AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you everyone for reading this! arwen_elessar: wow! I am very glad you enjoy the story so much :). Thank you for your constructive criticism. I have been noticing lately that my sentences tend to be too long, and I have fixed the paragraph problem because I had not really noticed how close they were until now. Also, thank you wavecaller and meleth_nin_estel for your reviews. They are all much appreciated :). Enjoy chaps 13 & 14!! (We’ve got some confrontation between two certain men :D)

Chapter 13: Elladan and Elrohir

Aragorn held a shining smile as he went his own way to his quarters which were in the same area where Elves abided and travellers also. He hurriedly splashed his face and hands clean with crystal water in a large bowl covered with vines and leaves of emerald green set on sky blue. It was made of thin porcelain. He glanced at himself in a mirror that hung in a corner unused, grimacing at the site of his hair and clothes.

I cannot go about Rivendell like this, he thought.

He hurriedly had a bath drawn up to wash away the grime of travel, but quickly cleansed himself so that the twins would not have to wait long.

By the time he had freshened up, changed into clean garments, and grabbed his elven-made bow, time had passed quickly. Elladan and Elrohir would give him a tongue-lashing for taking so long. He suddenly felt as if time had shifted to when he was first learning to use the bow properly by the elven- twins. A memory from that time rushed to him:

The sun slanted through the eaves of the trees and through the leaves, setting them alight with gold. The clearing in the forest in Imladris was carpeted with thick, lush grass, and small lavender flowers flourished in the shadows of the mighty trees along the edge where tree roots and grass merged. In the clearing laden with gold light of the setting sun, two tall Elves with dark, glimmering hair stood leaning on bows of yew wood, engraved with silver leaves all along their slender length. The two Elves’ faces looked so much alike that it was difficult to tell them apart. Elladan and Elrohir were the sons of Elrond and brothers to the Heir of Isildur…if not by blood. Estel had been taken in at two years of age when his father, Arathorn, was slain fighting Orcs. Gilraen, Estel’s mother, had also come to Rivendell. Estel was actually Aragorn II but he was named ‘hope’ in the Elvish tongue to hide his lineage till the time came for him to know everything; the truth of his birth.

Estel was ten and eight years of age now; tall, extremely handsome, and skilled with sword and bow, if not as well with the latter. That was the reason for being there in the clearing with the sons of Elrond who were as close brothers to him. They had taught him many things others would not just because he was a Man, not of Elfkind. Elrohir and Elladan always came to his defence when other Elves thought of him as a lesser being not worth teaching, but through the years he had grown and in more ways than one. With that growth came admiration from those who had scorned him as a child. With knowledge and wisdom of an Elf, movement and voice of an Elf, and healing and greatness of one he became renowned among both Men and Elves even at his age. They often spoke of his future and who he would become when the time finally came for him. There had been no men like unto him in many ages of this world.

But now his ‘brothers’ were giving him lessons with the longbow. Estel was now as tall as they which irked them at times. He stood at their side listening and watching as a student to a teacher; well…almost. A sly grin pushed the corners of his mouth whenever the twins began to speak of their ability—and all Elves as a matter of fact—with shooting arrows.

His smile always seemed to turn heads, although they were in the elven-city of Rivendell. Elrond did not mention Estel’s true lineage to anyone that inquired of him that did not already know. Even the Elves were not given the implacable secret kept for so long. Elrond knew that the day was nigh approaching that he would have to reveal to Estel what he had not spoken of in years.

“Pull it back as far as you can, but since we are practising you might let it loosen a little,” Elladan said demonstrating with his own bow stretching it as far as he could. Estel concealed another grin as he watched with his keen grey eyes holding a light like that of the Elves.

Elrohir also demonstrated but he actually fired a shot into a thick bole of a tree about two hundred yards. Estel nodded his approval of the good shot. It hit the tree solidly in the middle where Elladan’s own arrow struck moments later. The two arrows were stuck together.

“Well done, toronnya,” Elrohir laughed. “Now let us see how Estel our younger brother fares. Take a shot and we shall see how you do.”

Estel smiled that brilliant smile and drew an arrow from his quiver, strung it in his own elven-made bow, and shot in one fluid movement as quick as the Elves. The silver tipped arrow struck the tree right on top of the other arrows before it. Elladan and Elrohir suppressed faces of surprise as they stared at the bole of the large tree.

Elrohir cleared his throat after a long moment of silence. “I…well…good shot,” he said. Elladan only nodded his head. Estel glanced at them trying to keep his composure instead of bursting into laughter at the expression on their faces. They were contorted with astonishment and awe at the same time for it had been long since they had seen him use the bow.

Estel bowed with his head almost to the ground. He laughed when he straightened. Elrohir and Elladan joined in the laughter not long after even louder than he. Soon Elrohir was sitting on the ground laughing till tears rolled down his cheeks.

He choked out, “Oh Estel, you have shown us what we could not see. We have been humbled.”

“Yes, I think this may not be a lesson any longer,” Elladan added wiping his fair face with the sleeve of his dark brown tunic. Now they all sat on the ground recuperating after a long needed dose of joy. Elladan’s face grew calm again. “Estel, when did you learn to shoot so well? We have not taught you in months.”

Estel met the Elf’s grey gaze. “You are not the only one to teach me.” He sat straighter without thinking. “Glorfindel has quite the skill with the bow.” He almost began laughing again when Elladan and Elrohir both stared at him with the exact same expression. He was one of the few who could actually tell the two apart but even for him they looked almost the same.

Elladan rolled his eyes. “Of course! We should have known. Glorfindel has always had a soft spot for you, brother, ever since he saw your potential as a young child. Remember that time you were eight years of age and you began to be taught by different Elves for all sorts of things? You showed much talent in everything you did. Glorfindel did not really realise there was a Man living here in Imladris till then.”

“I thank you both for your praise, but it is not needed any more than a horse needs a saddle. Someone may train it to wear one after some time, but if you do things properly the horse has no necessity for that saddle. So is a man who hears praises in his ear too often as the horse trained with the saddle to be ridden.”

Aragorn suddenly awakened from his memory and looked about him. No one was there. He let out a breath he had held when he first came out of his deep memory as though it had only occurred the day before. If anyone had passed him in greeting they would have gotten no response. Those last words he remembered coming surprisingly from his lips so many years of Men gone of which the brothers had been surprised to hear. Something had stirred that inside of him that day as if a new life was only just beginning: a path less travelled and the one he must walk upon with no other choice before him though he tried to find another. Now that path was becoming more and more entangled in his mind. More and more dangerous; and glorious. A shudder ran through him. Such thoughts always made him uncomfortable. Thoughts of the future; his future.

When his feet touched the grass-covered earth he began to run. He ran until he came to the same clearing he had first equalled his skill with the sons of Elrond. The two Elves were already there waiting. There were also a few arrows embedded in a sort of target they had made about a hundred yards away.

When he entered the clearing his feet lightly touched the ground, making no noise that even elven-hearing could discern. Elladan and Elrohir were jesting lightly as he came up behind them. As soon as he was within ten feet they did not necessarily hear, but felt him more than anything, and turned round to find Aragorn watching them with a slight smile.

“Ah, he is here at last,” Elrohir said tilting his head slightly.

Aragorn gave a slight bow. “Once again we are here hoping to best each other when all other times we have never neared winning. We should give up on the bow, my brothers. Do you really believe one of us might have grown better?”

Elladan shrugged his slim shoulders. “Perhaps. Something could have happened over the years.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. Something?

“I shall go first,” Elladan broke in. “My skin itches to watch you two fall short of what I accomplish.”

Elladan broke out laughing merrily as Aragorn and Elrohir exchanged amused looks as their brother took his first shot. It was a fine one even for an Elf.

Elrohir huffed loudly. “Is that as well as you can aim, toron?” He strung an arrow and stood studying his target two hundred yards away; as far as the tree the last time they contended with each other, this time the goal was not quite the same width creating a more difficult situation. Elrohir let loose.

“Good,” Aragorn murmured. He leaned on his bow decorated with swirling gold colouring in the middle where he put his hand. “Let us see whose luck runs truer.”
* * *
Gandalf came to Rivendell the next day to give a message in person to the Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Aragorn listened carefully to what Gandalf told him with wonder sparkling in his eyes merging with a trace of dread. The One Ring might have been found. Gandalf did not have to say it plainly; Aragorn sifted through his words enamelled with worry about the strange ring Bilbo had possessed. It was now in the hands of Bilbo’s younger cousin because of its dangerous attraction.

“What would you have me do?” Aragorn asked quietly, splaying his hands.

“Your men have done a great service for me…and for the Halflings. I fear I must ask, though, for a sharper and closer guard on the Shire. There is something stirring there I cannot stop, and it worries me that this ring that is now in the keeping of Frodo Baggins may be dangerous. Sometimes I fear for him also…” his voice faded into secret thoughts. Gandalf had a habit—that Aragorn observed after only a few years of knowing him—of speaking his thoughts aloud, yet not this time. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the seemingly old man pondered things. It was rare for him to be so quiet when thinking. Whatever it was he thought must be important indeed. Of course. Gandalf would not mention the One Ring aloud very readily.

“I will assist this myself,” said Aragorn. “The Dúnedain need me…At least, that is what I feel. They also can feel the shadow rising from the earth. Gandalf, dear friend, the Shire will not be left to the Dark One…or whoever else has taken an interest.”

Gandalf smiled through his grey beard that hung to his waist. Gladness and secrecy glinted in his sharp eyes. “Thank you, my friend.” He rose slowly to his feet, carefully taking the old, gnarled staff he always carried in his hand. Another gleam lit up his eyes shining out from that face creased with age. “Where is that lovely maiden I hear tell of? Undómiel is it?”

“The Evenstar of her people,” he murmured, “who has returned to Lórien to be with her people there in that fair forest.” He had not asked Elrond, but the Elf-maiden Elenwë who had spoken with Arwen before. She had departed some time ago after a messenger of Lothlórien had arrived in Rivendell. “If only she…”

He was cut off by a strong, pleasant voice. “Mithrandir! Once again we meet in times of trouble.” Elrond’s face was broken with a grim smile. Aragorn watched his father move to sit beside his long-time friend, Gandalf the Grey.

Gandalf nodded to him warmly. “It’s always a pleasure to come here,” he said thoughtfully. “There is no place like it in all of Middle-earth.”

Elrond thanked him and met Aragorn’s gaze. Aragorn knew what the look meant for he had to discuss certain things with Mithrandir that were not pleasant or things Aragorn needed to hear.

Aragorn also nodded to the tall Elf and stood slowly. “I shall see you tonight as we dine, my friend,” he said looking to Gandalf and then to Elrond, “and you as well, 1. atarinya.”

Elrond watched the young man—in elven terms—leave the room in silence. He could not help but smile at how Elf-like the Heir of Isildur had become. Everything about him could have matched or surpassed many Elves there in Imladris. His face, framed by glinting dark hair, was chiselled with lines of maturity, making him appear as fair as the Elves; yet perhaps a bit more handsome than beautiful. That was the reason he was precarious in the lands of Men. He attracted attention immediately around lesser Men for he had a noble bearing and face like no other, yet his eyes especially were noticed immediately by others for they shone with the light of the stars. There appeared to be much more Elvish in him than Elendil himself.

Elrond was shaken out of his scrutiny by a clearing of the throat by Gandalf. Sometimes the wizard could be blunt, yet Elrond enjoyed his company each time they met over the many years. “Gandalf, you take a strong liking to the boy.”

Gandalf did not smile, but his eyes glinted. “I would not call him a boy, Lord Elrond. Have you really looked at him since he first learned of his lineage?”

Elrond’s dark eyebrows rose in amazement at how it seemed Gandalf had read his mind. He should not have been surprised for the Istari had done it before, more than once after knowing him for years uncounted. Had he really seen Aragorn as a matured man till now? He was already seventy-three.

“Gandalf, you walk on tender ground. It seems only a moment ago I realised my mistake. Aragorn is as wise as many who dwell here or in Lothlórien. Be careful,” he chuckled, “or he will surpass you some day soon, my friend. That man is growing faster than I can ever keep track…and in more ways than one. I am proud for him.”

Elrond leaned on his elbow deep in sudden thought. Gandalf watched carefully and nodded in agreement for Elrond was not the only one to observe the remarkable traits in the Heir of Kings. Something was stirring in him stronger than had been since the First Age.

“Another subject I must ask of,” Gandalf began, “is on your beloved daughter. I have seen quite the fiery spirit in her, not much different than you, Elrond.” A wide grin spread across his aged face when he saw the indignant look the Elf-lord gave him. He always was the fireheart like the rest of his blood. There is no persuading them once they set their will—as firmly as a rock. “She has been taken by the heart, I fear, and has herself grasped on, never letting go even after death. Yes…death. She will become mortal once the time comes.”

“No! I cannot let it be!” Elrond cried jumping to his feet in one fluid motion. “She is too beloved to me to let go. If she is to grasp to something it should be the ship to the Lonely Isle into the West with her own kin.”

“Elrond,” Gandalf chided as if to a child, “you cannot be with her forever. Her heart is no longer given unto you as her father, but to another who has also given her his full heart and love. There is no other way, my friend. There is no other way. The world will fall if they do not come together at last when all is conquered.”

Elrond shook his head in wonder and lowered his head slightly. “Well-hidden inside I feel it, yet…my heart still denies it. She loves him too much to ever abandon him as you said, Gandalf. I fear also that their hearts are entwined so strongly that nothing will separate them, not even me.” Gandalf was looking at his feet as well. They both were silent.

Chapter 14: Confrontation

Elrond held a pen poised in his hand to write. He was going over a message in his mind he was going to send. A light knock on his door made him look up.

1. “Manië?” he called.

An Elf opened the door and entered. 2. “Herunya, coln hortalë menta i Atanillo.”

Elrond thanked the golden-haired Elf and carefully opened the letter that was sealed with the sign of the Dúnedain. He was wondering what was so important that the Dúnedain felt they needed to inform him of it with a letter. His heart plummeted when he read the message and he set it down on his desk. Gilraen had passed away two days ago.
* * *
Aragorn smiled slightly as they neared the borders of Rivendell. ‘They’ included himself and four other Rangers of the North who were under his command. The four of them were good men whom he had always admired. The horse in their midst carried a cart behind it laden in black cloth for there laid his mother, wife of the last Heir of Isildur and Chieftain of the Dúnedain, who passed away not long ago. Aragorn wished he could have been there with her so she would not have been alone in her last moments.

The small group halted for the night on the safe borders and slept for a short time before proceeding. It was many days since Aragorn had left for his mother. Aragorn lay flat on the ground with his hands beneath his head and the soft earth as his bed. His bright eyes searched the heavens where the stars danced with light. One star caught his attention that glistened brightest in the night. It reminded him painfully of the fate he had brought upon a maiden brilliant as the stars themselves. He closed his eyes and saw her face, fairer than mortals.

“Captain, it is time,” a voice called through the darkness.

Aragorn’s eyes opened and he sat up in one instant. “I am sorry, I did not know I was so weary,” he said to the fellow Dúnadan called Mallor. “I did not even realise I was asleep.”

“Do not apologise. I had to wake the others as well. You are not the only one who is weary of travels,” said Mallor. “I myself am feeling the need of rest.”

Aragorn was soon up and ready to continue on to Rivendell that laid so near. They left no sign of their encampment that night. The stars still shone as bright as ever in the night sky for they had not slept the night through, and the moon was making its descent behind the tall mountains. There was no sound except for the chirping of night birds that were few even there.

The five of them made their way silently through the trees till they came to a clearing and became wary for any sign of another living thing that could be a threat in any way. It was not much time before the small travelling company found the wild road that led down into the valley of Imladris. The way was precarious at some points because of the steep path going down. But at the end of the road it was more rewarding than anything in the Northern lands of Middle- earth for the Last Homely House of Master Elrond was more beautiful than any other and the land was richly fertile.

Aragorn knew he had duties to tend to and many things to take care of and people to lead, yet he felt more at home in Rivendell than anywhere else; even with his own kin. Part of the reason was of his raising in Rivendell from the age of two years to when he was far older. It also had a peace about it and warmth that could not be matched. The starlight cast a silvery sheen on the dwellings planting a light inside anyone who watched carefully with a keen eye of wisdom.

The five noble men soon heard the sound of sweet singing that came from not far away. They immediately knew they had crossed the borders and were about to meet a band of wandering Elves along their way. It lifted their hearts and Aragorn smiled, breaking his stern features as his eyes flashed in the starlight. There were three Elves walking slowly but majestically towards the travelling Dúnedain. The Elves knew there was no threat of enemies in them so they seemed to not pay any heed to the Men; until Aragorn hailed them in his clear voice with the elvish ring it still held.

“Ai! Dúnadan!” cried one of pale hair. “I am glad to see you again after your journey.”

“The same of you, Lindir. How go things in Rivendell?” said Aragorn.

Lindir smiled. “Well, I believe, though Master Elrond has been more secluded of late than he has in some time. I wonder…” Lindir shook his head. “Ah, let us not speak of it. It is his own business, my friend.”

“Of course,” Aragorn nodded.

“Come! Join us in our singing for we enjoy your company. Your voice would add to the beauty of our mirth, and we have not seen one another since months ago.”

Aragorn looked down with a drawn face. “I would, my friend, but for the need that presses me this day and my kin who accompany me tonight. I shall lead them on until we come to Master Elrond, and he will instruct them where they shall rest for the night and the next few days if they wish,” he said. “Will you stay long?” His question was directed to the four Dúnedain.

Mallor stepped forward and said, “Nay, for we must also tend to our duties, not you alone, Lord Aragorn. Borders and people need safekeeping more than ever these days and we must carry on our responsibility. If you wish us we will stay tonight at this serene abode, yet that is all we can spare.”

“Of course,” bowed Lindir. “Just remember you, of the Edain, are always welcome here in the Elven-city of Imladris.”

Mallor thanked him and bowed slightly.

“Then we shall be on our way and proceed to the House of Elrond,” said Aragorn. The Elves left them and continued their glorious singing in the starlight.
* * *
“Greetings, my son! Please cleanse and rest yourself this night and let the weariness slip from your shoulders,” Master Elrond said warmly.

Aragorn smiled only slightly and said, “Of course, Lord Elrond. Thank you for giving care to my men as well. They shall appreciate it greatly in the morning, I am sure, if they do not already.”

Elrond nodded. The two were walking side by side now down the halls of Rivendell. They were alike even though they were only distantly of the same blood; their hair was both dark and their eyes an intense grey, but Aragorn almost stood taller than the great Elf-lord and lore-master. He was also more powerfully built; but Elrond held a greater wisdom of long years in the depth of his eyes for he had seen many ages of the world though it had left little mark in his appearance because of his immortality. Aragorn took on some of that wisdom and his own for he was elven-wise, making him the wisest of Men.

“I understand it must be difficult for you, yet I know your grief,” Elrond said on a heavier note. “I miss the one I lost long ago every day.”

Aragorn lost the merry look in his eye as his face turned to stone. “Yes, yet we must not remember the sorrows of their death and we must move on in our lives. But it is good to remember them, always, in a good light,” he said speaking of both Gilraen and Celebrían, Elrond’s wife who had gone in to the West after a deadly poisoned, orc-arrow.

“I try to think that way. It is challenging at times,” said Elrond. “To lose someone who it seems you have not known long enough can be very difficult.”

Aragorn said nothing. He knew Elrond was not speaking of his beloved alone: Arwen Evenstar, his daughter, was most precious to him. He wondered if Elrond had meant to say it as a point to him. Perhaps I am reading into his words more deeply than I should, he thought. Then Aragorn noticed an Elf striding towards them with smooth, quick steps. His pale gold hair shimmered in the soft light of the stars, and his face was fair like the moon.

“Good evening Cemendur,” said Elrond looking up though he had not seemed to observe him before.

“To you as well, my lord,” the tall Elf said in a liquid voice like pristine waters. “It is a most beautiful night with the stars shining brighter than ever.”

“Yes,” said Elrond turning his eyes on Aragorn. “Cemendur, you have never had the pleasure of meeting Aragorn son of Arathorn…my son in a manner of speaking.” He spoke with deep pride in his voice and a glint in his eyes that made Aragorn feel more at ease under the cold stare of Cemendur. Elrond’s voice lowered. “He is the Heir of Isildur who has remained hidden in my house all his life. There is none like to him in this age, and I am glad you have this privilege to finally see him; the man who is spoken of as a legend.” He laughed quietly when he saw the look of indignation and chagrin on Aragorn’s face.

Cemendur’s eyes only seemed to grow colder and sterner when he heard of Aragorn’s name and high lineage; but a forced smile spread across his face and he bowed slightly. “I am glad I finally am able to see this man whom I have heard of so often…and of his praise.”

Aragorn returned the smile a little forcibly. He knew they both could feel the other man’s agitation just by meeting each other’s gaze. It was a mystery to him why the Elf was responding so coldly. What sort of things had he heard? Aragorn had never even met the tall Elf before or heard mention of Cemendur. He only remembered glimpsing him in Rivendell not long ago.

“Please, my lord,” said Aragorn quickly, his words directed to Elrond, “do not flatter me with your words. I am only a mere Mortal in the eyes of Elves.”

Elrond caught the hint of tension between the two after the cold stare from Cemendur flashed towards Aragorn. He thought it strange as well in a way, yet hid his bewilderment from them both. However, Aragorn sensed it anyway for he knew the Elf-lord well after being raised by him.

“Very well,” Elrond said. “I shall leave you then. You two should speak with each other. I think you would have much to talk about since you are alike in some ways. You may not believe so, yet I can see it.”

“You also know us better than we know each other. I respect your judgement,” Aragorn said with a slight smile to his elder and counsellor.

Cemendur’s fingers began to fidget. “Perhaps, but I do have pressing matters I must attend to. Perhaps some other time, Aragorn.”

“Perhaps.”

“No, I insist!” Elrond said turning his unwavering eyes on Cemendur. “You both are deep in my counsel, and I trust you both just as deeply. If you were close companions all the more would I be blessed.” What he did not say was that he would trust Aragorn with his life but not the other. He looked harder at Cemendur. “What kind of pressing matters would you have at this hour?”

“Ai…nothing now that you have taken care of that.”

Elrond’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Forgive me for being blunt, yet I feel it will go better with our lives if you would both speak with each other. I can sense it in my heart and mind. Something pulls at me.”

“If so, we shall, my lord,” said Aragorn. “Come Cemendur! We will satisfy our lord’s wishes. I will take us to a fair place where we can speak.”

Cemendur did not say a word but fell in beside the tall Dúnadan. He was surprised when he realised just how tall Aragorn really was, and he wished he could tell if he was taller than him or not; but in that moment it was imperceptible. Cemendur was hoping it was not so for it made him feel the more inferior. Why choose him when he has nothing to give? He is a Mortal Man who will fall ill and die by age in only a few years! The Evenstar will regret her choice after it has its full effect on her spirit and body and mind. What would I give to have her heart, the fairest of all that have walked these lands of Middle-earth!

Aragorn was silent as was Cemendur. They really could think of nothing they wanted to speak of. Especially Cemendur, for Aragorn’s name was a taint upon his lips.

“What interests you most, Cemendur? Song, food, rest…”

Cemendur jolted out of his thoughts. “Many things.”

Aragorn said nothing in return. He could sense the tension that still lingered like thick smoke between them. It was beginning to choke him.

“How long have you resided Rivendell?” This time it was Cemendur who spoke, breaking the stifling silence. “Besides now that you have just returned; I supposed that from the look of you.”

Aragorn sighed deeply but inaudibly. “I was raised here just as Master Elrond told you; from two years of age. There is no other place such as Imladris that will hold the same place in my heart. Even Lothlórien where you hail from.”

Cemendur stopped and looked at Aragorn. “How did you know I am from the Golden Wood? I have never before seen you there. I would not think they would even permit you to pass the borders in these days.” A smirk almost crossed his face.

Aragorn deflected the blow. “Forgive me, but the few times I have been there you must not have paid any heed to a mortal like myself. May I remind you I was raised by Elves so I am looked upon with different eyes by the Wise of Middle-earth for they know me well. The Lady Galadriel wished to speak with me and know things of Rivendell last I was there, so they let me pass because of her. Yet that is not the only reason, my lord,” he said.

Cemendur seethed as Elves rarely do for the weakness of their race is pride, and his had been crushed when he heard of Arwen’s love for a mortal. He met the gaze of the Heir of Isildur and heir to be King of Men. They endeavoured for a short moment, yet Cemendur could not hold any longer for he felt a piercing through the centre of his heart.

“Why do you despise me so?” Aragorn asked softening a little. “What have I done to deserve such treatment from an Elf?”

“What have you done? Why, you have ripped the very thing I treasure most away from me! The thing that brought me life and hope for a brief time; a light in the darkness. Then I was shown what was keeping it from me…and I saw you. A Mortal Man, be you some king!”

“What is this ‘thing’ you speak of? I can think of nothing that I could take from you, Cemendur, a fair Elf of this age. It seems you would have the advantage,” said Aragorn.

“You would think, yet that is not so. She has obviously given her heart to you without hesitation or a sliver of doubt,” said Cemendur.

Aragorn felt the blow at once and he stared astonished. His eyes fell and his hands went to his sides. Now he knew what had been unknowingly between them. Arwen? He loves her just as I did when I first laid eyes on her brightness of life. But now it is different since we have grown closer over time for there is nothing that could ever break that love we have. Cemendur has a deep jealousy that I should have recognised at once. What a fool I have been. I should know that there would be those such as this because of us. Who could not admire such beauty and find it strange that such a maiden would choose a Man? Yet I do not only admire her outward beauty. That is the difference between us.

Cemendur spoke. “Will you not say something?”

Aragorn shook his head slowly.

“Then I shall leave you here. You clearly see what I am meaning at this moment.”

“Wait,” he said. “There is no need for your hate. It will only harm you and gain you nothing. It is her choice, not mine. But I also ask that you not curse such a bright star.”

“I would never harm or curse her in any way. I could never bring myself to do it,” said the Elf. “Yet there are others I may for the destruction he brought upon me.” Cemendur turned and walked away leaving the tall Man standing in the starlight that shimmered across his hair. He appeared an Elf-lord out of the past, mighty and noble, if only Cemendur would have looked back and seen what those who were wise saw when they looked upon the Heir of Isildur.

It was well that Elrond had us speak with each other. Now I know the reason for his loathing of me. But…is it any better? How can I live with the knowledge of another man, an Elf of course, who has also fallen in love with the most beautiful maiden yet to live? thought Aragorn sadly.

Before Cemendur was completely out of sight around the corner, a tall beautiful Elf-maiden stepped out into the hall between Cemendur and Aragorn. “Aragorn,” she breathed, smiling slightly. Cemendur stopped so suddenly his feet slid on the smooth stone beneath his feet. His eyes widened, surprising for an Elf to show surprise as he did then. Aragorn stepped forward noiselessly almost reaching out a hand to catch the Elf’s arm. Cemendur also stepped forward after turning around sharply.

Arwen Undómiel glanced at Aragorn and Cemendur, both of them the same distance away from her. Cemendur held a pained and desperate look on his now broken face. Aragorn watched Arwen with love showing in his face, his eyes caressing her cheek.

Arwen sighed. “Well…” she began, “you two have finally met, I see.” There was a deep and long silence before she finally gave up beginning a conversation.

“Yes, we have,” Cemendur said with his tall form leaning forwards slightly in anticipation as if he thought she would walk right into his arms. Aragorn fumed inside at the audacity of the Elf to think such things about Arwen. She was not… His thoughts were cut off abruptly when Arwen forced a smile for Cemendur but walked towards Aragorn quite briskly it seemed. Her dark green skirts swirled about her white, unshod feet stepping ever so lightly on the floor. A real smile now adorned her beautiful features. When Aragorn had time to look away from that shining face, he had to strain to keep himself from grimacing. Cemendur looked as though he had been shot with an arrow through his chest or been stabbed in the stomach.
* * *
1. What is it?
2. My lord, I bear an urging message from the Edain.