AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wanted to point out that Cemendur was inspired by this thought: was there any Elf enamoured of Arwen (like Daeron of Luthien) who began to dislike Aragorn because of it? Even Elves can feel jealousy it seems, but Cemendur is still a noble Elf :). Thanks all who are reading this! Please review and enjoy!!

7: Return to Rivendell

The meagre fire Arwen’s escort had built began to burn low for the night crept on in short time, and the moon rose barely above the earth; the bright orb was glowing in its full. Arwen stood secluded from the others, wandering in her own pondering thoughts. Her mind rested on one man whom she wished was there at that moment more than anyone else in Middle-earth or beyond. The one she loved was far-off wandering the Wild, guarding those whom he cared for, and growing stronger and greater than any before him in his bloodline since Elendil himself. ArwenÂ’s thoughts watched over him in his path.

Piercing howls shattered the stillness, sending a great tumult into the quiet of the night. In the fading firelight, Arwen shuddered at the sound and felt her hand move instantly to the hilt of the short knife that hung at her side, gleaming coldly in the moonlight. She had been hoping there would be no need for the blade on any of her journeys, yet now she had a strange feeling of foreboding that had fallen upon her with the howling of the wolves.

The other Elves were alerted immediately at the clamorous sound, their hands also reaching for their weapons. Falastur unslung his bow in one movement of cat-like grace and drew up an arrow to the string. He looked on all sides with his sharp eyes searching for the source of the awful noise.

Arwen moved to draw closer. “I fear we may have use of our weapons before the night is over,” she said quietly. “There is trouble stirring. I can feel it.”

“I can hear it. Those wolves shall soon be moving in our direction, if I know rightly. They have dreadfully good senses.”

“If so, they should have sense enough not to come near us this night, or they shall reach their end…or come nearer than they ever wished; but there is something else that disturbs me, and I do not think it is the wolves. There is something else out this night that is far worse than evil beasts of the wood.”

Falastur was silent for a moment before agreeing. It seemed to Arwen that he felt it also after listening to the night wind that blew chill from the North. The other Elves heard their words and also knew the wolves would not bother them, nor any beast of the earth. It was something else that was close at hand and sure to attack the small company of fair Elves.

Arwen closed her eyes to listen more closely. “Be silent!” Her eyes opened. “I can hear an unusual noise drawing near: it is like the clatter of steel upon steel. I fear it is a band of wretched Orcs we must slay tonight.”

“Yes, I see now. I can feel their terrible presence as they move closer to us,” said Falastur, shuddering.

Another Elf drew close to him. “What shall we do if they are too many? Yes…they have a great number,” he said. He stood erect as a stone pillar gazing out into the shadows of night.

“We will fight against them as best as we are able and use whatever we have even if it means dying for the Evenstar’s sake. She must not be captured, harmed, or found. Do not let any of the Orcs see her and live.” Falastur’s voice was fell to hear upon the air and fear would have shaken their hearts if the Orcs were close enough to hear it. “They will wish they never came this way tonight.” Falastur strung the arrow in his hand to his bow as did two other Elves of the company. The last few held knives or swords at hand in case the Orcs came upon them unexpected in the dark.

1. “Tulielto!” cried one of the Elves.

Two Orcs suddenly leaped out of the dark with their armour glistening hideously in the moonlight. They rushed forward for they had known of the presence of the Elves. But they soon dropped to the ground, slain from the swift arrows released upon them. They were not the only ones, of course, for there were many more following behind and ten more took their place almost immediatelyÂ…and many more after that. They moved rapidly towards their prey. There appeared more Orcs from the shadows, so they soon numbered twenty-five or thirty. They even had a captain in their midst with burly arms and legs who stood taller than the rest.

They seemed intimidating to the eyes of lesser folk, yet the Elves feared them not and slaughtered their numbers without hindrance after a short portion of an hour when their captain was finally killed. All the Elves were unharmedÂ…except one. There had been archers in among the orcs, and one alone had hit its mark. The Elf sat against one of the large boulders with a blunt arrow between his ribs.

Arwen knelt before him and reached out to the arrow, but he grasped her hand. “Please my lady, let one of the others,” he said in a hushed voice. His face was abnormally pale, and Arwen felt pity for him.

She refused his request. “I will not, my friend, for there is the gift of healing in my blood of which I have fulfilled many times. I have learnt from my father, Lord Elrond, who is known for his healing power. You shall rest in peace once I remove the arrow for I see it is not poisoned as those they sometimes use. You are indeed blessed.”

Falastur knelt as well. “Arwen, let me.”

She heard but ignored. She took the arrow firmly in her hand and closed her eyes as she put her other hand against his chest near the wound. The Elf let out a quiet cry of pain when she removed it with one swift jerk. He gritted his teeth and lowered his head to his chest.

“There…we shall bind the wound for you to heal quicker. Bring me clear water and binding. We must hurry to cleanse the wound for we know not what the arrow had upon it besides poison.” Arwen took the water and poured a little where the arrow went in before she wet the cloth. After a short time it was cleansed and bound skilfully by the hands of the elf-maiden. In her hands was healing for it was in her blood of high lineage, and many Elves had the gift from the start.

The Elf thanked her softly as he stood slowly from the hard ground. Arwen held his arm in case he grew light-headed from the loss of blood. “Falastur, we must move on now, I fear, though his hurt should be rested. It will heal in time. Come, let us go lest more enemies befall us this dawn. The sun shall guide our path along the way to Imladris,” she said.

Arwen drew the cowl of her cloak over her head again, and they were on their way. The journey was a smooth one from then on with no hindrances to slow them. The weather showed improvement, though the harsh wind still blew in defiance against the small escort.
* * *
It was in the midst of the day when they reached the Last Homely House of Master Elrond. The sun was high in the sky looking down on them with its rays shrouding them in warmth. Arwen uncovered her head once more since they were in the boundaries of Rivendell. The dark locks of her hair stirred in the breeze, shimmering in the light. Her pale skin was bright as the streaming waters in the sun, smooth and radiant.

“Home at last,” Falastur said under his breath.

“I miss the gardens and waters of Rivendell when in Lórien,” Arwen said to him. “Though they are both two of the last elven-dwellings, Lothlórien and Imladris are unlike in many ways.”

Falastur nodded. “Both of them are a sort of home to my heart yet in different ways as well.”

Soon they were met by Elves who took their horses to be cared for and led them in to where they could rest from their long journey. They were made welcome again and were immediately recognised when seen moving through the trees on horses of Rivendell. Arwen thanked the Elves that had accompanied her. She especially spoke with the Elf she had healed of the Orc-arrow wound who was almost completely recovered for the arrow had not been poisoned like the fated one which struck Celebrían, wedded one of Master Elrond and daughter of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Arwen dwelt on her mother and the fond memories of their time spent together. She only wished she could have remained long enough to know she had found her beloved for whom she had waited many long years.

Later that day, Elrond came to her where she sat reading in flickering candlelight.

She smiled up at him. “Father! It is well to see you again.”

“And am I glad to see you as well, my daughter.”

She stood and embraced him tightly after seeing the distant, anguished glaze in his eyes. He most assuredly knew of her choice made final in the golden forests of Lothlórien. She guessed that Aragorn had already told him.

Elrond stroked her dark hair as he felt a lump form in his throat. The pain of losing his only daughter was too heavy a burden to bear on his own, and he stemmed the tide of mourning for another day when the time truly came when they would part forever.

Arwen spoke softly, still unyielding in her hold. “Forgive me, father, if I have harmed you so, yet this is the way of it now. There is still time for us both, and I still love you.” She decided then that she would not return to Lórien for some time, or perhaps never again, for she would remain with her father whom she loved dearly while she had time. “Do not yet fear the end.”
* * *
Arwen was in Rivendell for three days before finally inquiring of Aragorn. He was with the Rangers of the North as was most often and had not been in Imladris for many months. Her heart despaired at his absence. She spent many hours watching him in her thought wherever he journeyed. She could almost feel him if she tried.

One night she had a dream they were together again in Rivendell, walking along a path at night while the moon rose high above the earth. It shone brighter than ever before. Aragorn and Arwen spoke softly in the elvish tongue as they walked silently arm-in-arm with the soothing sounds of the evening around them. It was a dream like those of the Elves when they rested, for theirs were like as to the waking world as this one. She felt him beside her with his very presence as real as if he were actually there.

“What dreams we have, we must cherish,” Aragorn said, “for those such as these in our sleep.”

AragornÂ’s eyes filled with sorrow at the thought of her beauty diminishing to death at the end of the road. He looked upon her with compassion and gently pressed his lips against hers.

ArwenÂ’s mind suddenly awakened as she lay in bed resting with her eyes open in the manner of the Elves. She saw that the sun was rising in the East and that a ray of light had come across her face. Yes, the dream. What a dream it was. Aragorn was right: we must cherish dreams such as these for we must visit each other in the night when we are leagues and leagues away in the light of the day.

Arwen sighed with pleasure when she thought of it. She stood in one graceful movement from the bed and stepped out the door. She walked across the cold floor with bare white feet, her flowing gold dress brushing upon the ground. The morning was brisk with the crisp, cool air filling her lungs. It was still cold after some time of walking, so she seized a cloak from her quarters to keep warm. From there she travelled down halls and stone steps outside where the sweet smell of life hung in the air. Her slow, sonorous steps were silent and graceful, and a soft light shone around her as it often does when Elves are deep in thought. In her mind she thought of what Elrond would say concerning Aragorn. She knew he opposed the bond between them, but she loved him as well for he was her beloved father. It grieved her to afflict him so.
* * *
Arwen and Elrond spent much time with one another while she was in Imladris. They had chosen not to speak of the bond of her and Aragorn after the brief moment at her return for it grieved Lord Elrond too much until a time when he could bear the burden.

One of these times Arwen broached the matter of Sauron gathering forces in the East. ElrondÂ’s eyes darkened, and he clasped his hands tightly as he thought how to word his answers. “Yes, the Enemy is moving…but slowly. We do not yet know his full purposes.”

“Do you not? It is to destroy all who oppose him,” said Arwen, “and to quench all that is bright and beautiful.”

“That is his intention, yet how he shall try to accomplish it no one can guess for the moment. In time he will begin to reveal bits of his mind whether he wishes to or not. It is then we will piece it together…I should hope.”

“The simple-minded are easy to understand.”

Elrond’s brows drew down slightly. “You are saying Sauron is simple-minded?”

“Yes, father. He wishes and yearns for one thing only: power. That makes him simple for he can think of nothing else,” said Arwen. “Other things confuse him such as love, hope, and courage. Can we not use it against him?”

“All we can use against him is force, Arwen. Do you not know that we have tried to understand his thoughts for hundreds—nay, thousands!—of years? He was defeated for a time only by strength.” He was silent for a moment. “Yet will it be so again?” His foresight had come upon him, though it revealed only that if the Dark Lord would truly be destroyed it would be much different than the times before. It would be as Arwen said: love, hope, and courage would prevail if all the right courses were taken.

Arwen saw his change of thought and nodded to herself. As long as they held on to hope…the Enemy could never truly defeat them no matter how mighty his arm had become.
* * *
The Evenstar sat in a cushioned chair made of soft crimson velvet and dark wood in her quarters, clutching a plump pillow to her chest. The light of the sun caressed her face as she closed her eyes in memory of days before when Aragorn had been at hand. Now he was gone. It pained her heart to think of how long he might be in the Wild. If he were ever hurt… She sat upright in a flash of movement, her eyes opening. No. She could not think of such things; not now while the days were long and bright.

Arwen arose from the chair to find Elrond. She left her room and walked down the hall to where his study was. After listening for any sound inside with her ear pressed against the door, she knocked lightly. There was no answer. He must be amidst the trees or among the fountains. He often took pleasure in walking in the forests of Imladris or watching the bright fountains shimmer in the sunlight or moonlight. It took his mind away from all the darkness growing in the East.

She made her way outside where the smell of flowers met her like a clear veil she had stepped through. She looked around for any sign of the elven-lord but did not see him. The thought of where he might be was not known to her though she knew him well.

“Arwen!” called a voice behind her.

She turned round. It was not Elrond. “Good afternoon, Cemendur,” said Arwen, smiling faintly. He had come to Rivendell not long after her, bearing a message from the Lady Galadriel. Arwen wondered if that was the only reason, yet he was a noble Elf, so she soon abandoned the foolish notion knowing her mind was worn from the strain of the past few days.

He bowed. “My lady, you look as though you were searching for someone or something. Could I be of service to you in any way?”

Arwen thought for a moment. “Perhaps. Do you know where Master Elrond is? I have looked for him in his study, inside, and now I have come out here. Could it be that you know of his whereabouts?”

“Yes, I do. He is sitting by the fountain near the pool of water west of us. I saw him there, but I did not disturb him for he looked deep in thought.”

“Thank you,” said Arwen. “I shall go and see him then.”

Cemendur smiled and watched her go from him with his eyes upon her receding back. Her flowing hair was pulled back with a golden string so that it did not stir before her face, and she wore garments of deep green like gleaming emeralds and the leaves of the forest trees. Her physical beauty was so great that to him she was a star that had fallen from the heavens to walk among them in her glorious wake. He shuddered as he watched the Evening Star.
* * *
1. They have come!

8: Realisation and New Friendship

Elrond sat on the fountainÂ’s edge, gazing into its crystal depths in deep thought. Arwen stopped before leaving the shade of the trees she stood beneath. Her step had faltered when she saw her father. His back was turned to her and his body motionless as if a part of the pale stone he sat upon. Arwen pushed away the dark hair that blew across her face and stood as still as he. There were sharp lines in his face but not of age. They had come from his many years of life though they left him wiser, not aged as a mortal for he had chosen to belong to the Elves in his time.

Arwen lowered her head when she thought of her own decision and how it affected her father each time it surfaced in his thoughts. “Elrohir and Elladan shall go with you, father. Not everyone has forsaken you,” she murmured into the soft breeze. Her sleeves billowed out behind her alongside the skirts of her flowing garments. She became a statue of a beautiful elf-maiden frozen in time.

She finally turned away to depart and leave her word to Elrond unsaid for another time. She had come to speak to him of her decision to forsake the Twilight for it could not stand between them forever like a looming boulder they were attempting to ignore. Someday she would confront him with it; nonetheless, it would be much later.
* * *
The days were brightened in Rivendell at the coming of the Evenstar and joy flowed forth abundantly, the Elves singing loud and clear all through the nights seeming to need no rest. The Evenstar, though, did not seem as blissful as everyone else. Elrond perceived it better than others since he had himself raised her and seen how she had come to behave.

Few knew of the meeting between the Lord Aragorn and Lady Undómiel in Lórien. Elrond, Gilraen, and Glorfindel were the only ones who knew of Aragorn and Arwen’s pledge on the hill of Cerin Amroth. Aragorn still wandered in the wild with his men. No one knew exactly how long it would be before he visited Imladris yet again, but Arwen felt she was the only one who cared whether he returned soon or not.

She stood looking out from the balcony extending beyond her quarters. The view was spectacular even though she did not take notice for her heart went out across the land farther north. She sighed and decided to take the company of a friend to keep away the seclusion she felt surrounding her. Cemendur was still in Rivendell even after he had delivered his message and had seemed to wish to be near Arwen whenever he saw her in the day; so she left the balcony to search for him.
* * *
Cemendur gladly took Arwen’s company when she found him. “Arwen, I have not seen you for some time now. How comes this?” he said.

Arwen did not meet his gaze but watched two birds flitting about in a tree. “I do not know. It is not important. How long are you to remain here in Rivendell? Will they not miss you in Lórien?”

Cemendur shrugged his slim shoulders. “I do not know. It is not important,” he laughed. “They surely will not miss me, that I know. There is no one there to desire me back home in the Golden Wood. The Lady Galadriel has many who will serve her purposes besides me. Why do you wish to know?”

“No reason really; but you said you would be staying a short time. It is now been more than that…though I suppose it is not important,” she said, still watching the birds.

Cemendur tilted his head and leaned forward closer to her. “Is it your habit to not look at people when you are speaking with them?” he asked in jest while he concealed a delighted smile.

Arwen shifted her gaze. Her piercing eyes burned into his own with an intensity that reminded him of the Lady Galadriel, and the Lord Celeborn and Elrond. Rarely could anyone endure the stare of these few of the Wise of Middle-earth.

“Forgive me,” she said softly, “I was distracted.”

Cemendur looked at the birds that suddenly lifted their wings and flew away with a soft flutter of blue feathers. He did so as a reason just to glance away from her bright eyes. Cemendur did not take much time to enjoy simple beauty such as that of the two birds flirting with each other as Arwen did. Arwen was beginning to take heed of these certain qualities as she was around Cemendur regularly.

“I must be on my way,” she said quickly.

“Must you? Do you have some pressing engagement that is more important than speaking with a fellow Elf?” he said with a hint of teasing as well as seriousness.

Arwen sighed inaudibly. “Perhaps…and remember, I am still halfelven.” Arwen turned and stared down at her clasped hands as she started walking away so she would not have to tell him of the choice she had made long ago for it would break his heart to hear it.

Cemendur hastened to catch up to her after watching her walk away. He strolled beside her with his hands at his sides, though he appeared restless most instances when he was in her presence. “How could that be possible? No mortal could be as beautiful as you, Arwen.” The manner in which his voice suddenly smoothed halted her in her step. She clearly knew Cemendur’s mind and train of thought. When she stared directly at him, for she was almost his very height, his eyes now appeared to have a different light in them that moved her to pity. He was too late for her to care for him in the same way.

“I am halfelven and have the choice of which race to live as,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I thought you knew that.”

“It does not make any difference. Elrond is halfelven, yet he has chosen the path of the immortal Elves who are blessed to sail into the West when their life here in Middle-earth has tired them to exhaustion of all its lands. All those halfelven have that same choice. Do you not understand that, fairest of maidens?”

Arwen had trouble believing it. How was it that everyone was questioning her decision of immortality or mortality? Arwen grew paler to the extent that Cemendur thought she turned the colour of death itself. It was in some measure of foresight for it mirrored her choice to come.

“I…do not wish to speak of it. It is not a simple matter on my part, so I would hope you do not inquire of it again,” said Arwen.

Cemendur looked at her quizzically but did not allow it to worry him. He nodded and looked at his feet.

Arwen watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Forgive me, but I must go and speak with Elrond. Goodbye, my friend.” Arwen moved around him and walked in the direction of Elrond’s study where she hoped he would be. She also hoped Cemendur would not follow her inside. It was not that she disliked him, but he seemed to broach delicate subjects or say things that made her uncomfortable nearly every time they spoke together. He was also drawing nearer the truth each time.
* * *
Arwen endeavoured to wait patiently for Aragorn to visit the Last Homely House again, so she found other things to occupy her mind. One day she discovered something priceless harboured in Rivendell.

She strolled through the corridors of Rivendell silently in deep thought. Her mind wandered the days of old in the First Age as Elrond and Galadriel had portrayed them to her: she envisioned the dark woods of Doriath where Lúthien once danced to Daeron’s music and met the mortal Beren. From that meeting came the fate of the world for so many threads were connected to their profound and immeasurable love.

Will that be our fate? Arwen questioned herself as she listened to the sweet silence that overflowed in the great halls of Imladris. Her unshod feet made no sound on the hard floor, and the trail of her silver-blue apparel rustled barely at all. She looked down where she walked, fingering the silver sash swathed around her waist. Will Estel and I even live to see the end of the Shadow? Or will Sauron live on, growing in power? These dark thoughts sent a shudder down her spine like chilled water upon her skin, and she forsook such dim things to remember her beloved and his voice that she had not heard in so long. Oh to hear him near again…
* * *
Gilraen, AragornÂ’s mother abiding still in Rivendell, was attempting to read a book she had found written in the flowing elven-script. She had learned some but had not read much. The sunlight was soft as it seeped through the trees and set alight the leaves into green flame. The heavens were partially shrouded in grey clouds, and the air was chill.

Suddenly Gilraen lifted her head to listen more carefully for it was not only the wind that wafted through the corridors. There was a voice like the flowing of a stream, as clear as starlight, and beautiful like a golden sunset over the Sea. She had heard many beautiful voices among the Elves while abiding in the Last Homely House, yet this one was somehow different and more piercing to the heart. It drew oneÂ’s attention at once.

She rose to her feet, setting the book on an ornately carved table beside the seat. The voice had grown sweeter and stronger as well as strangely mournful. Gilraen slowly stepped forward to look out into the hallway to see the owner of the pleasing voice. A vision of glorious splendour filed her sight. An Elven maiden there walked with soft light enveloping her. She was clothed in silver-blue with a sash of silver draping over her slender form. Her skin was flawless and pale, like the shimmering surface of snow, while her shadowy hair fell upon her shoulders and back in an intricate fashion. It was her physical beauty that captured GilraenÂ’s eyes, however, when she looked up, a great depth of knowledge and wisdom was thrown from her gaze so bright in the daylight.

The Elven-maid saw Gilraen and slowed to a halt. Her lilting song had ended only moments before.

“Greetings,” she said in a melodic voice like unto her singing.

“Greetings, fair Elf,” said Gilraen, realising that it might seem strange to find a mortal in the elven halls. “Forgive me for intruding…but I could not help but listen to your song. You sing of what mortals do not fully understand.” She had been describing the white shores of Valinor as she sang and all the brilliance about that land. It had entranced her to hear such stunning words.

The maiden smiled. “Thank you. You are Lady Gilraen, yes?”

Gilraen nodded. “I am.”

“Estel spoke highly of you, and I am honoured to finally become acquainted with you.”

Estel? She knows Aragorn then. But wait…there is only one Elf-maiden I know of that Aragorn has mentioned. “Are you truly Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of the Elves?” she asked aloud.

“I am. I see that you have heard my name before as well.”

“From Aragorn who has spoken very highly of you.” She pursed her lips. “Very highly, my lady.”

Arwen’s eyes darkened as she neared the mortal woman. “Then you know of the love we share. Your son is very dear to me, and you have raised him well, Gilraen. There is no other I have seen that has such a golden heart and a pure soul. I can only imagine the fury of his sword in battle when his passion in life is so strong. As King of Gondor he would be greater than all that have come before him. I have often wondered such things for we must be parted in these dark days.”

“Perhaps we should speak where none might hear,” suggested Gilraen.

“Yes, I suppose we should. Many do not yet know of my decision.”

“They will in time, for love cannot be concealed long. Aragorn attempted to veil his love for you here in Rivendell many years ago, yet I could see it plain in his eyes when he merely looked at me. Elrond saw it also.”

ArwenÂ’s smile slipped from her stunning face. “And yet I had not seen it at first when you both had. I must have been blinded by…something.”

They entered the parlour where Gilraen had been reading and sat near one another in the light of the sun. Arwen studied GilraenÂ’s face in a brief moment. She was worn by time but not by it alone for the strain of life had aged her much in the years she had lived. Her pale eyes were dim and almost quenched of light, though her noble wisdom still glittered in their depths. Her shadowy hair was no longer darkly glistening being occupied by aging grey, yet the beauty of her youth remained somewhat in her pale face. Beside each other they seemed completely opposite.

“How long have you resided in Rivendell?” Arwen asked.

“Ever since Aragorn was brought here when he was only two years of age.” She sighed. “It was so long ago now, and he is grown to full manhood and wisdom. He always seemed older than he truly was even as a child. Lord Elrond has continually admired such attributes in him.” She smiled at Arwen. “He loves Aragorn as he does his own sons even if he is distant at times, but I fear this choice of yours has brought much sorrow between them.”

“I know it too well,” Arwen sighed. She gazed into the stirring trees outside. A chill wind breathed through the high arches, and she shuddered at the sudden cold. “He is pained to a great amount whenever he ponders it, so I often plead for him to draw his attention elsewhere. We have not spoken of it of late, and in this I am glad for it troubles me little any longer.”

“It is a burden he must bear as you must also. Master Elrond is a mighty lord, yet I do not wish for him to have such a heavy load. I have seen his spirit battle the Shadow often over the years.”

Arwen nodded. “As have I, Gilraen.” She looked into her eyes. “Perhaps we should speak of lighter things for in these times there are needs to shed light in the shadows. My heart was darkened once before, and I refuse to let it be again.”

Their conversation shifted to GilraenÂ’s life with the Edain and with the Elves. Arwen listened intently as she drew out the tale. The woman held much beneath her veil of silence, and had taken a heavy blow when Arathorn was slain.

“I loved him dearly,” she murmured. “Sometimes I wonder what life would be like with him still living. I suppose Aragorn would not be as skilled in elven things and their ways, so perhaps it was for the good of Man.”

“Everything that happens has some purpose whether we realise it or not,” said Arwen. “I wonder often of how my spirit would have darkened if I had not met Aragorn in the bright wood of Imladris and then in Lothlórien. My heart would have turned to the West and Aragorn…Aragorn would have forsaken love of a woman and lost his path.” She drew a deep breath and unclasped her hands.

Gilraen nodded slightly. “There are many if’s in life, yet we cannot dwell on them forever.”

“Indeed.” The Evenstar leaned forward. “Are you often here in the afternoons?”

Gilraen smiled, her eyes brightening. “Most oft of late, I am.”

It was in this moment AragornÂ’s mother and beloved were at last acquainted and took pleasure in each otherÂ’s company. Gilraen realised in the following months why her son had become so enamoured of the Evenstar only at first sight: she was a rare maiden of whose like would never walk the earth again lest it be her daughters who would be many years to come.