This story is merely an expansion of a tale that had been written already by Professer Tolkien (though a few liberties have been taken). For the proper account of Arwen and Aragorn (as well as much dialogue used in this fanfic) see Appendix A of Return of the King.

Part One

Chapter One- 2933 T. A. Rivendell

Gilraen pulled hard on the horse’s reigns as they reached the Last Homely House. Clutching the sleeping child close, she dismounted swiftly and silently, and drew her cloak about her. The night air put a chill in her bones as the utter darkness covered up her tears. The door swung open and he quickly rushed out, coming to her and placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

“Gilraen,” he whispered, placing his arm around her shoulders. His voice was old and comforting, and she could not help but think of her father when he spoke.

“Oh Elrond!” she cried, burrowing her face into his chest. She wept.

“Hush, hush, my dear. Come inside,” he said in a low voice. “Do not wake the babe.”

She nodded silently and trembled as he led her inside. She cast off her outer cloak and drew her son closer to her bosom and he led her further into the house. They went through the many winding hallways, which were usually bustling with elves and laughter and light. But it was quiet and dark, and everything seemed empty. Elrond led her into the Hall of Fire, where it was deserted.

Tears streaming from her eyes, she stared listlessly at the fire which lit the large, empty room. The child nestled deeper into her and made a soft noise like that of a dove. She softly stroked his dark hair as the Elf Lord left her and went swiftly to another room. She could hear his footsteps echoing in the house, never quieting. He returned in a matter of minutes with two tall elves, dark haired and grey eyed. Their clothes were torn and stained, though their faces had been cleaned.

“They arrived not long before you, my lady,” Elrond said, sitting down with the elves. They looked with sadness upon her and the little boy, who lay peacefully in her lap.

“I know you rode with my husband,” she said, her voice calm and steady, though tears ran down her cheeks. “Where is he? Where have they put him?”

“He is buried already, Lady Gilraen, with the rest of the Edain who fell,” spoke one of the Elven men.

“Oh Elladan,” she cried brokenly, grasping the hand of her child and hanging her head. “Could they not let me see him first?”

“My Lady, he was not fit to be seen,” said the other Elf, Elrohir, the brother of Elladan, in a whisper, as he looked down at the floor. Both sons of Elrond looked broken hearted as they spoke to her the news of her husband’s fate. Never had she ridden faster when she heard the news that her beloved had been slain. She had clung to the vain hope it was untrue. But she knew in her heart.

“My lord,” she said through her tears, looking at Elrond. “Arathorn is forever lost to me now, and I have no way to provide for his son. Oh my lord…” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing bitterly.

Elrond looked sadly upon her, and at the sleeping child on her knee. “Aragorn’s fate shall not be like to his father’s. I shall take him and care for him, do not fear. My lady, never fear for him. For he is Estel, the hope of your people.” As he said this he rose from his seat and sat down beside her, taking Aragorn gently in his arms and kissing his brow.

The young woman smiled brokenly at him with the light of gratitude shining brightly in her grey eyes. “May Eru bless you, my lord. Take my child, make him your son. May he forever call you his father.”

Chapter Two- 2948 T.A. Trollshaw Forest

Elladan and Elrohir stopped their horses at nearly the exact same time, the summer wind whipping their long dark hair. Estel could tell they were looking far ahead with their Elven eyesight as they stared into the distance.

“They’ve nearly reached the Trollshaws; Estel, come on!” Elrohir shouted with a smile, and he and his twin brother kicked their horses into a gallop, followed closely by Estel’s horse. He panted as they raced ahead, whispering little encouragements to their steeds.

“We’ve got them!” cried Elladan with a loud laugh, and Estel could see he was right. They were not a mile from the forest, and they caught the orcs who were running for their lives. They leapt from the horses, Estel and Elrohir drawing their blades with laughter in their eyes. They approached the orcs slowly, the beasts scowling and terrified. Elrohir looked with a grin at Estel. “Don’t be scared, lad, they’re unprepared. Not fully armed. You’ll do just fine.”

Estel’s grey eyes flashed. “I’m no coward you Edhelion!” With that, he gave out a sharp cry and lunged at the orcs. He and Elrohir ran into the fray of squealing orcs, the arrows of Elladan whizzing past them. Estel at first slashed his blade to and fro, taking whatever orc came his way. Sweat formed on his knitted brow, and black blood spattered on his bare arms which were tanned by the golden sun. Now stained. The beasts fell to the dust at the bite of his sword. After the goblins thinned, he took them on one by one. A small orc with a long, curved dagger jumped on him with a squeal, but he kicked it off and plunged his blade through its chest, blood gurgling and spurting out the mouth. Another large one lumbered towards him, but Elladan shot it down first. Estel glared at him.

The battle was easily won by the hunters- the sons of Elrond.

After every orc was slain, Elrohir looked at his young foster brother with a smirk and sheathed his blood soaked sword. “You fought well, Master Estel. Ada would be proud.”

“And your muindyr are very proud of you, little boy,” said Elladan, placing his hand on Estel’s shoulder. The Elf man’s silver eyes shone like a boys’. “And now,” he said, shouldering his bow and leaping nimbly upon his horse. “We head east! Ada will be furious if we are not home by tomorrow.”

*

Estel, tired and hungry and beaten on by the sun, smiled at last as he saw his mother walking the path they were riding as they neared their house. Not bothering to stop his horse, he leapt off and tumbled to the rocky ground.

“Naneth!!!” he shrieked, grinning from ear to ear and stumbling as he tried to stand. Gilraen laughed merrily at her son’s joy at seeing her. She wore a simple gown and a blue cloak to shield her from the sun’s hot rays. She held her hand up to her eyes as he ran toward her. “Naneth!!” he cried again, flinging himself at his mother. “Mama…” he added in a whisper, kissing her pale cheek as she embraced him.

The twins just laughed and shook their heads.

She laughed again, standing him up and brushing off his muddy clothes. “Eru help me, child, you’re going to get me filthy. What have you been doing all this time? Hunting again, I suppose?” she asked, looking up at Elrohir and Elladan.

They nodded and bowed their heads to her. “Lady Gilraen,” Elladan said reverently.

“Mama!” Estel said, drawing her attention once more to his thin, dirt stained face- his eyes glowing. “We routed out a whole band of orcs. So many! But we slaughtered them all. Every last one.”

Gilraen frowned softly at him, touching his handsome, dirty face with her small white hand. She could just detect the trace of a beard on his face. Was her child really growing up this fast? She looked up briefly at the twins, then back to her son. She leaned her forehead against his. “Be careful, ion nín, my dear. Please,” she added in a whisper.

Estel smile tenderly at his mother and took her hands in his. “I always am, Naneth nín, always. I love you.”

“I love you too, Estel,” she said, smiling as her son kissed her hands. “Always.”

*

Elrond looked out the window and saw all the trees in bloom. The summer was just beginning, and the heat was very strong. But out of doors everything was fresh and alive- it made it feel good just to look at it. He smiled as he heard the clop of horse’s hooves coming up the path. His twin sons were in front, mounted on their horses. Gilraen walked behind them, Estel hanging one arm around her neck and one holding the reigns to his steed. The boys looked up and saw him, and quickly ran for the door.

Elrond walked outside just as Elladan and Elrohir were jumping off the horses. They hailed him merrily and embraced him, then Estel grinned and gave him a firm hug. “Hello Ada!” he said, his grey eyes twinkling.

“You’ve been hunting,” Elrond replied with a smile. Estel nodded, and proceeded to tell of the whole tale. After he was done, Elrond sent the boys inside to clean themselves up and he stood by Gilraen, looking at the ground. He saw something in her face. “You’re going north soon,” he said.

She nodded, sighing softly. “I can’t stay here forever. He’s your son too, Elrond. I will leave in a fortnight.” Elrond had suspected she would go, but he didn’t know when. She grew restless in his haven of perfect safety. And she was a woman not yet fourty, she had her life to live. Gilraen murmured a soft laugh and looked up at the sky, seeing the way the shadows of the birds flitted across the bright blue sky. “Has it really been seventeen years, my Lord Elrond?” she asked, looking almost incredulous. She had to let her son grow up…even if it meant growing away from her. He could not become a man with his mother standing beside him his entire life.

Elrond nodded gravely. He had seen her expression when the boys arrived. She was worried for the well-being of her son. Her only son. The son of the kings. He looked remarkably like his father, Estel did, and he knew Gilraen bore that with great pain. He could see her suffering when she looked at him. But how much did she love him! Better than life itself, he knew.

“Oh My Lord,” she said softly, her voice clear like a bird. “I have to let him go sometime. I must let him go now, before it is too hard.” Her voice trailed off, but in the stillness of the day he heard the barely audible words she spoke to the wind, closing her eyes.

“Onen i-Estel Edain…”

Chapter Three- 2951 T. A. Rivendell

Estel walked into his father’s room shoulder to shoulder with his brothers. He was tall, nearly taller than they were. His father looked worried over some matter, and beckoned for Elladan and Elrohir to leave the room.

“Estel…” Elrond said, looking pained. “Come sit down.”

Estel took a seat opposite Elrond. “What’s the matter, Ada? I know there’s something wrong.”

Elrond looked with love upon his dear foster son. Estel was twenty now, and had grown to an adult. He was indeed the son of great men. He was a fierce hunter and had a sharp mind. His love for Estel was so great, it almost pained him to see the boy grow up. But grown up he had, there was nothing Elrond could do to stop it. And now…now he must finish what had been started two decades ago.

“Estel, you know I am not your father.”

“Of course,” Estel replied. “My father, Gilraen’s husband, was killed in battle long ago when I was a child.” He paused for a moment, looking skeptically at Elrond. “Why do you bring this up now? What matter is it?”

“Because, Estel,” he said slowly. “You are the Estel of your people, though it is not your true name. Because, Estel, your father was a great man- and his fathers were kings among men.” Elrond paused, not daring to meet his son’s eyes. He drew the drawer out of his desk so the young man could see the shattered blade, and the thick silver ring.

“Because, Estel…these belong to you.”

*

Aragorn. The son of Arathorn. Aragorn. The rightful heir to Gondor’s throne. Aragorn. His name. He was no longer Estel.

The feel of the emerald ring upon his hand was a hard weight to get used to. He took deep, steady breaths as he walked deeper and deeper into the shadows of the thick woods of Imladris. He feet crunched against the dry leaves of the forest floor, the cool breeze ruffling his long, dark hair. His eyes gazed off into nothing as he began to sing softly. “The leaves were long the grass was green, the hemlock-umbels tall and fair…and in the glade a light was seen, of stars in shadow shimmering…”

But as he heard a soft step not far from him, he ceased to sing. In the light of the waning sun he could make out a figure flitting about amongst the white birches. A maiden he could see in the dusk of the day, and he caught his breath as he gazed upon her. Her tall frame was clothed in shimmering silver and a blue as clear and pale as the morning sky. Dark hair she had, like the shadows of twilight, and it danced about her shoulders as the wind passed through the trees. Her silver grey eyes shone with brilliance, and her smooth pale skin was flawless, like a tiny child. She appeared to be a young woman, near his own age, yet she had a queenly elegance in her step.

“Tinúviel…” he murmured aloud, his mouth slightly agape, for it seemed that he had strayed into a vision of what he sang- the Lay of Lúthien.

The maiden turned to face him, her hand resting on the low branch of a tree. Her eyes sparkled. “Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?” she asked with a smile. Her voice was clear, and more beautiful than even the purest, fairest song sung by Elven lips.

“Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing,” he breathed, almost as if still in a trance. He felt abashed in the presence of such a beauty. “But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness.”

“So many have said,” she murmured, a grave look crossing her fair face. “Yet her name is not mine. Though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers…” she added in a faint whisper, and he furrowed his brows. What could she mean? The maiden looked up, once more with a curious smile. “But who are you?” she asked, stepping closer to him.

“Estel I was called,” he said, his heart pounding. He was no longer the little boy of Rivendell. “But I am Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s heir, Lord of the Dunedain.” Yet even as he spoke those words, his felt his stomach sink. He had been excited like a child when Elrond had told him of this, proud of his ancestors and his lineage. Yet now it seemed small, unworthy, and unimportant in the company of the great loveliness of such a fair Elven woman.

The maiden laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Then we are akin from afar. For I am Arwen Elrond’s daughter, and am named also Undómiel.”

He gasped, amazed at what she spoke of. The daughter of Elrond? How could it be so? “Often it is seen,” he said, laughing slightly, “that in dangerous days men hide their chief treasure. Yet I marvel at Elrond at your brothers; for though I have dwelt in this house from childhood, I have heard no word of you. How comes it that we have never met before? Surely your father has not kept you locked away?” he asked, smiling faintly. He almost was shocked at Elrond, his Ada, who had never revealed to him such a girl as Arwen Undómiel. He felt blessed to know her now.

“No,” she answered, her eyes lifting to the east where the Misty Mountains rose high above them. “I have dwelt for a time in the land of my mother’s kin, in far Lothlórien. I have but lately returned to visit my father again.” She paused, closing her eyes as if weary as the wind blew soft tendrils of hair across her face. “It is many years since I walked in Imladris,” she added softly. Aragorn’s brow furrowed, and he was puzzled. How was it that a maiden such as she could have lived so many more years than he? He had thought her to be like a very young woman. But fair Arwen looked into his eyes, as though she knew his inner thinking. “Do not wonder!” she said hastily. “For the children of Elrond have the life of the Eldar.”

Aragorn bowed his head reverently, and for the first time saw the pure Elven-light shining in her eyes, and the wisdom of many, many days. And as he gazed at the sweet smile of Lady Undómiel, he felt his heart stirring. When she moved in the twilight, when she spoke to him, he felt something he did not know. But from that very hour, he loved Arwen with all his heart.

Chapter Four- 2951 T. A. Rivendell

Aragorn looked up from his book as he heard a soft step enter the room. He knew that soft step. Arwen Undómiel came through the door, smiling, and embraced her father. They spoke a few soft words together, then Elrond left the room. He felt when Arwen first saw him, when her gaze was lifted to his face.

“Suilaid, Estel. Or Aragorn, as you now are called,” she spoke with a tender smile, sitting down near him. The fire of the great Hall burned brightly in the otherwise dimly lit room, but her face shone out clear amongst the flickering shadows.

He bowed his head as his face flushed. “Gil síla erin lû ‘ovaded vin, híril nín,” he spoke softly to her.

“Indeed it does, Aragorn, though this is not our first meeting.”

“Yes, My Lady,” he answered, looking up. “But I shall forever remember that time.”

She looked at him with soft, grey eyes and seemed to search his face. Aragorn could not hide his feelings within himself, but put everything he felt into his features, and the way he looked at her. Arwen furrowed her brows, yet not unkindly or scornfully. She seemed to look on him with mixed emotions, as though she was struggling within herself. “So shall I, My Lord,” she murmured, her eyes still locked with his.

He bowed his head, resisting the urge to say more. He stood from his chair and knelt before the lady, taking her hand. He looked into her eyes once more as he kissed it tenderly, though solemnly. “I take my leave,” he said, in barely a whisper. And he quickly fled the room.

*

For the next few days Aragorn was not himself. The boyish lad that everyone in Imladris had grown to love was gone, and had been replaced by a solemn heir to Gondor’s throne. The weight of that responsibility added to what he now felt for Elrond’s daughter was almost to much for him to bear with a light heart. He now seldom laughed, spoke softly, and tried to glimpse as much of Arwen as he could. He walked the halls of Rivendell alone, the wheels of his mind turning.

Not the least of which to notice was Gilraen, who had once again returned to Imladris from the north. His mother knew him more than he thought. One day while Aragorn stood by himself on a balcony, silently watching the waterfall of Bruinen, she came to him and placed her small white hand on his shoulder. As he turned to face her, her heart broke to look at him. His face was thin, almost drawn, and his faint beard scratched her hand as she placed it on his face.

“My son,” she murmured, a tear springing to her eye. Her sweet babe had grown up so fast- too fast. And now there was something bothering him.

“Yes, Naneth?” he asked softly, his grey eyes piercing her face.

“Oh Estel, my son,” she whispered. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” He turned away from her, shielding himself from her touch. “Aragorn, do you not have even your mother’s trust?” she whispered brokenly, a tear falling down her face.

“Mama,” he said, turning back around and embracing her. His heart ached as he poured out the entire story of meeting Elrond’s daughter in the woods, and how he loved her more than his own being.

Gilraen furrowed her brow as he finished. “My son,” she said softly. “Your aim is high, even for the descendant of many kings. For this lady is the noblest and fairest that now walks the earth,” she said, firmly. “And it is not fit that a mortal should wed the Elf-kind,” she added softly.

Aragorn raised his chin, mustering up his courage and pride. “Yet we have some part in that kinship,” he said, “if the tale of my forefathers is true that I have learned.” More than one time had the union of Elf and man been made in the past.

“It is true, but that was long ago and in another age of this world, before our race was diminished,” she answered him. “Therefore I am afraid; for without the goodwill of Master Elrond the heirs of Isildur will soon come to an end.” She paused, looking out to the world below them. “But I do not think that you will have the goodwill of Elrond in this matter,” she added in a whisper, and closed her eyes.

Aragorn furrowed his brows and his mouth convulsed slightly. He felt as though his heart would break, and no amount of weeping could mend it. “Then bitter will my days be, and I will walk in the wild alone,” he said.

“That will indeed be your fate,” she said to him softly, though her heart warned her. She had a measure of foresight amongst her people, yet she spoke nothing to her son of that matter.

*

Aragorn hurried out of the room where Elrond still stayed. His heart was troubled by all that had been spoken by his father. His mind whirred as he remembered bits and pieces of what they had spoken of. Elrond had led him into the room, and told him such things…

“A great doom awaits you…Many years of trial lie before you…You shall have neither wife, nor bind any woman to you…until your time comes…and you are found worthy…”

Aragorn walked faster down the hallway, not noticing anything to the right or left.

“Can it be that my mother has spoken of this to you???”

“Your own eyes have betrayed you…Arwen is too far above you…So long as I abide here, she shall live with the youth of the Eldar…When I depart, she shall go with me…”

“Then I have turned my eyes to a treasure no less dear than the treasure of Thingol that Beren once desired. Such is my fate…”

And so it would be his fate. For he would not go through life without wishing that Arwen was by his side. But at that time he recalled to Elrond that Arwen herself would have to chose whether or not she sailed with her father.

“There will be no choice before Arwen, my beloved, unless you, Aragorn Arathorn’s son, come between us…You do not know what it is you desire of me…”

Then Elrond, his beloved Ada, had looked upon him with careworn sorrows etching his face.

“The years will bring what they will. We will speak no more of this until many years have passed. The days darken…much evil is to come.”

*

Aragorn’s heart ached with sadness as he bid farewell to Elrond. His time had come, the time to leave his home. He would not return for many years yet…if he ever returned. Yet the love of those he held dear gave him hope for a bleak future. He was Arathorn’s son, Gilraen’s son…Elrond’s son, and had two brothers he loved more than life. And the thought of Arwen…whom he never could hope to call his own. As he spoke words of goodbye to his dear foster father, he knew how much he loved the man. Never would he call another his father. His Ada.

Then he came to Gilraen, his sweet mama who had always been there for him. Her eyes filled as she watched him ready his horse to leave. Her mouth quivered and tears spilled down her pale face. Weeping, she held her son close. Never before had she watched him prepare to leave on a journey such as this. He would ride the lands and seek out his father’s kin. Only Eru knew what danger would befall him. She doubted whether she would even see him again. But as he looked in her eyes and smiled, and kissed her tenderly on the brow, she knew in her heart she would again lay eyes on him…alive and well.

After saying goodbye, Gilraen took leave of Aragorn, and he continued to ready his horse, Roheryn. He smiled as he saw his two brothers approaching him. They were wearing happy faces, though they both looked sad. “Well, Estel,” said Elrohir. “You’re off on adventure again. But this time we’ll not be joining you.”

Aragorn nodded, not meeting their eyes. Elladan smiled. “Yet do not think you’ll never come across us on your perils,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ve some stuff still left in us.” Aragorn smiled, and roughly embraced both men. “You go, Dunadân,” Elladan whispered in his ear. “Find muinthel before you go. She’s waiting for you.”

*

Aragorn wandered the winding paths of Imladris around the Last Homely House, soaking in the feel of his home. The spray of the Bruinen tumbling down the hills, the chirp of the birds, and the golden leaves of Autumn falling down about him. Nothing could compare to the beauty of what he saw all around…except what he saw next. Sitting on a stone bench, hands in her lap, sat Arwen Undómiel: the Evenstar of her people…and of her father’s heart. Her long dark hair sat still on the shoulders of her pure white dress. On her brow was a gleaming gem, like a star, and her voice rose in a soft, sweet song in the fair Elven tongue. Never before had he heard a voice so sweet and lovely. As her gaze lifted to him, the song died out, and his heart pounded. He could barely bring himself to speak. He didn’t want to say goodbye.

She smiled at him and softly patted the bench beside her, beckoning him to come. He slowly came to the spot and lowered himself, only inches form the woman he loved so dearly. Her slender hand took his gently, the touch of her soft skin sending shivers up his spine. “My Lady…” he started, but she pressed her fingers softly to his mouth, shaking her head.

“Arwen i eneth nín, Estel,” she spoke softly.

“Arwen…” he said, his voice trailing off. “My time has come. I am to leave…and find my brethren.”

“Then go with the goodwill of all elvenkind, Aragorn,” she said. “Or at least the goodwill of my father’s household.”

He bowed his head to her, and she stared into his eyes. On an impulse, he placed his rough and worn hand on her face, cupping her chin. He could not tear his eyes from hers, and she took his other hand in both of hers and raised it to her lips. The touch of her mouth on his skin was shocking and exhilarating. He knew he would never…could never love another. Breaking away from her, he took her hand and kissed it softly. “Navaer,” he choked out. “Fare thee well, My Lady.”

“Navaer,” she replied, and he wondered that he detected a moist shimmer in her eyes. “Fare thee well, My Lord.” At that, she knelt on the ground before him, bowing her head to him. “Farewell, My Lord Aragorn- Lord of the Dunedain. May the Valar be with you always.”

Part Two

Chapter One- 2980 T.A. Lothlórien

The golden leaves of summertime trembled in the cool breeze. The sun shone in patches under the tall Mallorn trees, the leaves glistening in its bright rays as they floated gently to the earth. Many a season had passed underneath the eaves of the woods, many a footstep had passed over the sweet earth. A breath of magic was in the wind of the woods, or what men would think of magic, though by the wise ones it was accounted for with more solemn reference. A sweet scent filled the air, and a calming song could be faintly heard lifted into the sky. From Nimrodel or from a living being; none could tell.

Aragorn bowed reverently before the Lady of the Golden Wood as the gentle wind ruffled his long, dark hair. “Lady Galadriel,” he said, in awe of the woman who stood before him. Never before had he laid eyes on her, and she was indeed a fair sight for his careworn eyes. The Lady bid him stand, and he stared into her bright blue eyes. She was his own height, and a majestic woman.

“Aragorn son of Arathorn,” she said, smiling. Her voice was gentle and wise, though deeper and lower than many a common woman. “Come, you are weary of your travels,” she said, her voice full of knowing. As he stood, she took his arm gently and walked with him along the silver flets of Lórien. He was awestruck as he gazed at the world below him. “You have been with Gandalf, tell me how he is,” she said to him.

“He is well.”

Galadriel stopped walking and turned him to her, tipping his chin up with her slender white finger. A slight hint of worry crossed her face as she gazed into his eyes. His head felt strange, as though she knew what he would say even before the words passed his lips. “You have been many an evil place,” she said, her voice low and barely audible. There was concern in her smile. “You seek rest and comfort.”

“What do you speak of, My Lady?” he asked quietly, with an amused smile. How she knew of his whereabouts before his journey to Lórien, he had no idea. Yet she was a wise and insightful woman, and he thanked the Valar he was in good favor with her.

She gave a more warm smile, and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Your place is already prepared for you,” she said. She then handed him a set of silver clothing she had drawn from her white cloak. “Go.”

*

The silver and white garments he wore were fitting to Aragorn, as he held his head high. An Elven grey cloak Galadriel had placed upon his shoulders, and the man of the West now appeared more than ever to be a true Elf-lord. His brow was stern, and he looked on with eyes like to his clothing at the fair city of Caras Galadhon. He held his shoulders proudly as he closed his eyes, thinking if what he felt was pride, or simply relief after a storm of travels. He felt now truly akin to Elendil the Tall and those of his household. As he wandered under the golden flowers of summer, his eyes searched for what, he did not know. But his hours had seemed empty since he had entered Lothlórien two nights before.

Then, or did his eyes deceive him?- a figure he saw wandering the woods as he did. A tall woman, her hair dark outstanding in the forest of golden hue. Her eyes met his as they stood before each other. Both faces were solemn and grave, though the years between them seemed to melt away as their eyes locked. The face of the woman he had loved so dearly in his youth- that had been forever in his dreams throughout the years- came back to him now, stood before him plainly. Her face was unchanged, for the many years had passed her by. Though her features were graver than they had been, and her eyes were not so bright and merry. Yet a glow that had not been there for many a year was restored when she looked upon him.

He stood breathless and awestruck before her, and a soft smile played at the corners of her lips. He was a grown man now, yet a boy he seemed to become in that instant- as when he had first laid eyes upon her. Her long, dark tendrils of hair danced as the breeze went by, and there was joy and laughter in her fair grey eyes. Fully upturned lips showed on her face now, though he was still in shock. Suddenly a smile broke across his face, and he cocked his head playfully to the side. He resisted the urge to run to her and take her in his arms. He instead nodded his head respectfully to her, still smiling broadly. She gave a soft laugh and bowed her head, and they extended arms to clasp hands. And Aragorn knew that now, holding a bit of Arwen Undómiel, he was truly home.

*

Aragorn held Arwen’s hand firmly as they walked through the woods back to the Elf city. He felt more peaceful now with her than he had felt two decades ago on meeting her. His heart still fluttered within him, but he trusted himself to speak. He also was confronted with an acute sadness. He knew Undómiel could never love him as he loved her, though it gave him joy to have her care for him as she did. His mother and Elrond had both been right in what they said. He now knew his proper place, and would stay confined to it.

They had not spoken much since their meeting, only a few words. He longed to sit with her and hold her hand and pour out every story of his adventures, but he knew he could not. She was a fair princess in the land of her grandmother, so he was content for a time to remain quiet. And he was at peace silently wandering in the forest, alone with his dearest love.

He noticed the instant Arwen moved. Her face lowered close to her chest, and she stared at the ground as they walked. She did not look at him. “Aragorn,” she said, her voice naturally quiet and graceful. “What indeed does bring you to Lórien?”

He cocked his head to the side and gave a soft sigh. His adventures had nearly been far too much for him to bear. ‘Thorongil’ he had been called for so long. It gave him comfort to hear someone address him with his true name. Especially coming from the lips of Arwen the Evenstar. “I am so tired, My Lady, from my travails and wanderings,” he said. “It has been too long since I have seen an Elf haven.”

Smiling gently, she curled her fingers around his hand. “It has been too long since the dwellers of those havens have seen YOU, My Lord,” she said playfully. Though the gesture and words were hardly intimate, it brought a subdued smile to his face to hear her speak of such things. She smiled brightly all on a sudden, and gestured ahead. “Come, Lord Aragorn, I shall show you the place my grandmother has set out for you.”

Chapter Two- 2980 T.A. Lothlórien

The days seemed to Aragorn to fly by with wings of eagles as he stayed in Lothlórien. He spent his days with Arwen, and with Galadriel and her husband when he could. As the friendship of the twain grew Aragorn learned to love Arwen’s friendship. And still the love he already shared for her grew, it grew so much that at times his heart would break at the sight of her. His beloved- the one he could never have.

It came about that just over two months had passed since his arrival in Lórien.

Aragorn sat silently beside Nimrodel, the little Elven stream that passed through the woods, looking upon Arwen who sat on the opposite bank, trailing her fingers gently through the water. Nothing gave him more pleasure than what he gazed upon at this moment.

She looked up from the stream into his face and smiled. “Estel,” she said. A stronger wind blew through her hair than it was accustomed to in the summer weather. “Autumn is coming fast,” she remarked, almost sadly. They both knew that he was to depart once the summer was over.

Yet he gave a friendly smile at her. “Never before have I had a more joyous summer,” he said, though in his heart he was sad.

She smiled tenderly at him, and quickly stepped over to the bank he lay upon. Sitting down beside him, she took his hand gently. “And I can rightfully say the same.”

“Now Undómiel!” he exclaimed, startling back. “I know full well that cannot be true. You have spent many yen of summers with Elf-Lords, and fine people far above me.”

She laughed, running her finger across his cheek. “No, Aragorn. You are far better company than the hordes of Elven folk.” Distress it seemed flickered across her face. She looked with gentle sadness upon him, almost as though she wished for him to pity her.

In a moment he stopped thinking, and he took her face quickly in both of his hands, bringing it only inches from his. He tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He felt her arms wind about his neck and he opened his eyes for a moment. Their grey eyes stared unblinkingly into the other’s for an instant, then he broke away trembling.

“Oh My Lady,” he said, his voice shaking. He scolded himself inwardly- he felt mortified. “Oh, Arwen, forgive me. I have lost myself.”

“Aragorn, hush, I- it’s, I am at fault too, Aragorn,” she said quietly, and he heard that her voice trembled as well.

He cocked his head to the side and gazed on her with wonder. She was to blame as well? That must mean…but no, he rushed the thought out of his head instantly. As they regained themselves and began back toward the city, he put the entire incident out of his mind.

And for the remainder of the season, neither spoke of what had happened, or what was said.

*

Aragorn strived to make his last few days in Lórien pass slowly, yet time gives nothing to a weary heart. He was refreshed from his stay in the Golden Wood, however, and knew it was almost time for his departure. The autumn air was tasted in the wind, yet the summer sun of childhood still shone down upon them. Aragorn had spent three months in Lothlórien, and had felt as though he were a child in his Ada’s house again. He spent his hours wandering the wooded lands with Arwen, his dearest friend on earth- his heart’s beloved.

He basked in the joy that her friendship brought to him, and knew in his heart only one way could be possibly be happier. If she, his heart’s desire, could love him the way he loved her. But he knew it was a fool’s ambition. She was a princess of the Eldar, the image of Tinúviel, and he bore unspeakable pain knowing he could never hope to win the hand of Undómiel.

And now, with so little time left for him to remain in Lórien, he spent every waking moment that he could with her.

*

Aragorn sat about the table with Arwen, Galadriel, and Celeborn. The hearts of those were sad, but their faces and voices were happy. A merry company they were indeed, taking in the last of their days together. Aragorn was to leave Lórien that very night- Midsummer’s Eve.

Taking a small sip of her cup, Galadriel smiled at Aragorn, who sat next to her granddaughter. “Aragorn,” she said, with a smile. “You have brought us all such joy by coming us here.”

Aragorn nodded respectfully. “My Lady, never have I had such desirable company in all my days. I am privileged to be able to stay in these woods. For that I thank you.”

Celeborn sat next to Galadriel, the fading sunlight coming down upon his silver hair. His eyes were old, and his face was tired. He did not look so ageless as his wife. “We are all sorry to see you leave,” he said, taking a glance at Arwen from the corner of his eye. “But ah! what would Eä become without this northern ranger?” he said, and they all laughed.

Arwen had been sitting quietly for most of the meal, her hand enclosed within Aragorn’s. Her grey eyes were filled to the brim with evident sadness, though she tried hard to conceal it. Her fair face had not seen many a smile that night- except when looking at Aragorn. Her grandmother noted this strange behavior in her, but kept silent.

Galadriel stood, setting down her empty glass. “Aragorn, go spend one last eve in our fair woods. Eru knows you long to.” Aragorn smiled and stood, bowing to the Lady. Galadriel approached him and embraced him. “Do not leave anything undone, dear Estel,” she spoke softly in his ear, then let him go.

Finally tearing away from Galadriel’s piercing blue eyes, Aragorn instinctively took Arwen hand and they both made their way down the flets to the ground.

*

Aragorn felt light and free from care as he walked in the midst of Lórien. The cool breeze ruffled his loose white clothing, and the green grass was soft under his unshod feet. Arwen’s hand he held in his as she walked barefoot next to him. Once they had reached the grassy hill of Cerin Amroth they stopped, gazing out into the woods in the direction of Caras Galadhon. They seemed an age away from the Elf city…an age away from all other living things, save the elanor and niphredil that grew about them.

The hem of Arwen’s white dress tumbled about her feet as a stronger wind rushed by. Her hand was clasped firmly to his, and her long, dark hair fell in waves against her back. And as Aragorn gazed upon her, and met her eyes, he knew what Galadriel had meant.

“Do not leave anything undone…”

He quickly turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his. Arwen looked at him, slightly puzzled, but said nothing. “Undómiel, My fairest Lady,” he said, and found that he was nearly becoming short of breath. From the moment he met her he had longed to speak these words. Yet he didn’t know how. He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss upon it. “The words you spoke to me at our meeting, do you remember them? You said that perhaps your doom would be not unlike Lúthien Tinúviel.” He paused, but she said nothing. She only kept his gaze with her soft silver eyes. His heart fluttering, he continued. “You have spoken in truthfully, at least in part. For Tinúviel was doomed to have a man, a being of mortal race, grow to love her…” He placed his hand tenderly on her face and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Though so few words had been spoken between them.”

Arwen closed her eyes and let out a breath through her nostrils. She took Aragorn’s rough hands in her own and kissed them, then laid them upon her face. “And my doom shall be hers, I swear it. For as Tinúviel loved Beren, so I love you.”

His heart melted inside him as he drew closer to Arwen. Their hands were clasped together, and he could feel the warmth from her body. The first star of the night shone in the sky above them, as their hearts were finally mended of sorrows. And Aragorn, now with his Evenstar, remembered nothing else.

Arwen tenderly brushed aside a strand of his dark hair and tucked it behind his ear. Smiling, Aragorn cupped her face, slowly breathing in the scent of his beloved. Her skin was soft like silk to his touch, and for a moment he was content to do nothing more. Then, slowly, he took her mouth with his in a gentle kiss. His heart pounded wildly as he pressed her to him, and he drank in the feel and touch of her love. As he hesitantly broke his lips from hers, a smile spread across his face. She spread her palms across his chest and leaned her head on his shoulder. But he took her face with his hands and kissed her once more.

When he finally broke away and looked in Arwen’s eyes, they were shining like he had never seen before. They were like dewdrops of Telperion he had captured in a bottle. The Lady. His Lady. Arwen touched his brow gently, like his mother had been prone to do. “There is so much you have to do, Aragorn, when you leave us. The world grows darker, I pray you not to fall into Shadow.”

Keeping her enfolded in his arms, he sighed softly. “Dark are the hours now. I shudder to think of what our lands will become.” He furrowed his brow. “Of what my people will become…”

“Dark is the shadow,” she said, keeping her eyes locked with his. “And yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great ones whose valor destroy it.” She smiled then, hopefully.

But Aragorn turned his eyes away, focusing on the falling golden leaves and unfading grass. The moon was rising, the Ship of Silver. “Alas!” he said softly. “I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me.” He turned to her once more, and pressed his forehead gently to hers with a smile. “Yet with your hope I will hope. And the Shadow I utterly reject.” Then a look of slight distress came over him, and he cupped her face tenderly. “But neither, my lady, is the Twilight for me,” he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “For I am a mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also give up.”

Arwen was silent, her eyes drifting off to the West. She stood tall and proud in his arms, a tree of pure white. Her eyes met his solemnly. “I will cleave to you, Dunadân, and turn from the Twilight,” she said slowly. “Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin.”

Aragorn could see a sheen of tears in her eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter as she laid her head upon his chest. He knew how dearly she loved her father, her family, her people. He closed his eyes, hating himself for asking her to give it up.

“The choice remains with you, my love,” he breathed. “Do not choose lightly.”

She looked back up at him and pressed a tender kiss upon his lips. “I know my decision, Estel. I have made it. Now what shall you do?” she asked.

He looked down at his hand, at the silver ring that proclaimed him to be Aragorn. But the emeralds seemed faded compared to the beauty of his Evenstar. He slid the ring off his finger and tucked it into her hand. She looked up at him, but he held his hand up.

“My lady, my love, I give my promise to you. I shall give you all I can, for you have given the ultimate sacrifice.”

Chapter Three- 3001 T.A. Rivendell

Aragorn bounded up the steps of the house, short of breath when he finally reached the top. He dashed into Elrond’s room. Elrond was standing, looking out the window to where Elladan, Elrohir, and he had just been.

“Ada,” he said, breathlessly. Elrond looked upon him with wide eyes so full of grief, that Aragorn could see he already knew. Aragorn rushed to him and embraced him, drawing in the scent of his childhood. Every day for his young life he had seen Elrond…but now it had been so long.

Elrond stood back and looked at him, a little pleasure coming to his face at the sight of his grown son, who was now the age of a spent life. But Estel was of Numenorien blood, and the mortal years had passed him over with not so much change. The old Elf smiled slightly. “My son, Estel! How many years do you now hold account for yourself? You are quite a man.”

Aragorn wondered at why his father said nothing of Arwen. But he was pleased to talk of brighter subjects. “Seventy years, Ada,” he said.

Elrond’s smile faded and his face grew dim. Clutching Aragorn as though he were going to fall, he looked to the floor. “Oh my son, years come when hope will fade,” he said, his voice thin and grave. “And beyond them, little is clear to me. And now a shadow lies between us.” Aragorn winced, knowing full well what his foster father spoke of. “Maybe,” continued Elrond, “it has been appointed so, that by my loss the kingship of Men may be restored. Therefore, though I love you, I say to you:” Elrond’s face grew stern, almost harsh, and his voice was commanding. “Arwen Undómiel shall not diminish her life’s grace for less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor.” Aragorn blinked. His head spun. Elrond…his Ada…could Aragorn truly live up to the expectations? But Elrond continued, his voice saddening. His eyes were downcast as he spoke. “To me then even our victory can only bring sorrow and parting- but to you hope of joy for a while. Alas, my son!” he cried. “I fear that to Arwen the Doom of Men may seem hard at the ending.”

Aragorn stood speechless, his eyes closed. He refused to look at Elrond, or think about what the Elf had just said. His heart was ripping to shreds inside of him, and his guilt was overwhelming him completely. He stumbled backwards towards the doorway.

“Aragorn,” Elrond called, sadly, and Aragorn opened his eyes. His Ada’s grey eyes were full of sorrow that only a father can feel for his child. “I love my daughter, and I know you do too. Do not fear for her love, my son, albeit how I feel…she still shall hold to you.” There was a silence, and Elrond sighed. “We shall speak no more of the matter.”

Aragorn nodded once, and fled the room.

Once he raced out the front door, he nearly collided with Arwen. She looked into his eyes and could immediately tell what was wrong. “Oh Estel,” she said, and took his mouth with hers. But he pulled away. She sighed. “It is Father?”

Aragorn kicked a stone, hard. Arwen came from behind him, laying her hands soothingly on his shoulders. “You are getting restless again, meleth nín, you at least should be glad you are leaving…” she said.

Spinning around, he caught her shoulders with his hands. “But you are not glad, my love?” he asked softly. Closing his eyes, he caught her mouth in a kiss, striving to drown out his shame and heartbreak. Nothing could prepared him for all that Elrond had said, thought he knew he would say it.

Arwen smiled. “Never glad to leave you, my lord, yet I keep to the hope you shall return in time.”

“I always shall come back…for you,” he said. He jerked his head up suddenly to look at the sun. “Mithrandir is waiting, Love, I must go.”

*

Elrond watched out the window as Aragorn said goodbye to his daughter. The two spoke tenderly to each other, and Arwen caressed his cheek. He flinched for a moment as Aragorn kissed her and Arwen melted into his arms. His son and his daughter were so desperately in love. Never before had he felt so torn in his long years. Seeing Arwen with his foster child reminded him of his own wife. He would not see Celebrían for many years yet…and he prayed to the Valar that Arwen would be with him when he did.

Chapter Four- 3007 T.A. North Eriador

Aragorn knelt quietly by his mother’s bedside, careful not to wake her. As soon as he had heard of her illness he had come as swiftly as possible, but the men of Gilraen’s people said she would not live long. A tear slipped down his face as he held his mother’s pale, fragile hand. The woman was near a hundred years old, but she had always been spirited, full of life and energy. Many times had she made the trip from Rivendell to be with her people…but now she would never return.

His skin tingled as she stirred on her bed and looked over at him. Her eyes were like glassy marbles, foggy and distant. Her flesh was so thin, so drawn. But she smiled, and her smile still held the same warmth and love at always had before. She wiped the tear tenderly off his face.

“This is our last parting, Estel my son,” she said, her voice as clear as it ever as been. No catch was in her throat, save for that of tears. Now Aragorn could plainly see what a strong woman she was, how courageous she had always been. A pillar of strength in time of trouble. But now…now she was leaving him. “I am aged by care,” she said, “even as one of lesser Men; and now that it draws near I cannot face the darkness of our time that gathers upon Middle-earth. I shall leave it soon…”

He covered her hand with both of his, kissing it. “Yet there may be a light beyond the darkness; and if so, I would have you see it and be glad.” She said nothing, only stared into the darkness sadly. “Naneth…” he whispered. She placed her hand on his dark head, and looked with a hopeless smile upon his handsome face. All the love for her son, for her people, had taken a toll upon her. Her entire being had been spent to rear a king- the king that her son was. She had given her life for the Dunedain, for Middle-earth. And in this last hour of her life, she spoke her soul to her dear, dear child.

“Onen i-Estel Edain; ú-chebin Estel anim.”

Print Friendly, PDF & Email