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Shrieks of unbridled laughter pierced the quiet plains of Anorien as three horses raced across its expanse, seemingly vying for first place in the attainment of some unknown destination. An occasional clamp in the side spurred the horses onward, the excitement of their riders infecting their rapidity. There was no doubt an unequalled superiority of horsemanship among the three; but that was scarcely to be observed under the genuine spirit of camaraderie that characterized their sportsmanship.

“Still think that you can best us by a mile?” Nessa challenged; a twinkle in her eyes denoted the depth of her amusement; her complexion was flushed from the heat of the day, and the rush of adrenaline further heightened that color.

Melian chuckled, clamped her feet to her horseÂ’s sides and edged it forward at an alarming rate, effectively communicating to Nessa that her challenge had been accepted.

“Perfect!” Arien chided, spurring her horse forward, though in a less skillful way. “You have encouraged her to do exactly what we wagered against,” remonstrated she in a tone that conveyed her disapproval. An amusing roll of her eyes, however, undermined the reprimand in her diction.

Nessa laughed carelessly; but nevertheless, she also began to ride harder.

“Ride, Nessa,” Arien urged, her eyes widening, “I do not intend to lose my wager.”

Nessa shrugged her shoulders. “It is but a race,” she yelled, urging her horse forward to fall in line with Arien’s.

“Yes, but I would still like to try for second,” laughed Arien. “And since winning is not very important to you, losing should not be an issue. In fact, it should please us both.” With a toss of her hair, laughing merrily, she began to ride harder and faster to place as much distance between Nessa and herself.

In the end, Melian had easily proven her superior skill and Nessa was graciously rewarded with the forfeiture of her estimable wager. Notwithstanding, the air of camaraderie and rapturous spirits prevailed.

“It is such a beautiful day,” Melian observed, imitating the others in shedding her slippers. In hindsight, she was very pleased with her decision to accept Lady Erendi’s gracious invitation to this, her estate in Anorien. She and her companions had been sojourned there for a few days now and it was hard to believe that she had first thought it unnatural to be this comfortable away from home.

Contemplating her reflection, in the clear, glistening lake waters, which partially bordered Lady ErendiÂ’s estate, she was sharply reminded of her former days in Lorien. The face mirrored therein was animated by present contentment, but it had changed some from then to now. Her long black hair fell unhindered and its ebony tresses could be seen to whip back and forth, fully vulnerable to the windÂ’s inclinations.

“Melian, will you daydream the afternoon away, or are you going to join us?” teased Nessa, her voice summarily jerking Melian from her reverie. “Lady Erendi assured us that it is safe to bathe here.”

The aforementioned lake was an off sprout of the Entwash and Anduin River.

Nessa and Arien were already fully submerged in the lake water, emerging above water again whenever it suited their fancy. “This is almost too perfect,” exhaled Melian, lifting her eyes to the light, blue heavens. By now the cool water felt like a delicious caress on her body, thrilling her senses.

Nessa, who had emerged again for one of those beneficial air gulps, agreed readily with Melian. “It will be our own little paradise,” she proclaimed rapturously, preparing to indulge in another plunge below.

Arien abruptly emerged just then looking less than a little disconcerted. “Those fishes will be the death of me,” she said agitatedly, her eyes darting fervently about her person. “I loathe bathing with fishes close by.” She shuddered visibly, thereby confirming the validity of her aversion.

“But they are harmless,” Nessa protested good-naturedly.

“It still does not lessen my dislike,” Arien rejoined, still carefully scrutinizing the water to ensure that her bane was nowhere close by.

Nessa tried valiantly to suppress her amusement at ArienÂ’s dismay, but in the end, could not help laughing.

“Be kind,” Arien lightly admonished, her face an injured picture.

“I am sorry, dear Arien,” apologized Nessa, her laughter subsiding. “I could not help myself.”

“Yes, well, I am glad that my predicament affords you some amusement,” she returned sarcastically, though not terribly put off by Nessa’s mirth at her expense.

Just then, however, a slippery sensation evoked such a terrible yelp from ArienÂ’s parted lips that even Melian lost her balance and fell from floating.

“What is it?” ejaculated Melian, her heart racing, a frown altering her brow. Arien had already hastily forsaken the water in genuine fear. “What is it?” Melian repeated.

“Did you see it?” Arien asked, in a high-pitched voice.

“What… see what?” asked Melian in growing alarm, her frown deepening.

“It is just a fish,” Nessa said, uncertainly; her amusement abruptly ended.

“That did not sound very convincing,” Melian replied; she also began to search the water around her feet with her keen glance.

“It does not matter what it might be. I still refuse to go back into that lake,” Arien stated firmly; her trembling hands began to wring the water from her dress.

“I think I have had enough bathing for one afternoon,” Nessa chimed half-heartedly. Arien’s fears had insinuated thoughts of snakes into her mind even though she thought it all ridiculous.

Not to be abandoned, Melian forfeited the lake as well. “We make an amazing three,” hinted she, wringing the water from her wet tresses.

“Why is that?” Nessa inquired indolently, leaning against the bark of the tree under which their picnic was spread; Arien was seated on the grass hugging her bent knees close to her chest and seemingly insensible to Melian’s comment.

“We were so easily trampled by our fears,” Melian answered simply, taking an orange from their provision.

The lake was absolutely breath taking. The display of sunlight upon its surface created a plethora of glistening diamonds. Birds could be seen in the distance circling the sky in some private unknown quest. And every so often, the quacks of ducks drifted down the lake into their hearing from some undisclosed location.

“It was a good decision to journey here, away from the stir of Minas Tirith,” Nessa acknowledged contently, her eyes roving the exquisite landscape.

But the mention of Minas Tirith had swiftly jolted Arien from her malaise. It had involuntarily brought to her mind that duty that awaited her there; a touch of gloom enshrouded her lovely countenance; the guilt had resurfaced.

The change in ArienÂ’s countenance had not gone unnoticed by Nessa; as soon as Melian had taken to her feet in an endeavor to feed some ducks, which had ventured close by, she decided to try the matter.

“My dear Arien,” Nessa tenderly entreated, “can you not think only of the present? Can you not yield for the moment to your senses? There is so much here to seeÂ… to smellÂ… to touch… to enjoyÂ… so much to help you to forget, if only for a while.”

Arien smiled faintly. “Yes… I suppose you are right,” she replied, meekly. In her heart, however, there was another source of growing disquiet that created a bittersweet dilemma of sorts.

Being on Lady ErendiÂ’s estate, becoming attached to that gracious lady- the mother of Lord Anarion- Arien could not help but be affected. There were many times since her sojourn there that she had wished for a simpler life- a life free from complications and life-draining cares. In that wide-open atmosphere, her thoughts dwelt often on that elusive pursuit, though really cognizant, subconsciously, of the fact that, for her, it was unattainable.

Feeling restless, Arien took some of the bread, proposed to Nessa that they join Melian in feeding the ducks, accepted NessaÂ’s polite refusal then proceeded to join Melian in her beneficent task.

Presently she said to Melian, “If anyone were to ask me at this very moment what I could wish for most in the world, I do believe I would wish for time to stand still on this very day.”

Melian smiled archly. “Why this day?”

Arien blushed. She had been carried away, in that moment, by the matchless beauty of the afternoon and her surroundings. She hesitated. “You must promise not to think the worse of me for admitting this.”

“Really, Arien, what could you possibly disclose to me that would cause me to think ill of you?” Melian asked, tearing a morsel of bread from the loaf in her hand.

Arien squirmed slightly; but she proceeded nonetheless. ”I miss my brother,” she said tentatively. “Since I have been here, I have imagined every possible ill that could befall him in my absence.” Here, Melian smiled conciliatorily.

“Nevertheless,” continued Arien, flushing a little, “this day -our light pleasures this morning, our jaunt this afternoon, our promised pleasures this evening- have reminded me so very much of that life I have forsaken.” Her eyes were downcast, pretending to observe the ducks at their feet. “In its stead,” observed she, “I find only emptinessÂ… vacancy… mingled with an occasional pleasure.”

Melian was all compassion. “Arien,” exhorted she, “you are too good. Your situation is uncommonly difficult and, if you can allow, is very much to be pitied.” She pressed Arien’s hand in a comforting gesture. “You are too hard on yourself. Indeed you are entitled to feel and to murmur,” she assured Arien, who was beginning to protest. “But in the end, your heart -that is truly gracious and long suffering- has always prevailed.”

Arien was moved with feeling. Melian’s words had stirred her heart deeply. That slight feeling of resentment, that she had always feared to acknowledge in her breast, was suddenly unveiled. “You speak too kindly of me,” lamented she, half wishing that Melian’s words could be unsaid.

“I speak as I find, Arien,” Melian gently insisted. “You have a good heart… a kind heart. I have observed the way you care for your brother. I have watched the way you anticipate his needs. All this you do affectionately and never with a heavy heart.”

Arien smiled slightly. “I do love him dearly,” she readily admitted. “But… there are times, it pains me to admit, when I feel stifled by that duty of his care.” The words sounded strangely to her own ear, but she felt relieved by their utterance. It was not that her strength could not endure the dice that had been cast to her; the problem existed in the conflict between her sworn duty and the hopes that she had struggled to abandon many times over; these two in operation undermined and weakened her earnest resolve; together, they bred an unhappy alliance. Hence, the years that should have strengthened were undulating in their effect.

“There are times when I have wished that I had sailed with my parents,” Melian found herself divulging. “With them I have always felt sheltered… safe. But,” she emphasized warmly, “I had to find my own path… my own journey. Being with Arwen, helping her to shape her dreams in this new world, doing whatever good I can for this people, have shown me that I have chosen the right path, however disenchanting it might prove at times.

“You have chosen this path, Arien,” continued she, regarding Arien with a mixture of gentleness and love, “it was not forced upon you. Duty dictated your decision to take care of your brother; but it was by choice that you personally care for him when there are others more schooled in the nature of his care.”

“Yes, I see my mistake more blatantly as time progresses,” Arien reluctantly admitted, when recalling her recent parting with her brother. She had felt then just as she felt now that it was clearly her fault for allowing him to develop such a keen dependency upon her.

“Perhaps time will allow you to gently undo what has been done,” Melian advocated optimistically.

“Yes, perhaps,” Arien agreed, though not nearly as convincingly as she would have liked.

The conversation then took various turns, lingering for a time on Lady ErendiÂ’s plans and digressions for the evening. At length, the ducks began to retrace their footsteps homeward, Nessa began to grow impatient, and the picnic was soon ended.
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That evening, Lady ErendiÂ’s dinner and subsequent entertainment had been an easy success. Highlighting the eveningÂ’s pleasures was MelianÂ’s superb performance upon a harp that was brought expressly for that purpose. The invited guests had been beautifully serenaded with a few choice elven tunes followed thereafter by a medley of varying requests. When her performance had ended, all praised her musical genius and many thanked her for her unstinting kindness in appeasing request after request.

Among the guests were a few familiar faces that were known to our three ladies, but, for the most part, the dinner party was comprised of unknown personages. Not to be put off by this, Melian, Nessa and Arien did their best to mingle, socialize and make themselves agreeable to their present society.

Perhaps too agreeable, Nessa thought, after finding herself entrapped by one exceedingly opinionated nobleman whose views she neither cared for nor sympathized with. It was astounding to her that he saw nothing inopportune by the way in which he monopolized her attentions. Indeed she was happy at last when Lord Anarion, discerning her blight, had gallantly acted to extricate her from the impossibility of her situation while simultaneously sparing the feelings of her loquacious interlocutor.

“Truly I am indebted to you for your kindness,” Nessa said gratefully, her light grey eyes full upon him. “My patience was growing weary.”

Lord Anarion smiled gravely. “Yes, well, he is a fine fellow despite his shortcomings.”

Nessa smiled discreetly. She suspected that Anarion spoke more from his desire to recommend the good in this nobleman than from his sole acquaintance with him. Wishing to change the subject, Nessa immediately began to inquire after the success of Lord AnarionÂ’s journey and the suddenness of his presence there that evening.

“I dare say that mother did not expect me from the confusion that ensued after my arrival this evening,” Anarion remarked humorously. “How easily she forgets me.”

Nessa chuckled. “I can hardly agree with that conclusion.”

“I hardly expect that you would,” Anarion smiled, extended his arm to her, which was gracefully accepted, and they withdrew from the generally mingling guests to a distant corner setting.

“So, tell me,” said he, “what news have you of Amandil?”

For a second –and only a second- a pained expression filled Nessa’s eyes. “We have had no other word since the first letter,” she stated, simply enough, though pretending to be distracted by some vision across the room to avoid Anarion’s eyes.

“It is a most marveling circumstance,” Anarion said thoughtfully, a frown enshrouding the stern brow and handsome visage. “To think that he was alive all these years we have mourned him… words cannot describe the confusion in my breast.”

“Yes,” Nessa feebly murmured, before boldly adding, “There has been some speculation that he may journey northward to visit his relations for an unspecified period of time. In that case, we have little chance of reuniting with him for some time to come.”

“Yes, very well… very well,” Anarion absent-mindedly approved. “It should do him good.” Unconsciously, he twisted the ring on his little finger, “I do not venture to think what he must have suffered these years together,” he pursued, speaking more to himself than to Nessa.

These thoughts of AnarionÂ’s were no stranger to NessaÂ’s own private deliberations. Since hearing of AmandilÂ’s survival, such thoughts were her constant companion. As a friend, she felt justified in her empathic suffering for him. But when it came to those more tender feelings of suffering, which she undoubtedly harbored, she felt embarrassed. And speaking about him with others almost always made her feel exposed and vulnerable to suspicionÂ… as if her heart was laid open for the worldÂ’s perusal.

But her fears were unfounded in Anarion, who, whether he was truly apprised of her sentiments or not, possessed a character that was entirely free from that curiosity that was often swayed to pry. Indeed even if he was confirmed in that knowledge of NessaÂ’s true sentiments, any allusion of the kind, on his part, would be deemed by himself as inappropriate, in exposing her to the scrutiny of another in so private a matter.

“I should like to see him again… soon,” Anarion quietly remarked. “But here is mother,” said he, rising to his feet to greet her.

“Anarion, dear, you are wanted this moment by your man,” apologized she, with a complementary nod to Nessa.

Having an inkling of that matter of exigency, Anarion excused himself promptly with departing assurances to Nessa that he intended to finish their conversation when next they were able to speak privately. After his egress, Lady Erendi lost no time in assessing the needs of her guest.

“Lady Erendi,” said Nessa gaily, patting that good lady’s hand, “I assure you that I am in no more danger of falling into any kind of ennui than the sun is in rising this moment. In fact I am thoroughly pleased to say that I am enjoying myself.”

Thus assured several times over, Lady Erendi was set at liberty to seek out and remedy any signs of the aforementioned malady in any of her other disengaged guests. Nessa shook her head in amusement, regained her seat and watched as Melian adeptly avoided the trap from which Lord Anarion had just rescued her. Melian was not long in joining her in her secluded corner where the two sat down to compare experiences of the eveningÂ’s social affairs, which proved more diverting than they could have hoped, since they were more than a little hard pressed to stifle the bouts of laughter that faintly drifted to the guests from their corner.

“Enough!” exclaimed Melian between peels of laughter. “We draw attention to ourselves.” She inhaled deeply and gently wiped the corners of her eyes. “Nessa, you must control yourself or we will be forced to explain ourselves,” threatened Melian, who appeared to endure great strength of will to steel herself against disintegrating into another fit of laughter. At the same time, her eyes earnestly implored Nessa in the matter; she had noticed at that very instance that the subject of their mutual diversion seemed bent on approaching them to discover the source of their amusement.

Nessa saw it too, made some hurried apology to Melian, and speedily quitted the room. Outside in the hallway she gave full release to her mirth. Unaware of another who was present, she almost choked when a voice said, “Nessa, is that you?” It was Lord Anarion, who was staring at her incredulously. She flushed as she apologized, feeling not a little foolish.

“Nonsense,” Anarion replied distractedly, his gaze impatiently surveying the hall from whence he had emerged. “There is no need to apologize. You merely startled me for a moment.” His man appeared then with a torch, they exchanged a few hushed words, and his man made a move forward to climb the stairs.

“Is something the matter?” Nessa asked, her eyes following Anarion’s gaze up the winding stairs.

Anarion shook his head. “Some guests have asked my mother for the honor of visiting our private gallery,” he replied, somewhat amused. “Apparently no one has told them that there is little there to interest them beyond a few subjects that I have had the pleasure of collecting.” Nessa understood this to mean that he entertained a modest assessment of the artistic appeal of his family’s portraits that she knew of a certainty hung there. “But to satisfy your inquiry, I am to prepare the gallery to receive these eager connoisseurs.” He glanced at Nessa, thoughtfully. “Will you join us?” he asked, beckoning to a female servant who was passing in the wide hallway.

Admittedly, Nessa was more inclined to go than not, if only to escape the lure of her former digressions.

Arien, meanwhile, who was not yet missed by her companions, was walking along the dimly lit gallery; it was lined with several tastefully done likenesses of Lord AnarionÂ’s predecessors, including one very striking portrait of his father; no other portrait within that gallery held any fascination for her but this singular depiction.

‘It is so like him,Â’ she admired. The same eyesÂ… the same lipsÂ… the same handsome face… though his fatherÂ’s hair was a silky grey in the likeness. There was one thing that was lacking in the son, however, that rendered the father still more striking; it was tenderness. All about him, in his smile, in his eyes, tenderness exuded; it was no wonder to her that Lady Erendi still loved him so.

In her present state, Arien was full of confusion. The happy mood that she had attained to in the festivities of that evening was curiously gone. She was vexed with herself and still more so with her present suffering, the origin of which stemmed purely from what she felt to be Lord AnarionÂ’s cool reception; it had pierced her to the quick and had instigated an avalanche of somber reflections.

In the first place, what business had she in his house, away from the call of duty and the care of her beloved brother? In the second place, being in his house only served to reacquaint her with the fresh pain of her relinquished dreams. She was not impulsive by nature, but an incredible desire burnt in her heart to depart at once for Minas Tirith and the protection of her home. There her desires would be directed in the proper direction, forsaking that foolish hope that had begun to insinuate itself back into her consciousness and destroying any consequence that would have been hereafter. Nothing but the observance of proper decorum and the memory of Lady ErendiÂ’s kindness, kept her grounded beneath that roof. Thus her thoughts ran on in a flood of irrationality, heightening even her indignation.

Indeed it took some time before these agitations were supplanted by a period of calm, in which she began to feel very much ashamed of her thoughts. She began to cast a just eye over her recent relations with Anarion, to the conclusion of which she exonerated his detachment. Truly, she felt herself unequal to this new setting, where nothing reminded her of the ever-present constraints in which her life now consisted. In her own home, there was structure to keep her feelings and desires in check. Without that structure, she found it difficult to keep those old familiar pangs at bay.

‘What must I do?’ she soliloquized, caressing her forehead to soothe the headache that had begun to form there.

“About what, may I ask?” interjected a familiar voice, which startled Arien.

“Nessa!” exclaimed Arien, her troubled glance surveying the little group, “what do you do here?” Upon seeing Lord Anarion, she colored a little and instinctively stepped back into the shadow.

“Dear Arien,” Nessa whispered, affectionately drawing her friend’s arm into hers, “is something the matter?

“I promise you that I am fine,” Arien replied, her voice faltering, “Or at least, I will be. I was just a little startled.”

“Come,” Nessa beckoned, not quite pleased with Arien’s answer, “let us take a turn along the room.”

Arien gratefully leaned on her friendÂ’s arm, hoping to steady herself. She had worked herself into a state that could scarcely be supported by her own two feet.

Lord Anarion, who had began to oversee the lighting and preparation of the gallery to receive their guests, had his suspicions regarding ArienÂ’s altered demeanor; though she had retreated into the shadow upon recognizing his presence, his surreptitious glance had been quick in its examination before that retreat.

Directing his servants as he saw fit, he began to ponder this alteration; he thought of their earlier exchange that evening, when matters of business then largely engrossed his mind; he thought of their subsequent exchange, when she had seemed eager to converse, but again, he had been preoccupied in greeting old acquaintances; he thought of all these and wondered at his absence of mind, for there had been more instances. The expression that he now saw in those eyes was sparked, no doubt, by these insensitivities. Still, he had been so used to see her, cool and unaffected, that he marveled at the change that had been wrought within her since her coming to his estate.

He was reminded of years before when a child like vivacity filled those clear, grey eyes. Back then he saw her as simply that- young, beautiful, full of hope, but nevertheless, a child. It also did not fail his memory that once upon a time those very eyes plainly told that story of unspoken admiration; it was something that he had reasoned that she would outgrow. In his estimation, his surmise had proven correct. His latter acquaintance with her was no longer characterized by that attitude of obvious admiration. Instead, in its place was that disposition of polite solicitudeÂ… nothing more. There was no spark of delight, no warmth of feeling, nothing that could have given rise to any attestation of the existence of a more tender feeling.

As for his feelings in the matter, they were scarcely to be defined. For the most part, he was accustomed to think of Arien as a little sister, perhaps because of his former acquaintance with her brother or perhaps because he had known her since a young age. Whatever the reason, he felt himself her invisible protector, which also necessarily meant protecting her against his own self.

But, what is to be done to set this situation to rights? It is true that her sojourn on his estate would soon be ended, but he wanted her to return to Minas Tirith feeling rested and rejuvenated both in body and spirit. But what is to be done?

Living with his mother, he had occasion to glimpse into that lofty estate of that feminine enigma that was so alien to the understanding of any mere man. It was not that his mother was prone to the whimsical propensities of her younger generation, but rather that she dabbled frequently in affairs involving these sorts. There was almost always some benevolent act to perform, whether it was reconciling some tormented mother in settling upon her daughterÂ’s choice in a lifetime mate, or some other less serious consequence of sealing her approval on some committeeÂ’s choice of dishes and arrangements for a dinner or ball. But more to the point, he had observed that in every situation there was sure to be some dissent, inconsequential or not, which almost never allowed for a smooth journey to the conclusion of that situation.

Like any other man, he enjoyed the society of women. But unlike most men, he desiredÂ… demanded a steadiness of mind and a steadiness of temperament in his future mate. He was convinced that these two qualities united in one person would seal his happiness forever. Sadly, however, the more he gave ear to his motherÂ’s narrations, the more impossible it seemed that such a woman existed.

And now, in his observation of Arien, he had verily decided which class she fell to. He could not even be certain of which of her personalities would present itself to him in the next moment. Would it be the coolly polite and collective personage or the partially unsure yet hopeful personage? This was exactly the situation that he did not feel himself equal to.

Frowning slightly, he dismissed his servants from the gallery, which was now fully lighted and ventured forward to Nessa and Arien who were still in each otherÂ’s bosom. The closer his footsteps brought him to them, the lower their voices fell, and he was more certain than before that he was responsible for ArienÂ’s decaying mood and rising blush.

“Will you ladies rejoin the party below floors or shall I leave you to your own deserts?” he asked kindly, hoping to begin to right the injury that he had inflicted upon Arien’s mood.

Nessa glanced at Arien; she saw that no answer was forthcoming, and therefore consented to the continuation of their presence above floors. Anarion was somewhat reluctant to leave but thought it better to give way to the ladies’ private tête-à-tête. As soon as he had quitted the room, Nessa turned to Arien and gently asked, “What is the meaning of this?” Arien blushed and turned slightly away. “If you do not mean to speak to me of this,” Nessa gently insisted, “tell me so now and all my inquiries will cease.”

“I am not myself,” Arien softly groaned; her fingers began to caress her temple.

“Are you ill?” appealed Nessa, her alarm palpable.

“No… no, I shall be fine,” Arien reassured. “It is only a slight headache, but I should very much like to sit.”

Nessa motioned toward a cushioned bench but Arien declined. “I would much rather quit this room for another,” said she, thinking of the impending company.

“Yes, how silly of me,” Nessa rejoined, glancing anxiously toward the entrance to the gallery. “Let us linger here no more lest we should be detained.”

Some minutes later -after Arien had drank a warm cup of tea to soothe her aching head- Nessa encouraged her to recline on the sofa in her bedroom. Administering a warm compress to Arien’s forehead, Nessa quietly said, “I have not seen you this discomfited in a long time. What ails you, dearest?”

Arien smiled weakly. “This place… I am not myself here, Nessa.”

“Not yourself! What ever do you mean, dear Arien?” Nessa implored.

Arien searched the light grey eyes of her friend, which were surfeit with concern. “You shall think me foolish,” she whispered; a tear had unwittingly slid down her cheek, which Nessa gently wiped away.

“I shall do no such thing,” Nessa softly promised.

Arien drew herself up in the sofa and sighed. “I can hardly bring myself to express these feelings,” said she timidly, the tears flowing steadily. Nessa squeezed her hand comfortingly. “Oh Nessa, I am most wretched,” sobbed she. “Fortitude has always been my constant friend and even it has failed me when I needed it most. These burdens grow heavy to bear. Trial after trial weakens me; I can feel my life slowly ebbing away; all that is before me grows dim and I foresee no escape; I see nothing but years and years of solitude before me. Why is this my lot to bear?”

This heartbreaking exordium poured forth disconcertingly. Nessa could not help but be affected and very soon her own eyes were brimmed with tears. The feeble reassurances died on her lips; she knew that all would be vain. “Solitude!” she remonstrated, passionately, “how easily you forget my promises.” She hugged Arien close to her breast, cradling her head in her a comforting embrace. “When have I ever deserted you?” This inquiry unleashed a fresh set of tears and Nessa knew and felt that which Arien could not voice, overwhelmed as she was in the throes of this passion. She kissed Arien atop of her head. “I will never leave you, dear Arien. This talk of solitude is nonsense.”

Arien had her cry; Nessa encouraged it because she knew it would bring relief. It was inevitable that exhaustion would succeed this unhappy state and Nessa saw to it that Arien undressed and prepared for bed. She had no doubt that the festivities below still persisted; as soon as it was convenient, she intended to send word to Lady Erendi to inform her of ArienÂ’s indisposition and consequently their joint absence from the dinner party.

Nessa stayed with Arien for some time after; the sound of ArienÂ’s steady breathing assured her that she had fallen asleep. Sitting in the dark, she fell to reflecting upon ArienÂ’s unhappy state- for it was obvious that someone or something had precipitated her sudden mood to despair. It was not that ArienÂ’s situation was no longer dire; on the contrary, it was more like something had occurred to exacerbate her already taxing situation.

“My dear, dear Arien,” whispered Nessa, gently smoothing several damp strands of hair from Arien’s sleeping face. “I promise you… you shall not stand alone. I shall do my very best to take care of you.”

It was there that Melian found her some time after. “I have only just heard that she is unwell,” she said, casting a quick glance over Arien’s sleeping form, “How is she?” There was something so innocent and sad in the sleeping face that Melian’s heart swelled with pity. “What is her complaint?”

Nessa touched Arien’s brow gently. “I will explain all,” she replied, “but let us speak in my room privately.” Melian agreed and the two betook themselves thither where Nessa related to Melian all that she knew.

“This is all very strange,” said Melian after some contemplation. “I knew that she has experienced some feeling of guilt for being here, but she was otherwise in fair spirits.”

“I think, Melian, that it is fair to say that being here is also difficult for Arien,” Nessa rejoined, anxiously.

“But why should that be?” Melian asked, abruptly halting in her pacing. “Your whole manner is mysterious, Nessa. What is this mystery?”

“It is not for me to say,” Nessa gravely smile, “I could be mistaken in my conclusion.”

Melian sighed and sank into the easy chair opposite Nessa. “Does this mystery involve our formerly absent host?” Nessa made no verbal response; her look was enough to validate Melian’s conjecture. “Then I am sorry for it,” said Melian, dejectedly.

“Is it so very bad,” asked Nessa, timidly.

Melian shook her head. “To judge from his side, it is safe to say yes, it is,” she said plainly, “and I think it very hard that she should be tried in this new way.”

“But he is not so bad,” Nessa opined.

“I have nothing but the highest opinion of him,” Melian sincerely replied. “I think him capable of every good; but his attentions to Arien are wanting; they do not distinguish her with an affection beyond the normal bounds of friendship… and to bestow her love where it is unwanted…” She sighed sadly. “But let us not quarrel. Tomorrow will bring what it will, be it good or bad. No one should know that better than you… and I.”

Nessa was a little surprised by Melian’s admission; it was the first time that Melian had acknowledged anything of what she suspected. “Perhaps Arien will agree to return to Minas Tirith if this mood prevails,” Nessa declared. “I should be sorry to depart so soon but it cannot be helped.” Melian agreed; Lady Erendi epitomized in all facets that virtuous kindness that was very rarely met with and they would indeed be sorry to part with her.

—————–

After Melian had left, Nessa went to check on Arien one more time before retiring for the night. She could not be easy when reflecting upon all that had befallen them these past years together. It was no small wonder that the strands of their hair still retained their dark, raven color. Such misery as they have seen must ultimately be for some purpose; otherwise she could set it down that Fate had used them very ill.

Unless their fortunes were to change in the times to come, she could certainly agree with Arien that the outlook was bleak. Being thwarted time and time again, to be sure, built character, but if events continued in the like, they were sure to be driven to irreparable despair. Experience had taught her that, try as she might, strength and optimism begins to fade in the absence of some positive change. She had heard before of others who had died of disappointmentÂ… whose will to live were utterly spentÂ… could it come to this? She thought not; not while mutual love and affection bore up their wings beyond despair; no, the symptom of that malaise was far from their breasts. And if every new day brought some fresh trial, there was sure to be comfort in the unwavering friendships that had been proved in the years gone by.

Amandil. By now she had been used to thinking of him as alive but could not get used to the fact that he was actually flesh and blood, with a beating heart within his breast. She wantedÂ… noÂ… needed to see him, to see for herself that he ate, drank and spoke like any other living, breathing soul. And even in this there was a trialÂ… a trial of patience, which necessarily must be her lot since it was obviously ordained that nothing in her life must be without its complications. And, to that end, it was uncertain when -and if- Amandil would return to Gondor since there was some talk of him serving at Arnor with Meneldur, his brother. She was beginning to think that they were destined never to see each other again while they had no ties to any other.

Still, there was much that she feared in a possible meeting. This person was more of a stranger to her now as assuredly as she would be to him. Would he even recollect her? To be sure, this reflection was quite disagreeable to her mind no matter how unwillingly she admitted it to herself. But she knew and accepted that the enormity of the little that was told in ElrohirÂ’s missive was by no stretch of the imagination as reprehensible as it must have been in reality. What he must have sufferedÂ… the mental anguishÂ… was incomprehensible.

This thought prompted a sigh from her lips as she absent-mindedly began to perform her nightly ritual in preparation for bed.

Externally, her life had remained unchanged. That is to say, her duties and social activities persisted in their usual fashion. Internally, however, she was plagued by uncertainties. What would be next in this long journey? Where would it lead? These questions were innumerable and still without answer. Added to this mental affliction was that anxiety borne of other peopleÂ’s expectation and other peopleÂ’s scrutiny. Yet, with certainty, she knew that there was only a privileged few that was acquainted with the desires of her heartÂ… and even so, that was in times elapsed.

Thankfully, she was no longer that ingenuous girl from many years before whose heart laid open to the world, for any one to interpret. While sometimes she felt that it was not so, she knew it was so and her heart was secured in its secret. She reasoned that her blush at the mention of AmandilÂ’s name could just as easily be taken as a sign of her embarrassment over her past indiscretion as well as not.

Despite that, however, she still felt vulnerable when openly discussing him –as she had felt earlier that evening with Anarion. But whether it was her imagination or not, more than once she had stumbled upon conversations which she was sure had been brought to an abrupt end because of her sudden appearance. This bothered her incessantly and opened to her mind what must have been the error of her past conduct. It was unpleasant to think of all that was thought and said about her possible emotions in the matter and there was but one way to debunk this collective speculation -real or imagined- and it was to guard her feelings closely.

But to know her own self… her own heart, she had to reacquaint herself with her own feelings. Was it her lofty view of this man that attracted her more tender feelings? Looking back, trying to envision the true essence of the man, she found only mystery. What then had inspired her to love? Was it even a valid love that she bore him or was it something less worthy –an infatuation sprung up from the intrigue that surrounded and pervaded his presence? Had she simply been smitten by this mystery? How could she know that on peeling away the layers, her admiration would be preserved?

For as long as she had thought him dead, her past mortification had diminished. Now, however, these past mortifications had resurfaced with manifold reproaches. Through the lens of a more experienced eye, she reviewed the whole of their acquaintance and, truth be told, she could not cease to think of it without blushing. She vividly recalled her motherÂ’s observation regarding his taciturnity and her rejoining boast of knowing and understanding the man. How little she knew then and what nonsense it was; it was painful to recall her own naivety.

What a difference in opinion the years did bring. What a severe light was shed on the whole of her unrequited experience.

Yet, she was still confused, even more so now that Erchirion had become a significant part of her life. With him, things had transpired in the right way… in the natural way. She knew him. She knew the good and the not so good about him. She knew his likes and dislikes; she knew what motivated, inspired and interested him. But most importantly, though never verbally expressed to her, she knew that he thought of her quite tenderly.

In a way, this knowledge should have brought some comfort, and under ordinary circumstances, it might have. In this happenstance, however, it only added anxiety to an already bothersome situation. ‘I shall never be easy again until this is all settled,’ thought she restlessly, puffing the pillows before slipping into her bed.

In the back of her mind lurked the real possibility of surrendering to chance. Perhaps she was placing too much value in the matters of the heart- a heart that was not always reliable and often proved a stranger to her own understanding. Perhaps the simplest thing to do was to submit to chance. And if it chanced that Erchirion should venture to ask that life-changing question, then she would accept it as her fate. After all, there was no denying the shared harmony that existed between them. To relinquish that treasure for a shadow of the distant past was not only inane but also downright absurd.

She had to be consistent… disciplined. Inconstancy was easily pardonable at the age of one and twenty when everyone attributed it to naivety. Her position was changed now; as well it ought to be. Her pride had grown not without reason; she possessed all the claims to grace, beauty, manners and knowledge; there were few things wanting. Notwithstanding, her beauty by itself was prepossessing and more than sufficient to boost any failing of pride. In truth, the child had grown fairer with each passing year.

But to resume the matter at hand, Nessa was determined to put her experiment to work immediately. Come what may, there must be consistency in everything pertaining to that corner of her life. There would be no more indecisiveness; her actions should not depend upon this man who was so un-wholly connected to her present life. Not only was it unreasonable, it was also unfair to Erchirion.

Despite the sadness aroused within her breast at this conclusion, she knew that it was sensible to be sober-minded. It was no longer her feelings alone that were invested in this complicated affair. There were those of another to consider.

—————————-

“I am sorry to hear it,” Anarion told Melian. “Is there some service I could render?” They were standing together in the upstairs foyer where Melian had waited anxiously for Anarion’s appearance to her summons.

Melian shook her head. “There is nothing to be done, at the moment. Be so kind as to convey our regrets to Lady Erendi. We were sorry to see the evening end in this way. But be assured that while it lasted, we were very much obliged to her for the pleasure it afforded.”

Anarion readily consented. “Might I inquire after the invalid in the morning?” His concern was palpable in his handsome visage.

“You will be the first to know the moment I can ascertain her condition for myself in the morning,” Melian assured him; her discerning eyes scrutinized the whole of his actions during this interview.

“I thank you,” Anarion gratefully rejoined.

“Now, if you please, I should very much like to retire,” Melian informed him. “The day began peacefully enough but I am somewhat fatigued in mind.”

“Yes, do, indeed,” he encouraged. “I bid you good night.”

In bed, Melian sighed into her pillow. The mountains to climb seemed to get progressively higher every year and she was quite frankly displeased with the exactitude of these efforts. She thought it quite unromantic that life should impress their misfortunes ever deeper upon their already withering hopes. This new situation with Arien disturbed her more than she would have liked to admit.

She had stopped in to check on her before retiring to her own room, and the sadness that had began to form in her heart was not the least lessened by the tranquility that she saw on Arien’s sleeping face. ‘Such an excellent creature,’ thought Melian, ‘if only there was something that could be done to ease her unhappiness.’

As it was, they were none of them in any position to promote the happiness of the other, so long as that promotion rested in the power of another. Try as they have, they now understood that there were divers types of happiness and only one answered to that quality that was able to fill that aching void. Valar help us all!

Owing to this train of thought, her mind involuntarily wandered to Legolas. She wondered how was it that it was impossible to fill this void in her own heart and yet his heart was as contented as ever a heart could be. This reflection cost her no small measure of pain. And it was not the first time that she had pondered this in her heart, seeking to understand her blighted love.

She recollected that pivotal night so long ago, when he had told her that he was not free to love. It had been a misty journey ever since with spurts of renewed confidence in life followed close behind by periods of dejection; she had begun to think that the two traveled hand in hand and that there was little escape.

She thought then of Nessa and the peculiarity of her situation. It was yet another undesirable situation fraught with difficulties. Amandil was alive and she could not be more delighted in this turn of events. Truly she would be glad to hail his return the moment he was back in the white city, but she feared for Nessa. So much had changed and yet, still, so little.

Thus her thoughts ran on, having no greater need for rest than that of mind.

Meanwhile, Anarion had executed his duty in apprising his mother of the situation of her guests and was able to restrain her from ascertaining for herself the comfort of her guests by assuring her that it could just as easily be done in the morning, as judging from the silence proceeding from that wing of the house, he was quite persuaded that her guests were sound asleep.

“You are right, my dear,” Lady Erendi submitted, sinking heavily into a high back chair across from his desk. She watched his bent head as he concentrated on the piece of parchment that was already half covered in his firm handwriting. Now and again the long, slender ink-stained fingers would brush back a black long lock from obtruding the right eye.

“Are you not tired, my dear?” Lady Erendi gently urged. “You have been traveling all day.”

Anarion smiled slightly. “I must finish this, mother. These accounts have been left idle these two weeks together and I must see to it that those who depend upon me are taken care of.”

“But surely this can wait until morning,” Lady Erendi said. “You are just like your father, Eru bless his soul. He was a most splendid man. I dare say that he cared for his servants no less than his own kin.”

Anarion could not help smiling; he had heard that story many times before. “If you give me leave, mother, to finish these figures, I can promise you that a half hour will see me in bed.”

“Very well, my dear,” Lady Erendi surrendered; she went around to his side of the desk, glanced at a few documents neatly piled on his desk, smoothed her hand over his hair (an old habit of hers), and promptly bent down to kiss his forehead. “There,” said she, “I shall leave you to yourself to take as much delight in those accounts as I know you do.”

“Mother,” said Anarion, capturing her hand in his grasp, “How came those ladies here? I never thought to see them here without a previous mention from you.”

“Oh dear, it was quite unexpected,” Lady Erendi said, leaning gently on his desk. “And it was all decided very quickly. One visit to Lady Arien’s home was sufficient to convince me that something had to be done.” To expand his understanding, Lady Erendi then launched into details of her acute apprehensions for Lady Arien and the insupportable nature of her situation.

While this speech lasted, Anarion frowned, entwined his fingers together, paced a few times, and finally resumed his seat. “You are troubled, dear, as I am?” Lady Erendi inquired.

Anarion rubbed his forehead restlessly. “It is not likely that I would be unaffected, mother, by all that you have told me,” he stated simply.

“You are a good man, Anarion, and I can see already that you feel what one ought to feel in hearing this tale.” Lady Erendi glanced cautiously at her son. “Do you know, Anarion, dear, there was once a time when I thought it likely that Lady Arien cherished a fondness for you?” She saw his jaw tightened but he said not a word until he began to write again.

“That was a different lifetime ago, mother,” he stated in a firm voice that usually signaled that the discussion was at an end.

Lady Erendi, however, meant to pursue the point at the risk of his displeasure. “But is there no hope?” persisted she. “There is nothing wanting in her that cannot be altered.”

“Really, mother, you astonish me!” Anarion exclaimed.

“Do not be angry with me, my dear,” Lady Erendi said, taking his hand in hers, “your foolish mother just wants to see you settled and happy.”

“I know you mean well, mother,” said Anarion, kissing her hand, “but I mean to marry of my own volition and even then I must have my way.”

“Only take care that your choice pleases your poor, dear, mother,” said she lightly, which did not fail to elicit a smile from Anarion’s thin, compressed lips. “I would not have it any other way,” he assured her. “But now, mother, I must finish these accounts directly if I am to sleep at all this night.

Lady Erendi begged his pardon, kissed him once more, and quitted the room with new delightful schemes already germinating in her mind. Anarion smiled to himself as he watched her retreat and resumed to the business at hand. His motherÂ’s blunt discernment had caught him fairly off guard although he had recovered almost immediately. But with her he knew he could speak his mind freely.

Still, he was a little surprised by his motherÂ’s boldness in suggesting a possible union with Arien. He had no doubt that his mother took a genuine interest in ArienÂ’s case and wished to set it to rights by promoting this idea. Naturally, his mind began to review all the aspects that such an attachment would render on his home life. He could see his mother, contented and happy in the affections of a daughter; he could hear the halls filled with youthful laughter and mingled chatter; he could even see himself changed and softened by the domestic setting of a joyful home; yes, he could envision it all.

The strong ticking of the clock soon jerked him back to reality. It was a wonder that he had time to muse when there was so much work to be done before retiring for the night. Rising to his feet, he poured himself a moderate portion of wine, which he took back to his desk and began to sip slowly as he delved into the task before him.

———————————

Back in Minas Tirith, the Telcontars were hosting an intimate dinner with a few of their friends. Noteworthy among them were the Prince of Ithilien and his fair lady, Legolas and his betrothed, Prince Imrahil and Erchirion.

“Absolutely extraordinary,” Imrahil gasped. “In all of my years, this singular dispensation of cruelty is not to be met with.”

Aragorn nodded. He had been asked to expound upon the news of AmandilÂ’s recovery by those who knew him, as well as those who simply took an interest because of the calamity that had befallen. The general reaction was no different to that of Prince Imrahil. All thought it an incredulous triumph over insuperable odds; some pitied the man, imagining with some effort the real and assumed obstacles that must necessarily lie ahead for this poor, unfortunate soul.

But that sentiment prevailed only as long as such conversations might endure among multiple engaging diversions. The subject was exhausted and the charismatic and the cynosure felt it their duty to regal their audience with such ploys as they were accustomed to use. Thus, those who held a genuine interest in AmandilÂ’s subsequent fortune were able to speak unhindered amongst his old acquaintances.

“And have these scoundrels been captured?” Erchirion asked, his quiet indignation underlying each spoken word. It was one thing to run a man through with a sword in a fight governed by honor, but it was another to ambush him, imprison him and strip him of every shred of his dignity.

This he knew from a recent letter, which had arrived in Minas Tirith shortly after the ladiesÂ’ departure to Anorien.

“Our efforts proved vain,” Aragorn grimaced. “It was reported to me that there were signs that their living quarters had been hurriedly abandoned; all attempts of tracking their retreat have failed.” Aragorn’s expression was inscrutable; the only betrayal of his vexation was the imperceptible tightening of his jaw.

“No matter,” Imrahil immediately rejoined, “malevolence almost always recompenses its perpetrator.”

Erchirion scoffed at this thought. It was very disturbing to think that justice in this situation was left to chance. “Yes, well, it is something to think of it in that light, father,” asserted he, “but our opinions and feelings cannot be those of the man who has the most to reckon.

“Of course not,” Imrahil responded, “but if I knew anything of Amandil’s character –and I would like to think that I did- he can be a very patient man.”

Aragorn listened to this exchange silently. Often times he had also wondered how circumstances had changed Amandil. He knew him to be strong willed, patient, and methodical and he reasoned that these qualities must have been the source of his sustenance through those dastard years of confinement. But how had the experience changed the man? There was nothing to be gleamed between the lines of his letter. If anything, his letter in every way reflected that old inscrutability that was so second nature to the man.

“I think it is fair to say that there would be no one way to react to this situation,” Aragorn interposed. “But having a more perfect knowledge of Amandil, I expect that he would find a way to deal effectively with this situation.”

Here Legolas, who had been silently occupied with his own thoughts, entered the conversation. “What did he say, if anything, of his return to Minas Tirith?”

“It is still unclear what he intends to do,” answered Aragorn, who was busy helping himself to a tray of delicacies set aside for their enjoyment. “Naturally, as soon as his strength allows, he intends to visit his family in the north.”

Here again, Legolas sank back into his own thoughts. He thought it nothing short of a miracle that Amandil had been given a second chance at life. Were it not for his nobler feelings on the matter, he could almost envy AmandilÂ’s chance to begin the slate anew. But unlike Amandil, the wheels had been set in motion to seal his fate.

Never had a decision been made clearer to him than by the preparations made daily in Ithilien toward that grand day. He never imagined that the success of that single event, in the future, involved as many preparations as was already undertaken. These details made the eventuality of his marriage more real to him every day and he had begun to secretly resent their intrusions.

His relations with Lady Vana had not suffered for it and was curiously unaffected by his growing impatience. This could be explained only by his real attempts to nurture the love he felt for Lady Vana. But so far, his efforts to kindle that flame in his heart were marred by that stronger love that existed there. All was contrary within his heart; the more he sought to love Lady Vana, the deeper his love for Melian grew; the more urgently he attempted to banish Melian from his thoughts, the stronger her image loomed; she was everywhere, pervading and unrelenting.

This was deeply troubling to Legolas. By degrees he had begun to understand the web in which he was entangled; he began to understand that he had set in motion circumstances that foreshadowed unhappiness for all involved; he began to realize the disparity in love that was destined to infect his marriage; he began to realize that, come what may, all would be changedÂ… FOREVER. He was very much ashamed.

Needing desperately to shake off this oppressive train of thought, he abruptly rose to his feet and without word or acknowledgement to his companions, directed his footsteps to Lady Vana, who was just then emerging from the anterior room. Traces of laughter still lingered on her cheeks as her bright eyes met those of Legolas.

“How is it with you?” he asked, smiling.

“Never better,” she answered, her eyes glowing. “Lady Eowyn invites us to dine with her upon our return home.”

“Of course we must accept,” Legolas said, pausing to open the terrace door before her.

“I thought that would be my lord’s answer,” Lady Vana said sweetly, “but I hesitated to grant it without first speaking with you.” Legolas nodded. “There is something else,” said she tentatively, stepping over a narrow trench in the garden beyond the Telcontar residence. Legolas glanced at her expectantly. “Do you mind terribly if we stayed on for a few days longer in Minas Tirith?” asked she. “I confess that I am not overly anxious to return to Ithilien where there is so much to remind me of the work to be done.”

In the dark she could not quite discern Legolas’ reaction but she had felt him stiffened slightly. “I thought you enjoyed doing this work that you have set to yourself,” stated he, a bit insensitively, but he quickly stopped himself. “If there are more hands needed, you need only to request it of me,” he gently insisted.

Lady Vana, pressing his hand gently, thought she knew all. “You are too good,” she said, “do not distress yourself on my account. I have hands enough to assist me. I merely meant that it was a nice change to be here in Minas Tirith.”

Legolas had a prick of conscience, which was mainly instrumental in leading him to concede. “Very well then,” he replied, silently begrudging his decision. “I will speak to Aragorn.”

“You are upset,” Lady Vana gently accused, her eyes questioning.

“A little,” answered Legolas, honestly.

“But what can be your reason?” Lady Vana urged, genuinely concerned.

Legolas was uneasy. How could he expound any further on the truth of his feeling? “Your request was unanticipated,” he replied simply. “Now, shall we go in?” said he, wishing to conclude the subject. Lady Vana complied by giving him her arm though hesitantly at first. She felt that their relationship had achieved that stage where complete honesty was necessary; she was not blind to his emotions; she knew and felt that there was some unknown that caused him to react in the way that he did that night. The bright lights of the hallways and the assault of merry conversation soon shoved those thoughts to the recesses of her mind, however, but she did not mean to forget this mystery even though some intangible force warned her against that inclination.

Legolas followed through with his application to Aragorn and Arwen, who were somewhat surprised by the request. “You are more than welcome to stay,” Arwen genuinely said, putting an end to Legolas’ apologies. “We are always happy to have our friends amongst us.”

“We plan on staying only a few days,” Legolas rejoined; their three minds were pre-occupied with the same thoughts though not a word was spoken.

After Legolas had departed to deliver this news to his lady, Aragorn said to Arwen, “When do we expect Melian?”

“Too soon, I think,” answered Arwen, a little disconcertedly. “Well, it could not be helped,” she chimed, lacing her fingers between those of her husband. “Depend upon it, Melian will understand.” Knitting her lovely eyebrows together, she asked, “What are you thinking?” Aragorn was brooding.

Immediately his visage relaxed. “Nothing worthy of mention,” he said, lifting her entwined hand to his lips.

“Estel,” she firmly pressed, “you would indeed tell me if there is something that troubles you?” Lately she had been feeling uninformed and a little underused and she suspected that it was largely attributable to her altered state.

“I keep no secrets from you, beloved” Aragorn assured her in a low, grave voice. “But since you should know all, I am more than a little anxious for Amandil.”

“Grandfather writes that he is doing better than anticipated,” Arwen impressed. “But as to what must be the state of his mind… Estel, no one knows. We must be patient.” Aragorn closed his eyes. “Surely, Estel you are not to blame,” Arwen adjured; she had read his thoughts perfectly. “Do not take this upon yourself. It is not yours to bear.”

“Whose then is it?” he asked, his gaze searching her tender eyes –those eyes that knew and loved him so perfectly.

“Was your hand the hand that dealt the blow?” Arwen softly implored. “Was your mind the author of that scheme to deprive our friend, whom we love so very dearly, of seven years of his life?”

Aragorn shook his head. “It does not exonerate my part in this wretched affair.”

“My dear husband,” Arwen assayed, “you are in no way to be blamed. As resourceful as I know you to be, you could not be in two places at once. And to say nothing of the faith that I have in Amandil’s capabilities, we can still conclude that some cowardly design has brought about this horrid affair.”

“It sore displeases me that these villains should roam freely to do as they will,” Aragorn said; an angry expression momentarily covered his face.

“I have no doubt that my lord will one day exercise his judgment over this affair,” Arwen submitted. “I look forward with hope.” Aragorn said nothing more on the subject, but to hope that his wife was right.

—————————-

The next morning saw Erchirion waiting expectantly, pacing to and fro, with a glance every now and then up the handsome, winding staircase of Lady ErendiÂ’s mansion. The sound of his booted footsteps on the solid floors was the only sound heard except for the distant opening and closing of doors from some undisclosed quarter of that sprawling house. Some considerable time had passed in this manner before the echo of firm footsteps drew closer to the room in which he waited. It was Lord Anarion.

“A bit early for your visit,” hailed Anarion, greeting Erchirion and smiling good-naturedly.

“It is a fine day out, ” Erchirion cheerfully returned, “and I thought it best to put some good use to it.” Anarion nodded. “Have they any plans set for today?”

“I am the last to know,” expressed Anarion. “I have only just returned last night to be off again today.”

Erchirion was disappointed. “Will your business be hindered by a day’s delay?” asked he.

“Not necessarily,” answered Anarion, who then perceptively added, “but I am sure you will do just fine without me.”

“I am sure I will too,” Erchirion replied promptly, grinning. “Nevertheless, we could make a good party of it.”

“And what if there are plans already set for today that would seem preposterous for us to undertake?” asked Anarion curiously.

“I am flexible, sir,” responded Erchirion, good-naturedly. “I can thread a needle and that has to be a start.”

Anarion chuckled despite himself. “We are all of us bested by you,” Anarion conceded. “You put us all to shame.” Erchirion’s ready response was suppressed by the sound of light footsteps descending the staircase; both men rose to their feet. “Ah, here they are,” said Anarion, searching the figures to ascertain if Lady Arien was present.

Melian was the first to enter the room and therefore the first to speak. “Erchirion, this is a pleasant surprise. We did not expect you,” said she, echoing the thoughts of the others, who followed close behind.

“Yes, well, I was in Minas Tirith and learnt of your retreat here and could not depart for Dol Amroth again without first calling on you,” Erchirion gallantly responded. All three ladies acknowledged Lord Anarion’s presence and the friends sat down and chatted together before the expected summons to breakfast. “What plans have you today?” asked Erchirion presently.

“We had not time yet to think of anything,” said Melian, surveying the expressions of those on whose behalf she spoke.

“Ah, so it is all merry leisure for you here,” Erchirion lightly accused.

“We plead guilty,” Melian promptly answered.

During this time, Anarion was heard to inquire after Lady ArienÂ’s health, to which he received a satisfactory appraisal by Lady ArienÂ’s own disclosure. Shortly thereafter the breakfast summons came and the company was shown to an outdoor patio where an assortment of bread, cheese, eggs, meats, jellies, fruits, and pastries were spread on a side table with a smaller table nearby populated with various jugs of fruit juices, hot tea and milk. Moments later, Lady Erendi joined their small party; her first concern, upon greeting them, was to ascertain for herself that last nightÂ’s invalid was quite recovered.

“And are you really better?” urged Lady Erendi, who was already fretting over Arien’s exposure to the morning sun, which effectively placed Arien at the center of everyone’s attention in exactly the place she did not want to be. Melian was the first to rescue her friend by assuring their hostess that the patient was quite recovered and the morning air would in fact do her good.

“Mother,” Anarion interjected resolutely, “I do not think you have had the pleasure of meeting again our new guest.”

It was the first time that Lady Erendi took notice of Erchirion’s presence. “I beg your pardon,” she greeted, “you are most welcomed.” Erchirion expressed his thanks and complimented her on the most splendid breakfast, which he willingly partook of.

“It is good of you to come,” Melian acknowledged to Erchirion, who was seated to her right, next to Arien and across from Lord Anarion. “What news have you to share of those we left behind?”

“They are all well,” Erchirion assured her, lightly spreading the butter on a piece of bread. “I dined there last night.”

“It certainly does not sound as though we are missed,” Melian remarked.

“On the contrary,” Erchirion said, half seriously, “despite the excellent dinner, things could not have been more dull without you three.”

“I am sure it was,” Melian agreed with a roll of her eyes.

Erchirion laughed. “I speak only for myself and not the rest of my party,” defended he.

“And who did you have the honor of dining with last night?” Melian asked, pretending not to care very deeply about what was forthcoming. Erchirion readily volunteered the names of those acquaintances they had in common, omitting only those names that he knew would be unknown to her.

Hearing the mention of these names, Lady Erendi unwittingly remarked, “Oh, so the Prince Legolas and his lady were there. I have heard of her. By all accounts, she is said to be a charming, steady creature. I do wonder at them though for delaying their nuptials for this length of time.”

“I think, mother, that they would be better judges of their own affairs than any one of us,” Anarion gently adjured. Steering the discourse into another direction, he inquired of Erchirion if there had been any word of Amandil since he was best in a position to inform them if any other news had been communicated. Erchirion relayed all that he had heard the night before concluding with the unsatisfactory news that the search of five months had yielded nothing.

Lady Erendi had a motherÂ’s feelings in the matter and as much said all that she thought about them and how cruel this entire ordeal must have been on AmandilÂ’s own mother. All the while, Nessa said not a word nor Arien for that matter. It seemed that their breakfast held more fascination on account that much concentration was poured into its consumption. Melian had been easier even with the mention of Legolas and his affairs. But then, she undoubtedly had more practice in dealing with that subject in an open social setting than did these two.

Breakfast was ended and the party bandied about various proposed schemes for the dayÂ’s activity until it was settled that while the ladies retired to their chambers to change into something more suitable for outdoors, Anarion would give Erchirion a tour of his estate. Thereafter, the party would again congregate to depart for the lake. This time around there was much involved in the adventure since Lady Erendi planned to make a day of it. Consequently, the party was accompanied by all manner of furniture necessary for their creature comfort including devices to provide more shade from the sun. The rest was to follow afterward, including a full array of dishes, which was yet to be prepared for the afternoonÂ’s consumption.

The most delightful scheme of the day was one that was concocted by Anarion. Solely for the pleasure of the ladies, he had ordered his men to bring along two cleverly constructed rowboats, which were later known to be engineered and constructed by himself, according to his motherÂ’s proud disclosure. When the boats set out, there were three occupants per boat- Melian, Arien and Anarion in one and Lady Erendi, Nessa and Erchirion in the other. On the lake, the scenery was arresting. The ducks that the ladies had seen the day earlier were more plentiful than they had originally thought. There were separate flocks of white ducks to be seen floating on the lake here and there whose voices were raised in dis-jointed chorus. Not to be outdone, the lake itself was crystal clear to a considerable depth and schools of fishes could be seen darting away from the boat paddles as they made their way through the water. All nature was very pleasing to the eyes and the ladies as much said so. It was very hard indeed when after two hours spent on the lake, the six had to return at last to land.

The rest of the day went well; in fact, so well that Erchirion was invited by Lady Erendi to stay the night. He protested at first, claiming that his time was not his own and that his father awaited his return to Minas Tirith to set off again for Dol Amroth. Anarion weighed in on the invitation adding that if he would wait until the morrow, they would both depart together as he also had to set off on business again in the morning. It was settled then that an additional chamber and dinner place would be set for their newest guest.

After dinner that night, when the dayÂ’s activities had finally began to have its effect on Lady Erendi, she was half dozing in her comfortable spot, with a book opened on her lap, while the five more energetic friends chatted together over a more stimulating game of riddles. As the evening progressed and the party began to grow weary and the conversation began to flag, Anarion decided to arouse his mother. She apologized sincerely for being of little or no company and hoped that everyone had at least enjoyed their dinner. After these uttered effusions, she regretfully retired to her chamber, where all was soon forgotten in the onslaught of that peaceful state of repose.

The party, left entirely to its own devices, was clearly not up to the challenge, as demonstrated by the awkward air that succeeded Lady ErendiÂ’s departure. Melian, as the only one of the party who was independent of any supposed attachment, should have been the first to attempt to dispel the discomfiture; but she was honestly at a loss for words. Thus handicapped, it was not long before the thought of retiring weighed obsessively upon one or two minds.

Lady Arien was the first to voice her intention to retire to her chamber and Nessa was immediately behind. Melian had no choice in the matter and therefore retired with her friends. Lord Anarion and Erchirion stayed behind chatting for some time about nothing they could give an account of; for, while their lips did indeed move, their minds were far from the words opined.

Erchirion repined. He had barely spoken enough to Nessa that day without some interruption of some sort from another. Seeing her again, after several months, was gratifying, but not nearly as much as it would have been if they had been given the opportunity to be alone for a bit. He groaned inwardly. As it was, he could not be sure when next he would be able to visit and on the morrow he and Anarion would depart before the general household was awake.

Lord Anarion, on the other hand, though not yet aware of it, had begun to be subtly influenced by his motherÂ’s opinions of the night before. He had begun to observe Arien more closely, trying to determine the person she now was. Her physical attributes were very pleasing; but then, so were many women of his acquaintance. Beauty was indeed to be desired, but it was not a characteristic that was supremely decisive in his preference. Arien was very beautiful, in his estimation, but it was not enough to justify his preference when there were other qualities wanting. But to be fair to her, he knew that his knowledge of her true self bordered on ignorance and he had settled it in his mind that he would be more open in his assessment of her than he had been at any time before.
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For Amandil, the first three months of recovery were fraught with difficulties. To begin with, Lord CelebornÂ’s personal healer insisted upon a strict diet regiment that necessitated a slow and tedious re-introduction to regular foods, which did not always agree with his weakened stomach. Then there were the nightmares, which suddenly began and intensified during the first week of his sojourn in Lorien. Night after night, week after week, he was beleaguered by the same nightmare, though it was manifested in different forms. Compounded upon these were the frustrations instigated by the ease by which his body became fatigued. It was difficult to be patient; he had been patient for seven years already; now that he was set at liberty, he urgently desired to reclaim his life.

The weeks flew by, however, and in the fifth month he was in a fair way of regaining bodily strength and began to slowly fill out, a little, in all the right places. As a result of his captivity, his hair, which was formerly shoulder length, was now very long and flowing. He had thought once or twice of cutting it, but had eventually decided against it. Instead, he frequently pulled some of it back from his face into a slight ponytail in a style that some of the elves had been used to wear.

Not one to remain idle for long, he had somehow convinced Haldir to take him along on one of his scouting expeditions. This, of course, could not be facilitated unless it met with Lord CelebornÂ’s approval and in order to accomplish this, he had to grow in strength. To this end, he began to accelerate his daily exercises, exerting himself impressively.

One of his favorite things to do, when he could travel that far, was to visit the stream of Nimrodel. There he would listen to the singing of the falls, rest his wearied feet in that purportedly healing stream, and think on pleasanter things in times passed. He had done his lifeÂ’s review many times since his coming to Lorien and thought it no better place to do justice to these reflections. The ill that he had suffered seemed somehow tempered by that woodÂ’s presence and he thought that any other place would have lengthened the days of his recovery.

Besides that, the elves were good company; some tended to be a tad bit too jolly for his particular temperament, but, overall, they were pleasing to his association. Their constant playful sportsmanship also had its merits; by it, he had gained a better grasp of archery. Then there was Haldir, who had volunteered to spar with him daily for as long as he was at home until he was able to use a sword.

As far as Gondor and his duty were concerned, his plans were uncertain. He was determined to execute his foremost duty as a son, and especially so after receiving word from Meneldur, who beseeched his prompt return. He only awaited ElrohirÂ’s arrival in Lorien to again head back northward. Lord Celeborn had protested against this project, knowing the road to recovery that was still ahead for Amandil, but nevertheless submitted, upon reasoning that Elrohir would not be in Lorien for another two months.

The nights in Lorien surpassed AmandilÂ’s expectations in reviving memories passed. The music, the tales, the merriment, all came flooding back to his consciousness. He recalled similar nights in Imladris and on a smaller scale, in Minas Tirith. He had never been, and still was not, an avid partaker; but as long as he could listen and observe, it was sufficient.

It was quite a change to see such bonny faces in the soft glowing lights all around; he was reminded of like faces left behind in Gondor; wherever his eyes drifted, there were the long black tresses and light grey eyes to greet him; he was reminded of the queen, of Melian, of Aredhel. Then he recalled all those who were associated with these three; there was the queen’s young charge, of whom he remembered, had taken a puppyish liking to him; he wondered what had become of her. Then there was Anarion, who was not unlike him, who had become a kind of protégé to him. There was Prince Imrahil and his son, whom he distinctly remembered, as being the very embodiment of wit and charm at its best. All these he remembered and a few more.

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