**laughs** Slayer, I know what you mean. I am dying to find out what happens in the next chapter. I can honestly say that I am only 10% sure of what will happen. Jeez, a month seems like an awfully long time.
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The Rohan guests spent only a fortnight in Minas Tirith. During that time, the royal residence was vibrant with festivities and the companions utilized that time to be merry. Faramir was grateful for the presence of his lady by his side after their long separation, Eomer was happy in his blooming acquaintance with Lothiriel, Aragorn was gratified for the perpetual connubial bliss in which everyday found him, and the others were content in the amiable companionship of friends. In short, everything seemed right with the world.

But truth be told, there was at least one among these merry companions whose heart was not wholly exultant. For months now Melian had endured intermittent assaults of ambivalent sentiments regarding her affection for the Prince of Mirkwood. At one time she had believed that her doubts were entirely vanquished only to discover that they had re-surfaced after a brief reprieve. Now it was back to rationalizing and conjecturing at night while sleep mercilessly evaded her.

Arwen, whose solicitude was growing daily, longed for her cousinÂ’s confidence. She had discerned an alteration in MelianÂ’s mood though it was scarcely perceptible to others. She had also read the tale of angst in her cousinÂ’s light gray eyes. Even as she sat right now in the music room, her slender fingers moving proficiently along the strings of the golden harp, her mind dwelt on Melian. Aredhel was also there enjoying the melodious music that was a perfect accompaniment to the mellow early evening. She sat erect on one of the white sofas, sewing some draperies for the windows in her room.

“What of Melian and Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood?” Aredhel asked. A smile hovered at the corners of her lips.

Arwen halted her playing for a moment before resuming the melody. “She has never spoken to me of him and I have no desire to force her confidence.” Aredhel’s question had surprised her momentarily. It had never occurred to her that she had been cognizant of the blossoming friendship between Melian and the prince.

“But that is so unlike Melian,” Aredhel continued with a frown. “She always speaks her mind and especially to you, my dear.”

“Yes, but in this case, I sense that there is some hesitation on her part. There have been a few times when I was certain that I would finally be allowed her confidence only to be overthrown at that instant by her sense of privacy.” Arwen paused with an expression of regret on her beautiful face. “It pains me to know that she endures her uncertainties alone.”

“Uncertainties? Do you think she has reservations about the young prince?”

“I cannot be certain but there is no other concern fathomable that would inspire such deep contemplation in solitude. Melian makes light of even the gravest concerns in her aim to uplift.” Arwen shook her head thoughtfully. “No, I have never seen her like this before. I am convinced it concerns Legolas.”

“Well, it will be her first time in dealing with matters of the heart and I would encourage her to thread lightly,” Aredhel returned sagely. For a brief moment her mind had drifted over the waters to Valinor where her heart resided forever in the care of her beloved.

“Yes, her happiness means a great deal to me and I would loathe to witness a dampening of her lively spirits. But Legolas is an honorable elf and even if destiny ordains a separate path for them both, I know it would not be from any misdeed on his part.” Arwen closed her eyes then allowing her fingers the full mastery of the harp strings. The melody was soothing and she readily surrendered to its soporific effect. When it ended, she arose wistfully from her seat. She would have liked to keep playing but dinnertime was fast approaching.

Aredhel too seemed reluctant to depart. It was such a peaceful and calm evening. The terrace doors on the south and north of the room were wide open and the darkening evening skies, sprinkled with stars, were in clear view. The majestic shadow of Mindolluin was an intriguing beauty against the cloudless sky and the brisk air was stimulating.

Later that evening, while Arwen was in AragornÂ’s private study in their suite on the fourth floor, she made the decision to visit Melian in her bedchamber. Aragorn was perusing through the details of several rulings that he had yet to render and Arwen was there to contribute her opinions. It had become customary for them to discuss the affairs of their kingdom at nights when a decision had to be made shortly. Tonight, however, he bade her to visit Melian since she was evidently distracted by her concern for her.

“It might be that this is all in my imagination,” she told Aragorn who was sitting erect, his elbows on the spacious desk with his hands clasp together under his chin. Arwen was standing near a tall glass window looking out into the night. Aragorn sighed. He was weary from the long hours worked during the day and rest would be most welcomed right then. However, he shook off the lethargic feeling that was beginning to take possession of his limbs and arose going to his wife. She still stood facing the window and he slipped his strong arms around her waist pulling her to him. The sweet fragrance of her long black tresses filled his nostrils and he could not resist the temptation to bury his face in them. Arwen chuckled lightly. “Well, do you think it is all in my imagination?”

Aragorn was now nuzzling her ears. She turned around to face him questioningly. Instead, he began to shower her with kisses on her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, and her lips. It was not that he was unconcerned but the few hours he had to dedicate to this aspect of his life were wrapped in contemplation of his beloved wife. Those precious hours, in which they could forget for a while the responsibilities that exacted so much of their time, meant a great deal to him.

Arwen gently eased herself from his embrace. “I must speak to Melian,” she pleaded gently. “I promise I will not stay long.”

Aragorn laughed. He encircled her in his arms, touched his forehead to hers and amusingly asked, “Have you ever known me to be anything other than a patient man? Take as long as you need with Melian. I still have a great deal to accomplish before retiring for the night.” He bent and gently kissed her on her lips, then her throat, then back to her lips until laughing Arwen gently extracted herself from his embrace.

“As I mentioned before, I will return as soon as I can.” She paused at the threshold throwing him an amusing glance before closing the door behind her. Aragorn sat for a while at his desk oblivious to the papers that still awaited his attention. A smile hovered at the corners of his lips in memory of the past few minutes. It was some time before he settled down to his tasks and that was only because he reasoned that the sooner he finished, the earlier he could retire for the night.

Meanwhile, Arwen went down to the third floor passing the music room, where musical notes drifted into the hallways. She promised herself that she would return to partaking in the evening activities as soon as time allowed it. It was so moving to hear the melodies that were so effectual in stimulating memories of the Hall of Fire in Imladris. Through the open doors, she had a perfect view of Aredhel who was conversing with some of the other elvish ladies. She halted for a brief instant, indulging in the poignancy of the moment before gliding past the door in the direction of MelianÂ’s bedchamber. She halted briefly outside NessaÂ’s door but the silence convinced her that she was probably already in the Land of Nod. She continued down the spacious hall to MelianÂ’s door and knocked gently. A muffled voice bade her to enter.

Melian was already dressed in her nightclothes. The long white gown was covered by a matching robe, which she had adorned upon the announcement of a visitor. She was seated before her mirror and one of her maidens was brushing her long brown hair. Upon seeing Arwen, she dismissed her maiden.

“May I?” Arwen asked her indicating to the brush. Melian gave it to her and she began brushing the dark brown tresses. “Remember when we use to take turns brushing each other’s hair just before we retired for the night in Caras Galadhon?”

Melian chuckled. “Those were great times. “ She was surprised to see Arwen but not overly so. For the past couple weeks she had sensed Arwen’s scrutiny and guarded concern.

“All those hours we wasted in attempting to get that shine in our hair like Grandmother’s. What did Grandfather use to tell us?”

Melian smiled. “We could brush our hair from then until the end of Arda and we still would fail in our attempts to capture a shine of similar beauty to that of his wife’s lovely hair.”

Arwen laughed lightly. Just for a moment it felt like a finger had pressed the fresh wound of their recent parting. There were still times when she thought she would go insane with sorrow but the memories provided sufficient solace to see her through. The words escaped her lips when she whispered plaintively, “I really do miss them.”

Melian reached up and gently squeezed her hand in commiseration. ArwenÂ’s show of frailty had softened her resolve of privacy and before a couple more minutes had passed, she opened up to Arwen about her new born sentiments for Legolas.

“What is it that you fear most from these new feelings?” Arwen inquired. She had listened to her cousin attentively, hoping to be able to ease her anxiety in anyway possible.

Melian was thoughtful. “Their power to affect my happiness; the growing incontinence that governs my moods.” She sighed. “I am so accustomed to being in control of my thoughts. Now, without any warning, thoughts of varying degrees abruptly intrude upon my consciousness. I have never felt this unbalanced in all my life.”

Arwen smiled. The feeling was indeed disruptive in the initial onset. They were so innately masters of their minds that it was disconcerting at first to allow the initial thoughts of love to reign freely. “I understand you perfectly,” she gently told Melian. “It took almost thirty years for me to surrender to the will of my heart. But after my reservations were past, to this day, it has been the best feeling I have ever experienced.”

Melian smile. “I think in some ways I now understand that emotion. At times I feel it fervently, but then almost suddenly, caution dominates and nullifies the sensation.”

“Ah! Yes, caution. It is always the best advisor when doubts exist. I assume that you and Legolas have never spoken of your growing attraction?”

Melian nodded. That last morning in Edoras was vividly imprinted on her memory. His last words of farewell to her, the gentle touch of his warm lips on her hand, and his expressed hope of returning to Minas Tirith within a few short months had collectively worked to reassure her. Yet, at times she wondered if she was overrating his intentions. “At times his feelings seem strongly implied by his actions but they have never been asserted.”

“What about you? Does he understand your feelings?”

Melian was quiet. She was searching her memory. “I cannot be certain.” She turned to Arwen. “Perhaps I am overreacting but sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling as if it is a presentiment of some kind.”

For a moment, just a slight one, Arwen’s lips tightened. Foresight is given to the Eldar in many things not far off, and seldom of joy. She left off brushing Melian’s hair and took a seat next to her on the cushioned bench. “From everything you have told me, there is absolutely nothing we are certain of except your budding love for Legolas. Of a future with him, you are in doubt. But, since you will never be sure until he returns, I entreat you to lay aside your uncertainties and resume that happy cheer that is so second nature to you.” She placed an arm around Melian’s shoulders, hugging her close to her side. “After all, we do have a ball to organize and it will be the first in Minas Tirith of this magnitude after countless years.”

Melian smiled at the suggestion. Planning for a ball would be a welcomed distraction for her and she quickly warmed to the idea. “I think you might be right. I would love to get started on the preparations. I ask only that you spare me the opportunity of working with Avallon. The two of us together are like oil and water. I groan at the very thought of enduring even a few minutes of his company.”

Arwen laughed heartily. “I have no intentions of entrusting that formidable task to anyone but myself. I have already informed him of my ideas for the event and he was very respectful of them. Though, I must say, that I have left most of the plans for the dinner entirely up to his ingenuity as a consummate culinary artist.”

Melian rolled her eyes. “It is just as well that you did. His talents are indeed unrivaled by any that I have experienced. It is unfortunate that his imperious attitude always succeeds in freezing the compliments longing to escape my tongue.”

Arwen chuckled. “With all his eccentricities, he is still dear to me. I have known him all my life.” She rose from her seat. “I must leave you now. Estel awaits me. Tomorrow we can begin our detailed planning of the ball. We have two months at least to work with.” She looked at Melian earnestly. “Promise me you will try to get a little rest.” Melian nodded her head in acquiescence. “You need to trust in your judgment. He is an honorable elf and he deserves more credit than you are currently giving him. If fate is desirous of your unity, it will happen whether sooner or later.” She bent to kiss Melian atop her head. “Good night.” Melian reached up her arms and hugged her before bidding her a pleasant night.

After Arwen left, she removed her light robe and crawled between the covers of her bed. The terrace doors were wide open and the cool night air felt wonderful. She thought about what Arwen had said and her doubts began to wan. Indeed the future held no certainties and it was futile to worry over the unknown. She would just have to trust in her strength to face the unexpected in this new journey of love. She was comparatively relaxed now and the many sleepless nights began to take its toll. It did not take her long to drift into a peaceful sleep so unlike that in recent months.

On the fourth floor, Arwen had returned to the royal suite to discover that Aragorn had already retired. Passing through the private sitting room, she silently pulled open the double doors to their bedroom. A blast of cool air greeted her. Aragorn must have thrown open the wide terrace doors to allow the cool air to circulate the spacious room. The reflection of the elegant wall lighting threw a shiny and distorted shadow on the marble floors. She looked to the left where a substantially sized bed along with two matching night tables was the sole furniture on an elevated expanse of floor. Three wide circular steps provided access to the inviting bed and a light beige drapery, that covered the width of the elevated expanse, was elegantly tied to each side of the wall to lend some privacy to the interior section. Through the drapery, Arwen could see that her husband was deep in slumber among the numerous pillows. The sound of his even breathing also confirmed her surmise. With a brief sigh, she walked forward to the balcony. It was perhaps the largest in the entire mansion. There were several beautiful potted plants on either side of the doors. The sweet aroma from these plants permeated the immediate atmosphere. Arwen inhaled deeply enjoying the pleasant fragrance. She stood with her hands resting on the cold marble barrier of the terrace looking over into the gloom beyond. The light from the silvery moon faintly illuminated the gardens below. Nature seemed supremely serene at that time of the night. Occasionally, the sound of distant laughter and music would be borne to her on the invisible wings of the air.

Suddenly, her keen senses alerted her to the presence of another. Aragorn must have awoken from his slumber. His firm arms were already encircled around her waist and he whispered softly into her ear. “May I have the honor of sharing in your thought?”

Arwen leaned her head back on his chest. “I was just marveling in the beauty of the night.” She turned around to face him. From the light that filtered out from the bedroom, she could discern the twinkle in his light gray eyes. She reached up gently touching the face that she so dearly loved. In a trice, the good-humored twinkle was replaced by a warm and passionate ardor. He began to shower her with kisses and she responded by yielding to his loving embrace. Indeed moments like those were the happiest in her marital life and that was saying a lot since she valued every moment of their shared life.

During the next few weeks, the days were compact with preparations for the ball. For the most part, the ladies only oversaw the designs and arrangements. The kingdom duties took first priority hence Aredhel was left to perform much of the organization and coordination of activities. On a day when there was much to be celebrated in acknowledgement of small triumphs, the intimate circle of friends decided to picnic in the exquisitely designed gardens in the rear of the mansion. The skirmishes that were reported several weeks earlier were now quenched and there was a positive sign of progress toward an enduring peace. In light of that optimistic news coupled with a thirst for gaiety, Melian had volunteered an impromptu picnic and the others had conceded to her beguiling persuasion. Of late, their leisure time was seriously curtailed by responsibilities. MelianÂ’s idea was the closest thing to merriment they had experienced in recent times.

For the small outing, they chose an area on the lawn, which was sheltered by a canopy of tall trees. Blankets were sprawled over the grass and several feet were unshod. They had just finished eating and many sighed in contentment. The afternoon breeze felt soothing and the day could not be any fairer. The sky was cloudless and the sun blazed in all its glory. After a couple renditions on a musical harp, by compliments of one of Arwen’s maidens, the companions soon fell into light desultory conversation. The relaxation of the afternoon was taking effect. Their moods were one of ease. That is, until Melian suggested an afternoon of archery in any upcoming day of their choice. In the spirit of competition, most of the companions readily agreed to her proposal. Nessa, however, was hesitant. She had seen Arwen and Melian before in a game of archery and was quite impressed. She did not fear the friendly competition but it was now seven months since she last held a bow or arrow and the memory was still distressing. She had never told the others about the tragedy in which she had had a prominent hand. She was certain that the king was knowledgeable of her culpability since once before while she had observed the elvish ladies at the game he had markedly said to her, “Give it time. Before long, it will pass.” His words had worked like a balm to her aching thoughts but she still had not partaken of the game as yet.

In the late afternoon of the following day, Nessa decided to confront the shadows of her past. With the assistance of one of the servants, the target board was brought out for her practice. As if in sympathy for her weakness, the servant preemptively placed the target board at only ten paces. She had initially thought of protesting but thought better of it. The strength in her arm had indeed considerably weakened from the almost sedentary life she now lived. Several attempts at striking the bullÂ’s-eye eroded her confidence but did little to alter her determination. She was convinced with practice, her aim would improve and her confidence will return perforce. Hence, she practiced diligently for half of an hour, with an attitude alternating between frustration and patience. She had not realized that for several minutes, a tall personage, who had emerged from the royal residence, was even now observing her. It was only when she heard the footsteps on the grass that she became aware of company.

“May I humbly offer a word of advice?” Amandil asked her after he had greeted her.

Nessa smiled. “Not before I first acknowledge to you that I am aware that my skill is lacking.” In truth she was mortified by the opportunity he had to witness her pathetic attempts to narrow her strike near the bull’s eye. How long he had been standing there, of that she was uncertain. But certain it was that he had plainly observed enough to contribute his opinion to her shortcomings.

“Your form is good but you need to work more on your aim and patience.” He stepped forward taking an arrow and Nessa handed the bow to him. He expertly placed the arrow between the string and the next it was perfectly imbedded in the center bull’s-eye.

“Your aim is really good,” Nessa told him.

“It comes from countless years of practice though I must say that the distance is not nearly as challenging as it should be for me to claim the praise of a good shot. I will admit that there is some difficulty when the board is removed beyond a specified distance. But, enough of that, you must try again.”

He handed the bow to her and she carefully placed an arrow within the string. Her hands were unsteady and Amandil requested her permission to provide his aid. She assented and he assisted her by first steadying her hand then perfecting her aim. The released arrow was still far from the bullÂ’s-eye but it was an improvement on her previous attempts. Five more aims later she was nearing the bullÂ’s-eye. He had given her some tips, which worked really well for her.

It was growing too dark for her to continue practicing so she decided to defer its continuance to the following afternoon. Amandil invited her to wile away the hour before dinner on the portico that led to the rear entrance where outdoor chairs were arranged for those leisurely inclined. There they engaged in light chatter about archery. Before long, Nessa was amazed to hear her own voice relaying to him the tragic event that had occurred back in her village. While he listened to her, his deep blue eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts. For a while, after she had finished her tale, there was a prolonged silence during which she berated herself for revealing too much too quickly. Did she by telling him her tale betray to him the impetuous and imprudent person she was back then? So it was that she judged of herself, never considering that his silence might have been due to his wish to give her time to regain control over her emotions. She had spoken with such remorse and melancholy that his compassion was stirred. From all that she had said, he realized that the only reason she was now in Minas Tirith was because of that tragic accident. He had no doubt that it had perhaps set in motion those deep reflections that were usually experienced by those whose lives were closely touched by ill-fortune.

Amandil had his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his slender fingers were intertwined. “Give it time and you will see that the pain of the memory will lessen,” he said after a while. “I am sure that your mother will be proud of the person you are today.”

Nessa sadly smiled. “Yes, I am sure she will be.” They sat once more in silence and Nessa wondered if she would ever really get a chance to know him. He never spoke of himself and she still knew very little about him. She knew that he had an older brother from snatches of conversations that were exchanged between Arwen and Melian at one time when she had gone over to the Citadel to volunteer her services. Other than that tidbit of information, there was nothing more that she knew of his relations.

Amandil, on the other hand, had his earlier suspicions confirmed. From the moment when he first saw her, he had perceived that she was unsettled. What a contrast it was to the way she seemed now. There was now thought in her gaze and logic in her speech.

Her voice interrupted his reflections. “I hope to see my mother soon. She has promised to visit after the New Year.” She was pining to ask him about his relations and decided to do just that. “What about you? Have you any family?”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Though she had tried to disguise the curiosity in her tone, his keen ears had detected it. “Both my parents live in the north along with my older brother, Meneldur.” As if in after thought, he added, “Is there anything else that the fair lady desires to know?”

Nessa was mortified. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.”

Amandil chuckled. “There is nothing to forgive. I am at your service. Whatever you wish to know of me, just ask and I will answer to the best of my ability.”

Nessa was surprised by his offer. Fortunately, his laughter had worked to ease her embarrassment and she was perfectly ready to capitalize on his application. She bombarded him with questions of his ranger life and he in turn obliged her with several stories of his life in the wild. She loved his honesty. His stories were absolutely free from embellishment to the point where he even told her of times in which he had experienced fear. By the time he had finished the tales of his perilous journeys her admiration for him had grown significantly.

“It must have taken a lot of courage during your first years as a Ranger.”

Amandil nodded. He was seeing his life, as it was twenty years before. “What can I say? I was prepared for the danger but not for the hardships of sleeping outdoor and eating exotic meats. My stomach protests in memory of that time.” He turned his eyes on Nessa and there was a twinkle of humor evident in their depths. “It took me a year to grow accustom to my new diet.”

Nessa was laughing heartily. She could clearly envision the torture he must have endured when as a young man he was compelled to eat unpalatable meats in order to maintain his strength while living in the wild.

“The fair lady laughs at my expense,” Amandil interposed. He watched as tears streamed down her cheeks from her incessant laughter and before long he began to laugh.

“What is so amusing?” came another voice from the rear door of the mansion. The two companions looked up to see two pairs of eyes peering out unto the portico. It was fairly dark now and the outdoor torches had not been lighted as yet.

“I was entertaining her with stories of my experience in the wild and our exotic diet.” Amandil told Aragorn and Arwen as the two exited the mansion unto the portico.

Aragorn was amused. It was he who had spoken from the door and he now joined in on the conversation. “We should be appreciative that we can now eat all that is delightful.” He broke off with a chuckle.

“I remember on our return to our village, Halbarad and I use to be extremely grateful for some of his mother’s cooking even though we had very little appreciation for it before we went into the wild.”

“Yes,” Aragorn averred. “I have tasted of her cooking and would have been otherwise unfulfilled if it had not been for the hardships of the wild. She had a noble heart though and her attentions to our comforts during visits were pleasing.”

“There you are,” issued another voice. It was Melian. “The servants are ready to serve dinner and Aredhel awaits your presence.” She seemed so much more relaxed now. Her smile was once again reflected in her eyes and her beauty was more radiant than it had been these past few months.

The companions rose reluctantly for they were enjoying the evening air but the heavenly aroma of freshly baked pastries effectively quickened their steps. The conversation soon turned to the succulent dishes that Avallon had in store for them that night as evidenced by the delicious aroma that rapidly assailed their senses.

The latter part of February was crammed with intensified arrangements for the New YearÂ’s Eve ball. Avallon had already determined the four courses that he intended to serve, Aredhel had already formulated the floral design for the reception rooms in the mansion that would be utilized during the ball, arrangements for musical entertainment was duly confirmed and invitation acceptances arrived daily. The ladies needed only to decide upon their attire for that highly anticipated evening. And yes, it took an entire week of rummaging through abundant wardrobes before Aredhel suggested new gowns for everyone. The ladies readily concurred with her idea and in no time at all their maidens were busy with their new designs.

Several weeks before the ball, Aragorn received word from Legolas informing him to expect his arrival within a fortnight. He intended to bring a friend with him to the ball and hoped that Aragorn would welcome his friend for several weeks. To this Aragorn speedily sent a missive stating that any friend of his would be most welcomed in his household. Later that evening, he related the strange news to his wife who thought there was little mystery in LegolasÂ’ desire to bring a friend with him.

“This mansion is large. There are many empty chambers on this floor as well as the third floor. His friend will be most welcomed here.” She turned suddenly to her husband. “Does Melian know of this news?”

Aragorn nodded. “I have not mentioned it to her but perhaps Aredhel has. I had to inform her so that she could order the preparation of two bedchambers.”

Arwen left off reading her book. She was sitting up in bed, the bolsters supporting her form. Aragorn sat on his side of the bed, removing his slippers. The marble floor was cold to their feet and a fluffy white rug was placed on either side of the bed to protect their feet from the stark cold surface. “I must remember to inform Melian of his expected arrival.” She looked at her husband. “ Why do you smile like that?”

He did not answer. Instead, he slipped between the sheets resting his hands behind his head, with the pillows supporting them. Arwen placed her book on the night table and slipped unto her side with her elbow supporting her head. “Well, what prompted that mischievous smile?” she asked him.

Aragorn smiled. “Well my dear, I was just thinking how much I pity Legolas for the scrutiny he is about to endure. I can only imagine how trapped he will begin to feel after he becomes aware of the hopes that are riding on his every action.” He did not see it coming when in a trice Arwen gripped one of the light pillows and quickly smothered his wretched smile. He was stronger than her though and he quickly freed himself from her pinion. “What, perfidy on the part of my beloved wife? Who would have thought?” he gently teased. She was now pinioned under his weight and he was laughing at her helplessness. “How should I punish you?” he teased. He nuzzled her ear and she began to laugh. “This is certainly not the punishment I intended.” Through half open eyelashes, he gazed down at her. The voluminous black tresses were spread over the white pillows creating a deep contrast. Her lips were slightly apart with the remnants of laughter dissipating. Her graceful throat, her exquisite face, her light gray eyes still held the ability to accelerate his pulse.

“What are you thinking?” Arwen whispered softly. She reached up to gently caress his face.

“That I must be the happiest man that lives.”

“Then that must make me the happiest woman alive.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he returned softly. Then ever so slowly, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers in one passionate and maddening kiss.

The next week passed by swiftly although to Melian it had seemed to drag by slowly. Arwen had related to her the information contained in LegolasÂ’ missive to Aragorn and his arrival was expected any day now. In the meantime, there were still lots to keep her mind occupied. Arwen had decided that she would like to hold a picnic for the servants and their families in appreciation of their services. It was rather impromptu so the time to plan it was confined to a few days. Fortunately, they had sufficient hands to guarantee its success. Avallon was the first to be notified in consideration of his rigid law of advanced notification. He did complain about the few days notice but only for a little while. The other arrangements were left entirely up to the four ladies and they were able to meet their deadline.

On the day of the picnic, the Prince of Mirkwood arrived. However, it was not until late afternoon that he made an appearance at the royal residence. Faramir, Amandil and Aragorn, who were busy working in the Citadel all day, accompanied him. There were few servants within so Aragorn guided him to his bedchamber on the third floor, which was across from AmandilÂ’s chamber. The mansion was silent except for an occasional sound of distant footsteps on the marble floors. Faramir and Amandil must have decided to join the gathering outdoors for there was no sign of them on the first floor.

“I did not get a chance to inquire of your journey here,” Aragorn told him. “What news of lands abroad?”

“My journey was peaceful for the most part. For now the lands and villages seem unmolested by Orc raids. My father, Lord Celeborn and the Lady of the Golden Wood have worked wonders with Dol Guldur and the surrounding woods. How fares the former Lady of Imladris and of Lorien?”

“She is very well, thank you. She is adjusting quite well to her new life here in Minas Tirith,” he said earnestly.

“Good. The Lady of the Golden Wood misses her terribly. I have had the pleasure of meeting her once or twice since our parting at Isengard.” He paused and a fleeting look of torment was visible in his eyes. Of this, Aragorn was oblivious. He was remembering his parting with Galadriel at the Fords of Isen. “How is the Lady Melian?”

Aragorn was jolted from his reflections by Legolas’ inquiry. “You can see for yourself shortly, my friend.”

Legolas nodded. “I cannot stay long though. I have committed my services to Faramir in designing the gardens for his new home. I shall return with him on his departure for the House of the Stewards.”

Aragorn was a little surprised but like most men he gave it no further thought. “At least you can determine for yourself that the fair lady has fared well over these past few months.”

Legolas made no answer. There was a strange emotion in his eyes. It almost looked like one of regret. He followed Aragorn down the quiet hallways where the sound of mingled chatter and music came more distinctly to their ears. As soon as they exited unto the portico, his eyes rapidly searched the small gathering. He was certain he would notice her anywhere. Sure enough, there she stood conversing amiably with the Prince of Ithilien. She was not yet aware of his scrutiny and he took the opportunity to absorb her beauty. The long silky brown hair was loose down her back. Her slender fingers wrestled with the wind to keep her hair from her eyes. The perfect skin, the brilliant eyes, the graceful throat, the lovely face, was more beautiful than he remembered. For just a moment, he closed his eyes. Here was a woman on whom he had attached all his hopes for a soul mate several months before, who was now unattainable through his own unyielding sense of honor.

He followed Aragorn down the steps and unto the lawn. His eyes never faltered from their purpose and very soon he was near her. He could hear the laughter that was so potent in its ability to gladden his heart and he could see the eyes that were so overflowing with the joy of living. She had not seen him until he was almost near her and he could perceive in her reaction that she was happy to see him. It was not overt, but the keenest eye would not be mistaken.

“We meet again. I trust that all is well with you?” Legolas asked her in greeting.

“All is well, my lord. How was your journey?” Melian could do naught to reduce the acceleration of her heartbeat. She was thankful for Faramir’s presence since it added, in some measure, to her comfort.

“Innocent of hassles and grievances but thank you for asking.” He held her gaze for a moment longer before he pleaded the need to greet his hostess. Aragorn had wandered off in search of his wife and were now assisting her and Aredhel in entertaining the children with stories. “Seek me out when you are ready to leave,” he told Faramir before turning to leave. “Until another time, fair lady,” he placidly said to Melian before raising her hand, barely touching it against his lips.

Melian’s disappointment was profound but she skillfully mastered its manifestation. It was not even until a few minutes had past before she remembered his words to Faramir. “What did the prince mean by you summoning him at the time of your departure?”

“Ah! He has offered his expertise in designing the gardens for my new home in Ithilien. We ride tomorrow for Ithilien so that he could better grasp the layout of the land.”

“But he has only just arrived,” Melian returned in a voice that betrayed little of the inner turmoil of her thoughts.

“I offered to wait until a later time this week but he insisted that it would not inconvenience him.”

What could this mean? That was the question that raged in MelianÂ’s mind. None of this was apparent to Faramir. So good was she at masking her feelings that even the shine in her smile was undiminished. Only her eyes revealed her anxiety.

For an hour that felt like an eternity, she made small talk with Faramir, though really wishing for the privacy of her room. Her eyes searched for Arwen who was still engaged in entertaining the children. Aragorn was seated beside his wife on the grass while Legolas stood close by. Not once did he look in her direction. When the story telling was ended, Arwen came over to join them.

“Legolas tells me that he rides with you tomorrow to Ithilien,” Arwen told Faramir.

“Through no fault of mine, my lady,” he tendered. “As I have had the privilege of explaining to Melian, I encouraged him to defer his trip until later this week.”

“Well, the sooner he renders his services to you, the sooner we will have him back in Minas Tirith,” she returned lightly, hoping to remedy the instance of anxiety she detected in Melian’s eyes.

“I would not wish it any other way, my lady,” Faramir rejoined amusingly. “I must leave you now. Our trip is an early start and we should be gone several days.”

“Then a safe trip to you and your companion,” Arwen returned.

He thanked her for her solicitude then departed to fetch his travel companion. Legolas had been patiently awaiting Faramir’s summons and he welcomed the opportunity to finally depart with him. He would return later that evening, but by then he expected the place would be peaceful. He surreptitiously glanced over at Melian whose back was turned to him. For a moment, and it was only a slight one, he felt an aching pang, which was abruptly ended by the force of his will. “This will not be easy,” he thought to himself as he unconsciously followed Faramir.

Melian never turned to watch the hope, that she had grown so use to, depart the gardens. It seemed to her that it had already wilted more than an hour before. She felt ArwenÂ’s hand on hers and she allowed it to interlace with hers. The clasp was firm and she literally drew strength from her cousinÂ’s re-assuring grasp. Somehow she knew that whatever occurred in the days ahead, here was someone from whom she could draw her strength when the will was defeated.