “By evening, word would have no doubt reached you.” Melian and Arwen stared expectantly. “There is to be no wedding in Ithilien today,” he disclosed in a hushed tone. Arwen appeared perplexed and Melian paled.

“Estel,” said Arwen, “I do not understand.” She glanced momentarily at Melian. “What has happened?”

“Lady Vana has vanished,” Aragorn declared in a low voice, almost as if he feared to speak it. Silence. “As I speak, the princes of Dol Amroth and Ithilien along with Gimli and Lord Anárion are searching out the land. I cannot say how far their journey will take them today.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Arwen contemplatively; she could only imagine what the prince must suffer at that moment.

“So am I,” Melian said in sincerity; she excused herself shortly thereafter, observing that she would return again later if Arwen had any need of her.

“I heard that you have not eaten anything at all this day,” Aragorn revealed; his attention was focused upon his wife. Suddenly, Arwen gripped his hand with a fierce intensity; it alarmed him.

“No,” Arwen cried, breathlessly, as he was rising. “It will pass; it has been this way all morning.”

“Listen to me, vanimelda,” urged he, cupping his wife’s face between his hands, “you will need your strength before the end.” He smoothed the ebon tresses from her forehead. “You must eat.” He was on his knees before her chair and their foreheads were pressed together. Arwen submitted and he sent directly to have something brought up to them.

—————————————–

In the late afternoon, Nessa and Arien arrived in Minas Tirith with Lady Erendi. They had no greater knowledge of all that had passed except that some of the men were still abroad searching the land. At the time of their departure from Ithilien, Prince Faramir and Gimli were still joined in company with Prince Legolas. Nevertheless, Erchirion, Prince Imrahil and Lord Anárion had remained behind desiring to be of some conceivable use.

The ladies were tired; they had hardly slept that morning and the ride from Ithilien had been long. Nessa crept into the house unnoticed and went immediately to her bedchamber. She rang the bell for her attendant and began to undress. She straightway needed to soak her sore limbs in a nice, warm bath. After this was accomplished, she promptly fell into her bed and slept four hours.

Later, when she woke refreshed, she quickly dressed and went below floors for a late, solitary supper; while there, through discourse with one of the servants, she learned that Melian was then in the music room.

When Nessa opened the double doors to the music room, Melian was standing silently at the window, in a forlorn attitude, looking down unto the grounds. “Melian,” said she, “What news have you heard of Queen Evenstar?”

Melian had been in deep thought and was startled by Nessa’s ingress. “Aredhel told me that it will not be long,” Melian disclosed; she went to the sofa, picked up her abandoned book, rested it on a small, quaint table and sat down.

“Have you seen her?” Nessa asked, joining Melian on the sofa.

“Not since early afternoon,” Melian replied. “Aredhel has got it into her head that a maiden has no place in a birthing room.” She rolled her eyes.

Nessa chuckled. “And King Elessar?”

“Ousted, or very soon to be,” Melian replied laughing. Nessa laughed also; a jocular vision had risen before her prompted by Melian’s remark. “Now, Nessa,” said Melian in a solemn tone, “What is this that I hear of Lady Vana?” Nessa told her all that she knew including that which Marillë had relayed. “I never doubted Elessar,” said Melian, wonderingly, “but the account was so unlike Lady Vana that I had to ask.”

“It is a strange thing, Melian,” Nessa remarked reminiscently. “Last evening was one of the most beautiful evenings I have spent since coming to Minas Tirith. And Lady Vana, she was the happiest I have seen her since our acquaintance began.” She contemplated a little. “But maybe my account of her is faulty; I confess that the celebration alone was an intoxicating experience for me; I should not trust my own judgment.”

“Your words make me almost envious of the pleasure you had,” said Melian, half seriously.

“Truly, Melian,” replied Nessa, “others can testify of this.” She did not mean to dwell upon this but it was the crux of the reason for her incredulity when it came to Lady Vana and understanding her motives.

“When you left Ithilien,” said Melian, “was it generally known?” She felt sorely for the prince and Lady Vana no less.

“I believe so,” Nessa replied, then hesitated, “but I cannot be sure.”

“Oh,” was Melian’s simple response.

——————————————–

Arwen had been able to sleep some two hours in the late afternoon, but the waves of pain allowed her no more. All this time, Aragorn had been with her and had slept in a chair beside their bed. Each hour since had brought more violent slaps of pain, which drew heavily upon her strength.

“Can you do nothing for her?” Aragorn asked Aredhel who was lightly patting Arwen’s forehead with a damp cloth; the vision of her torment wore bitterly upon his compassion; the limp hand enfolded in his, was a sure sign of her weariness.

Aredhel followed his gaze to his hand and reassured him by saying, “Her strength sleeps.” Almost immediately, he was given proof of that as another wave of pain seized her; her grip upon his hand was crushing and drops of tears slid down her cheek.

“Estel,” Aredhel said, “it is time for you to go.” He looked as if he would challenge her but thought better of it.

He rose from his seat and kissed his wife on the forehead; he gently plied her hand from his and kissed it. Arwen smiled faintly when he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered into it. Then he was gone.

———————————————

That night, in Ithilien, Legolas returned to face the woe of his ruined hopes. The derision and shame he would abide, but the disappointment suffered wounded him deeply. He had stood in the presence of her parents; he had uttered an oath to find her; and he would not fail.

All was not hopeless; along the farmsteads, in the outlying region of Anorien, they had heard propitious news; in the early hours of the morning, fair riders had been seen to pass that way riding like the wind. Encouraged by this and other tidings, Legolas had forsaken the forward road only after the riders from Greenwood had arrived; they were to pursue the journey onward until the prince could again rejoin the route westward. He had returned to Ithilien solely to arrange the affairs of his realm for his foreseeable indeterminate absence.

On the eve of his departure, Legolas had this conversation with his father when returning from a visit with Lady VanaÂ’s kin:

“You were right, Father,” said he, remorsefully. “This was my doing. I was not guiltless before her.”

Thranduil did not ask any questions. He simply said, “My son, what ever your fault may be in this, it is still nothing compared to the misery that would result should some evil befall her.”

Legolas nodded. “I have thought of nothing else,” he somberly admitted.

Thranduil examined his son and knew that he suffered. “After my departure, Aranwe will lead the people,” he said.

“He will do well,” Legolas approved. “In this, I can be easy; there will be no added anxiety for me upon the road knowing that he rules in my stead.” Their footsteps had brought them at last to the smoothly carved, stone steps that ascended to his house.

“I shall leave you now,” Thranduil told his son, who appeared reluctant to enter the house.

“Until tomorrow, then, Father,” Legolas said. When his father had quitted his company, for a long time after, he sat in the shadows, starring at the vast firmament, and wondering if there would ever come a time when he could greet that land again in the newness of hope and life.

—————————————————-

At one hour past midnight, the ebullient cries of new life cheered the deceptively still, quiet, mood of the fourth floor. Aragorn, who had kept a three-hour vigil, denying himself both food and rest, was badly in need of news of his wife. In the affliction of mind, he had resorted to the gardens to bear the trial of his patience as best that he could. It was there that word had come to him at last; Aredhel had sent a servant to fetch him.

He tarried not but went in all expression of his fervor. When he entered the brightly lit suite, he heard the soft, muffled cries of an infant in one of the smaller rooms and it thrilled him greatly. Aredhel issued from the doors of the bedchamber and he immediately asked, “Arwen, how is she?”

“She is spent,” said Aredhel, closing the doors behind her. “Poor dear needs her rest; but I know she wishes to see you, Estel. Only, wait a few moments longer; her attendants are with her.”

“And our child?” Aragorn asked, barely able to restrain his anticipation.

Aredhel’s face was immediately transformed in earnest tenderness. “Oh, Estel,” said she dotingly, “he is the most darling little creature that my eyes have ever beheld; already my heart smites me.” And she began to tell Aragorn of the love that she already bore his son, who was then being cleansed by the midwives in an adjoining room.

He had a son; this triumphant thought replayed itself continuously in his mind. He was not usually given to demonstrations of amazement but this wonder besieged him forcibly; something that was quite natural in the progression of life was exalted to the heavens for him.

At last when they brought his son to him, he trembled; not out of fear, but out of his humble reverence for the enormity of the moment; he had a son. The midwife carefully placed the tiny, swaddled bundle into his unschooled hands and he held it near to his breast. When he looked down into the tiny slumbering face, he did not see the son that would one day be praised and beloved in all the kingdom for his matchless beauty; for in this, there would be none like him, neither in the days before or the days to come; from the crown of his head even to the sole of his feet, there would be no blemish. † He also did not see the king that would one day rule his people with great wisdom through many blessed years of prosperity. Nor did he see the king in whom the days of Elros were renewed forthwith. Â¥ Rather, he saw only, his son, his firstborn, his might and the beginning of his strength. Ŧ His heart swelled rapidly with a fervent love and pride.

And Aredhel saw that even then the physical likeness of the Eldar was manifest in him and she told this thing to Aragorn, who in that hour gave him the name of Eldarion, “son of the Eldar.” And when it was eventually told his mother, it pleased her greatly.

Eldarion was eventually taken away, and his father was left with a wealth of emotions. “You may go in, Estel” Aredhel softly told him as she emerged from the bedchamber; she had left him to check on the Evenstar. “Arwen is ready to receive you.” She touched the brocade sleeve of his tunic. “Do not keep her long; she needs her rest.”

Aragorn went cautiously into the dimly lit room; Arwen appeared as one who was sleeping; but she heard him stir and she opened her eyes and faintly smiled. “Have you seen him?” asked she, wearily.

Aragorn sat on the bed next to her. “I have,” said he, taking her hand into his and covering it with his other hand. “You did well, vanimelda. He is as beautiful as his mother.”

Arwen closed her eyes wearily, but AragornÂ’s remark had elicited her smile. He kissed her gently on the forehead and encouraged her to sleep. He sat and watched her sleep for another hour before eventually retiring to his bedchamber to rest from the exertions and fatigue of the past two days.

———————————————–

The following day, throughout all Gondor, the birth of the kingÂ’s heir was proclaimed and there was much excitement and speculation among the people. At noon, Melian and Nessa were finally brought up to see the infant. With many felicitous professions of adulation, the ladies observed him as he was tenderly cuddled against MelianÂ’s breast.

“He is so tiny,” marveled Nessa, who was sitting on a stool at Melian’s feet near the bed.

“Indeed he is,” Melian replied in a dreamlike state. “Have you ever seen such precious, little fingers?” With her fingertip, she caressed the tender, delicate, fingers that were curled to the tiny palm.

Arwen was sitting up in bed, delighting in the wonderment of her friends; she too could not fully grasp the magnitude of the presence of this glorious, little person; it was a sublime experience.

“Arwen, look!” Melian suddenly exclaimed, “He has opened his eyes.”

His mother laughed merrily. “Yes,” Arwen said, radiant with the joy of her blessing, “he has done that several times today. Already his father has seen them.”

Melian was enamored; the light grey eyes were in danger of closing again when the sound of her voice caused them to open. “Such a darling,” she softly soliloquized.

Not long after this, Aredhel entered the bedchamber to bring to an end the intimate gathering. Melian asked for more time but Aredhel would not relent. Thus expelled, she and Nessa, grumbling, descended to the first floor to have a light lunch. Since it was a beautiful day, they decided to take it on the lawn in view of the doors that opened unto the grounds from the sitting room.

When their meal was almost at an end, the faint sound of voices drifted to them from the sitting room. They had begun to consider this when Gimli suddenly appeared in the threshold of the opened doors.

“Gimli,” waved Nessa, “will you join us? There is share for another still.”

Gimli appeared to say something briefly to another who was in the room and then he ushered forth to greet them. “Ladies,” said he bowing. “I will soon be off again.”

“Already,” Nessa remarked as she got up to serve him. “You have only just arrived.”

“Aye,” said Gimli in a grave tone, “but there is a pressing matter that guides me; nay, you shall not see me again until good or ill is proven.”

Melian contemplated Gimli; how morbid he was, she thought and what was this talk of him suddenly leaving? “Have you any news of Lady Vana,” she asked apprehensively.

Nessa placed a plate with sliced ham before him with an accompaniment of Avallon’s sweet sauce. “A little,” said Gimli, accepting the basket of bread that Melian passed to him, “that is why we depart hastily from this city.”

“Oh,” said Melian thoughtfully. “And who joins your party?”

“Most of it is already on the road,” Gimli disclosed, “the prince and I, with a few others, will follow in their trail.”

Aragorn, who had been writing to their kindred in Lothlórien and Imladris when the prince was announced, now issued unto the lawn in advance of the latter. “The prince has come to bid us farewell,” said he to Melian and Nessa when he was almost upon them. “Our parting with dear friends has come yet again for a brief spell, I hope.”

Melian was sharply pained by the princeÂ’s behavior in the whole of that interview; not once had he glanced her way, even to acknowledge her farewell. It was as if her presence was disagreeable to him and she was deeply and sorrowfully mortified; in her heart, his attitude cultivated a response that threatened to extinguish the slight flame of hope that had lately sprung up there. And very soon she began to long for him to quit their company; the oppression that she felt in his presence was too much to bear.

For his part, Legolas could not suffer himself to look upon her in his present disgrace; he could not and would not do it. He meant to go away as lowly as he had come without the provocation of her kind, solicitous words that would no doubt shed a trace of light upon his dark, cheerless path. But in recollection of the harm that was already done, he felt himself unworthy and thought that he should spare her that demonstration of compassion that he so little deserved.

In the end, what he had hoped to do and that which resulted were at odds with his intentions; the bricks were amassed and the wall of self preservation had already begun to take form in MelianÂ’s heart.

———————————————–

One even, after a month had passed, King Elessar and Queen Evenstar took their son to the courtyard of the White Tree, which was a symbol to each though in a different way. Arwen held their slumbering son nestled comfortably in her arms; she wore a white mantle over a silver blue gown and her brow was bounded in gems; her long black hair strayed occasionally in the wind, and Aragorn was reminded of an evening long ago and in a different age. The air about them was filled with her sweet fragrance and the elven light of her eyes did shine.

“That we should be this blessed,” she exulted; her husband sat beside her and listened tranquilly as she began to sing a song of praise to Ilúvatar; as her melody swelled on the wings of the twilight air, her mind began to walk in dreams that could never be; she thought of her parents, who perhaps, even then, walked in the shadow of Telperion, the great sire to this tree of Nimloth. She thought of the joys that they would never experience in knowing their grandson and a sadness filled her heart; but out of that sorrow shone the greater truth, that in him, their seed lived on in Middle Earth.

In comparison, AragornÂ’s mind looked back to a time when he despaired of his wishes; Gandalf had been with him then in the high field of Mount Mindolluin; there he had found the sapling of Nimloth, which he had sought as a sign of the ValarÂ’s blessing upon his union and upon his kingdom. All that he had hoped for on that day had been fulfilled. He listened to his wifeÂ’s rich voice as it broke through his reminiscence; he looked at their son and he imagined that he saw a slight smile illuminate his tiny sleeping face.

——————————————————

In the north, it came to pass that after three months Amandil went again to the elves of Forlond and took with him those who would learn the craft of shipbuilding. He was sojourned there for several days before he met Arthon, whose brother, Tulcon, had just lately returned from distant peregrinations in the southern lands. Every night thenceforth, he was engaged to dine at ArthonÂ’s table.

One evening, Amandil had noticed that besides ArthonÂ’s brother, there were several new personages at ArthonÂ’s table who were granted chief places. Among these were two elf maidens who spoke very little and kept very much to themselves. Moreover, the style of their dress was a little odd, in that, unlike the other maidens in Forlond, these two wore head coverings continually. But even this, Amandil had initially set down to a mere trifle. It was not until Gondor was mentioned in conversation with Arthon that his interest was strikingly aroused by the impression it made on the two elf maidens.

Arthon knew that Amandil was a clever man and was vexed by the evident alarm of the two elf maidens, lest they should betray their own secret to their own undoing; not that he would be much aggrieved by it; he still resented the audacity by which their folly had been thrust upon him. Nevertheless, he studied Amandil and from his physiognomy, he could not discern any hint of enlightenment. He did not know that Amandil had already established in his mind that herein was a mystery; he did not know that Amandil had already observed the golden locks that escaped their vain concealment; he did not know that Amandil had already concluded, however vaguely, that time will eventually reveal all to him.

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† II Samuel 14:25

Â¥ On this point, that is simply my conclusion by paralleling the decision of Elros with the decision of Arwen since the choice was also appointed to her as a child of Elrond. So, for those who hold a contrary opinion, this is just my view on the longevity of the Telcontar children. It is kind of unacceptable for me to think, that independent of their love, TolkienÂ’s only motives for uniting Aragorn and Arwen were solely to accomplish the sorrow of Elrond and the eventual death of Arwen. Instead, I would rather think that by their union, he meant to revive the waning life of AragornÂ’s line until it would finally fade into the regular life span of other men.

Ŧ Deuteronomy 21:17