Ah! I had to split this chapter in two so the ball will be in the next.

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The next morning, while Nessa was being fitted for her gown, AredhelÂ’s maidens attended to her. Arwen and Aredhel were also there, positioned on a cushioned window seat, conversing quietly. It was one of those mornings that promised a glorious day. The sun had risen a few hours before, spreading its magnificent splendor over the gradually waking world. On the fourth floor of the Royal Residence, in a semi-circle shaped, spacious dressing room, it cast its rays through the bare windows, creating lighted and exaggerated shapes on the interior walls. There was little that the current inhabitants of the room could do to impede the distracting glare on the white walls and mirrors within and was therefore reconciled to work in harmony with the sunÂ’s infiltration.

Nessa, who was too absorbed in meditative self-scrutiny to regard this mild nuisance, was standing on a padded stool before a floor length mirror. The unfinished gown draped in delicate folds around her feet. A tuck and a tug here and there, kept her cognizant of the numerous fingers that labored diligently to complete a perfectly tailored gown for the upcoming night of grandeur.

“That gown becomes her splendidly,” Arwen whispered approvingly to Aredhel. “I think I have the perfect accessory to complete her attire for the ball.”

Aredhel’s eyes observed the subject of Arwen’s whispered approbation. The youthful figure had truly developed gracefully over the past several months. She had an expert eye for matching the design of a gown with the contour of the body and she mentally commended herself for the superiority of her tasteful judgment. “I think I would prefer that the train of the skirt be slightly shortened. I would not want her to be plagued with the concern of others treading on its length.”

Arwen agreed thoughtfully. “It certainly will not do for her enjoyment to be hampered by anxiety of any kind.” After a moment’s pause, she added admiringly, “The color sets off her complexion beautifully. We only need to consider what is to be done with her hair.”

“All in good time, my dear. It is too short for the hairstyle I would prefer, but we can still work comfortably with the length that she currently has.” Aredhel arose going to Nessa. “How do you like the gown, my child?”

“I almost cannot recognize myself,” Nessa replied appreciatively. She twisted and turned, looking at her reflection in the mirror, intent on surveying the design of the sides and rear of the gown. “I love it,“ she whispered almost to herself. She was willing to give herself up entirely to the sophisticated hands of the elvish ladies.

“It pleases me to hear that you approve,” Aredhel returned earnestly. Some where in the recesses of her mind, there had dwelt a faint doubt of Nessa’s optimistic reception of the gown. However, the sincere expression of admiration on the young, lovely face conveyed to her more forcefully than her elicited words, that she was indeed pleased with the gown. “Your confidence is paramount for that grand evening and I would like you to savor every moment of it.”

Nessa smiled gratefully. “Then I shall not disappoint you,” she assured Aredhel. She was very appreciative of her blessings to be a part of this second family, as she had so termed it before in her letters to her mother. Through the pleasure of their friendships, her life had been immeasurably touched by their kindness. And though it was never vocalized among them, they were all aware through demonstration and consideration, that love was indeed an indomitable bond that held them together and kept them close.

“Dreaming again?” Aredhel’s voice jolted her from her brief reflection. “Who might the young man be? Erchirion?”

Nessa blushed furiously. She had wondered how long it would be before her companions assigned a value beyond friendship to the decided attentions that Erchirion had bestowed upon her during his recent visit. In truth, there was hardly a day for the duration of his stay that she did not wile away several entertaining hours in his company. He was a well-learned man, with an abundance of idle hours to allocate as he so chose, for as long as he had remained in Minas Tirith. The time spent with him had acquainted her more closely with the methodical and intense side of his character. She had determined that in matters of politics, history and social responsibility, he was as insightful as ever Aragorn and Amandil had a tendency to be, but in all else there was a moderate tolerance for frivolity. In his company, she was entirely at ease. It was simply his way and his charm superbly aided him in his purpose.

Recovering herself quickly, she answered Aredhel directly. “Actually, I was reflecting more on the magnitude of your kindness.” Then she bent from her stance on the stool and affectionately bestowed a kiss on Aredhel’s cheek.

“Well now!” Aredhel returned, “You have succeeded admirably in evading my question.” She helped Nessa down from the stool even as her maidens gathered up the folds of the delicate silken velvet train from the floor. “But I will allow it,” she added considerately.

Nessa allowed it to be so as well. Her thoughts now turned to another difficulty that weighed heavily upon her mind: the art of dancing. Having never done it before, she was apprehensive. Erchirion had already engaged her for two dances and after a period of reproachful reflection, she had gradually abandoned the initial temptation to proffer a slew of excuses on that fateful evening. More influential still, was her certitude that that very act of recreation would secure for her, a completeness to the pleasure of the evening. Undeniably, the possibility of a request from Amandil also bolstered her enthusiasm to seek Melian and ArwenÂ’s instruction. However, she had already checked her hopes regarding that possibility. It would not do to pin her happiness for the night on that sole possibility. What if it never came? What then? For as long as it was in her power, she intended to enjoy the evening to the fullest. She was determined that there was not going to be any dashed hopes for her on that magnificent evening.

“You may disrobe now, my dear,” Aredhel told her dismissively. “With the additional alterations, I do believe that we should be finished with your gown later this week.” Nessa did as she was instructed. Surrounded by the proficient hands of three elvish maidens, she exited the room into an adjoining chamber. Aredhel watched after her with a softened expression on her ageless face. She had grown to love Nessa over the past several months and took a personal interest in her growth.

Arwen, who had maintained her silence during the conversations between Nessa and Aredhel, was still positioned on the window seat. She had heard every word that was spoken but was only troubled by the mention of ErchirionÂ’s name. Yet, it was not Erchirion himself that prompted the ephemeral pang of anxiety. AredhelÂ’s allusion to a romantic attraction between Nessa and Erchirion could not be further from her own surmise. She had noticed, quite by accident, that there seemed to be a growing attachment between Nessa and Amandil. It might have escaped her observation entirely, had she not been thrown together with them a great deal lately before dinner.

If it was not for NessaÂ’s youthful innocence, she was certain that her concern would have been unwarranted. Amandil was a reflection of Aragorn in many ways: a mystery unto himself. A mystery with many layers that often exacted much in comprehension. His taciturn disposition alone, presented a formidable hindrance to better understanding the man. She had already seen the manifestation of perplexity on NessaÂ’s face, more than once before, during times when Amandil was unintentionally aloof. It had been apparent to her then, that Nessa had failed to discern that he was probably pre-occupied with the dayÂ’s challenges and was even then ignorant of the injury he had inflicted by his reserve. Instead, she was convinced that on those occasions, Nessa had retired for the evening with little hope of further understanding his personality.

From what her keen eyes had detected, Arwen could not determine the nature of AmandilÂ’s feelings toward Nessa. That the latter clearly admired the former, she was certain. Amandil, however, was a muddle. He was attentive to Nessa on most occasions, but no one could claim anything more than sincere friendship on his part. His expressions and his actions never once betrayed a confirmation or denial of any romantic inclination toward Nessa. Once or twice, when he had glanced at her companion, she had noticed a hint of admiration within the depths of the intense blue eyes, but at other times, she was left to wonder if that trace of admiration had been a trick of her imagination.

“You are extremely fond of her,” Arwen told Aredhel who was seated again next to her.

“As are you and Melian.”

“True,” Arwen admitted. “I have invited her mother to visit. I hope she will soon honor us with her presence. I think it would do her good to see Nessa now.”

Aredhel smiled. “I too, hope to meet her one day soon.” She had heard so much about Morwen from all three ladies that she felt that in some measure she already knew her. “How is Melian?” she asked Arwen in a voice that conveyed her concern.

The trace of anxiety in Arwen’s eyes intensified. “Last night, she was dispossessed of her recent serenity of mind, but this morning she seems curiously herself.”

“Are you certain?” Aredhel asked. The frown that blanketed her ethereal, ageless face, deepened.

“I cannot be sure. I only spoke to her briefly. She was leaving the house for the Citadel.”

Aredhel nodded. At the picnic, the day before, the brief meeting between Melian and the prince, had entirely escaped her notice. At the time, she had been too engrossed in her attentions to the Gondorian children. It had been such a long time since they were blessed with the youthful and spirited presence of children that the boisterous echoes of the afternoon had been like sweet music to her ears.

“I worry about her. You must see that she speaks to you of her feelings. It would not do for her to internalize her emotions.”

“I cannot force my concern upon her. I will have to be patient and wait until she is ready to disclose her feelings to me.”

“As well you may,” Aredhel said resignedly. “But do not allow her to keep you at suspense too long. I fear for her. Were it not for her reticence on this new love that she has, I would embark on the delicate charge myself. I have yet to hear from her lips of these new sentiments that she bears for the prince.”

“In light of yesterday’s revelation, perhaps it was for the best that she has never mentioned it. ”

“Do you think then that there is no hope for these two?”

Arwen smiled sadly. “What I would not give for some re-assurance. Yet, it did not evade my notice that there was a glimpse of longing in Legolas’ eyes when I inquired if he had already spoken to Melian.”

Aredhel pondered this new observation. “I can only conclude then that some distinct occurrence must have transpired since his departure to produce this end.”

“I cannot fathom its meaning but it is futile for us to conjecture. Despite our concern for Melian, we must be cognizant of his presence within our midst and our discretion must be employed at all times beyond our private quarters.”

“True. We cannot possibly hold the prince responsible for any part of this most unfortunate affair. There were never any promises spoken to Melian and never any intentions declared to any of us.”

“Had it not been for my confidence in his character, surely a feeling of resentment would be, even now, stirred within my breast. Melian’s happiness means a great deal to me.” Arwen made this admission in a solemn tone. A tone that also encompassed a muted concern that currently existed in her own love affair. After a fitful night of sleep, Aragorn had awoken in a grave mood that insinuatingly disturbed her tranquility. She had inquired after his welfare, but he had gently dismissed her solicitude, as needless. She was unaccustomed to the denial of his confidence and it went sorely against the grain. However, she had managed to restrain the urge to engage him further on the subject. Instead, she had made a promise to herself that she would only re-open the subject if his mood perpetuated into the coming days.

Aredhel placed an encouraging hand on Arwen’s shoulders. “When a loved one is in pain, so are we. I would not expect any less emotion from any of us.”

Arwen sighed regretfully. “I must leave you now. Duty cannot be shunned today. Melian is probably wondering what detains me.”

“Have a wonderful day, my dear,” Aredhel told her in parting. “Do not forget that you both have your gown fittings later this afternoon. Nessa and I will be here when the two of you return.”

Arwen nodded. “I will be sure to remind Melian. I will see you later.” She quitted the room then, her mind promptly switching to the business of the day. Mentally, she began categorizing the duties ahead in order of importance. The honorable employment, however, was unsustainable, for, no sooner than she was out in the open air, her mind had reverted back to her husband and companions, whose lives today seemed to be touched by a quiet melancholy. And none of them knew for sure, what Lady Fate had in store for them during the days ahead.
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Later that evening, after the ladies were successfully fitted for their gowns, Melian and Arwen shared an intimate conversation before dinner, in the sitting room on the first floor. The terrace doors were open allowing the distant and mingled hum of the nightlife to drift freely into the room. Aredhel was still above floors delegating alteration instructions to her maidens, Aragorn and Amandil had not yet arrived from the Citadel, and Nessa was outdoors taking a late afternoon stroll.

“Though you have not spoken of it, your eyes tell me sufficiently of your concern,” Melian softly told Arwen.

Arwen made no answer and Melian continued, “I have thought it through.” She took Arwen’s hand and was insensately stroking it. “I think I might have been mistaken about his sentiments toward me. I have no one to blame but myself. I misconstrued what must have been friendliness toward me on his part, for some stronger emotion. I must have erred in my judgment. Now I know that my initial reservations were not unfounded. If I had trusted in my instincts, I might have been spared the…” she paused a moment, unwilling to admit of her feelings, before resolutely continuing, “…the pain attending this new revelation. But it is all too late now. What is done is done.”

Arwen was far from believing MelianÂ’s surmise but she held her tongue. If she credited MelianÂ’s surmise, then surely her own understanding was at fault as well. Even her husband had felt more certain of LegolasÂ’ attraction and was more concerned about the certainty of MelianÂ’s sentiments. No, she could not accept her cousinÂ’s deduction. However, if that explanation had the ability to sustain her fortitude, then she would not discourage its conclusion.

“I am determined that this incident leaves my esteem for him, unchanged. He has done me no wrong and in my heart, I know he is genuinely, a wonderful person. I could not have begun to love him if he was otherwise.”

“Melian, you are such an excellent creature and I love you for it,” Arwen stated passionately. “You invariably find the good in an undesirable situation and magnify its presence. Your beneficence is boundless, even at the expense of your own suffering.”

Melian laughed bitterly. Her vision was blurred. The subject had inspired more emotion than she cared to reveal. A tear slid down her cheek and Arwen gently wiped it away. “You flatter me, dear one,” she told Arwen plaintively. “Last evening, my first reaction was one of acrimony, which threatened to consume my entire soul, had I not kept it in check. He never made any promise to me and I certainly had no right to expect any kindness beyond what he has shown me since his return. No my dear cousin. Had I assumed an armor of resentment, I would be acting against my wisdom. You and I are of a line that has accomplished much and has suffered not a little. Nay, I will conquer this. You must not be anxious on my account. I promise you, I will be my old self soon.”

“I cannot in good faith honor your appeal,” Arwen gently stated. “My anxiety will diminish only when I see that your smile is once again mirrored in your eyes.”

“Then my road to recovery must perforce be rapid. We cannot both be anxious when there is still much to do.” Melian wiped her cheeks free of the tears that had fallen.

“Take as long as you need to heal,” Arwen entreated. “Your full restoration is my foremost desire.” She patted MelianÂ’s hand in reassurance.

The two now fell into a thoughtful silence: the sufferer feeling optimistic about her new resolution and the guardian hoping that the optimistic outlook would endure.
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At the end of the week, the Prince of Mirkwood returned from Ithilien. He was pleased with the information he had acquired, which must have been superb, since in later years the gardens he designed for Faramir would gain renown in Middle-earth. But this new commitment was not the dominant issue that employed his mind. He was concerned, and rightly so, about Melian. Upon his return, he was warmly welcomed and received by all. Most notably, MelianÂ’s kindness toward him was unchanged. He would have thought no further on that score, had it not been for her apparent fear of being left solely in his company. It had occurred once or twice within the past few days and he was convinced that he was not mistaken.

Currently, he was sketching his preliminary designs with minimal success. The library was tranquil and perfectly conducive to concentration, but his thoughts strayed continually. A few months ago, he would never have thought that the situation would be what it was today. Melian was unquestionably the elvish woman he loved, though he dared not dwell on that sentiment. The instant his sense of honor wavered, he knew that she possessed the ability to weaken his resolve into submission, even though she was not yet cognizant of it. But a few moments in her presence had convinced him that he had nothing to fear from that occurrence. She had removed herself so far from that possibility that it almost seemed absurd for him to have entertained any anxiety toward that end at all. ‘It was just as well,’ he thought. He did not know what he would suffer in her continuous company. When they were among their mutual friends, they had little time to converse with each other and even then, it was within the safety of a group setting.

Strangely enough, he had resigned himself to being content with her near proximity. He could still enjoy all the things he loved about her at a distance, though, he missed the infectious laughter that was inspired by some witty comment he made, the cherished conversations about subjects of all nature, and the smiles that conveyed so much of the unspoken to his heart. Those past moments had now increased tenfold in value to him.

The opening of the library door slowly penetrated through his meditations and alerted him to the entrance of another. The dark haired head sent a wave of unexplained disappointment through his consciousness. It was Nessa. She had returned to fetch her books that were still strewn across a corner desk exactly where she had left them. She greeted him warmly, but only stayed as long as was necessary to complete her task. In the next moment, she had quitted the room again.

Legolas sighed deprecatingly. He was discontented by what he perceived to be a brief moment of weakness. What right had he to wish to be graced with her presence? That was the train of his thoughts for some time afterward, when amidst their recrimination, the vision he had longed for, entered. She was searching for Nessa and firmly expected to find her there. Were it not for that conviction, of a surety, she would not have risked the chance of exposing herself to the current undesirable situation: a situation that she had aptly succeeded in avoiding, until now. In all honesty, she would have given much to be anywhere else right then.

“Pardon me, Legolas, but have you seen Nessa?” she asked in a placid voice.

“You arrived a moment too late,” he replied in an equally placid tone. It would be an untruth if he denied that he was not wounded by Melian’s initial response. She had positively started at first sight of him. But doubly injurious still, was the confirmation of his sensibility that he had wounded her, by his reserve toward her, on the day of his return. It was clear to him now that she was under the impression that he cared naught for her. Yet, it would be unfair to her if he attempted to correct her belief. Perhaps it would be easier for her to continue believing in his faithlessness instead of ensnaring her into a drama that was not complicated in and of itself, but rather so because of his unyielding honor.

Melian was on the verge of escaping her distressful situation when Legolas stayed her retreat. “Will you not stay a moment?” he asked genially. He stood holding out a chair to her, which she was very reluctant to take.

Her mind was distracted but her feet carried her unwillingly to the appointed chair. In those brief paces, a flurry of excuses pummeled her mind but never quite connected to her tongue. She sank slowly into the comfortable chair, which felt anything but relaxing right then. Her eyes roamed over the drafts sprawled across the desk though really seeing nothing. Then an inner voice of confidence derided her inane behavior, showing her how ridiculous her fear was. But such is love. It can make the strongest of men into the feeblest, when entangled in the throes of its dominance, and Melian was no different. Her propinquity to Legolas was disconcerting, but she mustered all the apathy there was within her power and commenced a cordial conversation with him, regarding his vision for the success of his recent commitment.

Half way into the conversation, the two realized, though quite independently of each other, that the familiarity between them had vanished. In its place, there was a wall that was as thick as it was wide, which served as a formidable impasse to the restoration of the easy friendship that once existed between them. Now there was a mutual desire to escape: one wishing to relieve her agony of mind, the other wishing for his solitude to ponder this new revelation.

As fate would have it, Arwen entered. Upon her entrance, Melian was abruptly reminded of her former quest. They were looking for Nessa to complete her final fitting. After a brief exchange of greeting between Arwen and the prince, the two ladies quitted the room leaving him to the governance of his thoughts. His attempts to smooth over the subtle estrangement between him and Melian had failed. But, out of all that had transpired in the past hour, there was one thing that he was certain of, and that was the realization that she loved him. Yes, she loved him. His heart had refused to recognize it and his conscience had repressed it, but he could no longer deny its truth. It was distinctly clear to him. Her eyes had revealed that which her lips had not. She loved him.
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The intriguing truth that was revealed in the library was to a lesser extent mirrored on the outdoors. Amandil was seated against a tree trunk, listening assiduously to the sweet voice that was extremely effectual in suppressing the world and its challenges, within his mind. The voice read in Sindarin and was even now reading one of his preferred tales. When chance permitted it, it had become a favorite past time for them to share in their mutual pleasure of literature.

“Well,” Nessa said after ending the tale, “Have I improved since the last time?”

Amandil was his usual imperturbable self. “Are you, by any chance, seeking my compliment?” he asked with a trace of humor in his tone.

Nessa rolled her eyes. “And if I were, what would be your answer?”

“You did an excellent job in pronunciations and a fair job in narration,” he stated simply.

“Coming from you, I feel as though I have improved a great deal,” she said almost heedlessly.

“Am I so strict a judge?” he asked earnestly.

Nessa felt as though his eyes were dissecting her soul. She marveled at their ability to still undo her composure even after they had now become more familiar to her. “May I speak plainly?” she asked tentatively.

“I would not have it any other way,” he returned gallantly.

“You are rather severe, I suppose, in areas where others are more at leisure,” she said cautiously. She paused a moment, trying to gauge his reaction, but as usual, his expression exposed nothing of the inner emotions of the man. His visage was a picture of inscrutability. “You seem to be exceptionally knowledgeable, and that makes you intimidating to most.” Her eyes held his and she softly added, “And your direct sincerity is often startling at times.”

Silence reigned for a while after she had finished speaking and she began to hope that she did not offend him.

“I can allow for the justice of your words. You have spoken truthfully regarding a few of my traits. However, it is now incumbent upon me to ask of you, if you are one of those who are intimidated by my intellect and startled by my honesty.” Her declaration had done little to stir any surprise within him. He was equally aware of his faults, as he was of his strengths. He was a man who was indifferent to others’ perception of his severity and made no excuses for who he was. Although, to his credit, there was also within him a most kind and loving nature which any of his family members and intimate friends would readily attest to.

Nessa grimaced. This was too much revelation too fast. She hesitated; he waited. His eyes sought the truth. Her lips suppressed the truth. The interminable seconds ticked by.

The trickling sound of the water fountain was magnified. The rustling of the branches above grew louder. Nature, which seemed dormant to the two companions but a few moments before, now intruded exasperatingly and appreciatively on her mind and his mind, respectively.

Nessa was ill at ease. She longed to truly understand the remarkable man who sat across from her. She wanted to draw his attention to the times when his gravity discouraged her from seeking his company. That was the confession that she really pined to make, but her tongue refused to divulge those words. His sincerity, though startling at times, was refreshing. She was prudent enough to know that if the truth would act to discompose her spirits, then all she needed to do was avoid its solicitation.

Amandil broke the silence. “I can see that this subject distresses you. We shall speak no more of it, for the moment.”

Nessa was grateful for his consideration, though she clearly understood the hint that the subject was not permanently closed. She had begun to feel as though she had dug a hole out of which there was no escaping. But, once again, he had arisen to the occasion, demonstrating his thoughtfulness and she saw it as an additional testimony to the goodness in his character.

The sound of approaching footsteps on the grass called their attention to another. It was Melian. She had come to whisk Nessa away to her gown fitting.

Amandil watched his companion go with amusing curiosity. Possibly, he could now understand the reason for the former trepidation that once governed her person whenever she was in his presence. Did she not admit as much within the past minutes? He smiled to himself. In some ways, she was still very young. Nevertheless, he enjoyed her company. Romantic aspirations were but a small seed planted in the subconsciousness of his mind and he thought of her only as a valued friend. He liked his life exactly the way it was and he especially enjoyed his freedom. Perhaps his frame of mind was a direct result of his ranger life, having then little that bonded him to any one place, person, or thing.

But, for all his astuteness and vigilance, little did he realize that a growing attraction for her had insinuated itself into his heart and mind. The seed had germinated at unawares and a promising seedling was gradually blossoming in its place, day by day.

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Later that evening, when Aragorn entered his suite, he immediately knew what was coming. The door to the White Room was ajar and a soft light illumined its interior. Despite himself, a shadow of a smile hovered at the corners of his lips. It was now several days since that morning when his wife had inquired after his welfare. He had perceived that she was slightly hurt by his gentle dismissal of her concern, but at the time, he had not felt equal to the disclosure of his feelings. His wife was obviously determined to discover the reason for his recent gravity and was fully prepared to employ the services of the White Room. He sensed that she was already within so he walked over to the door, shedding his slippers, before placing his bare feet on the white-carpeted floor.

It was a small and sparsely arranged room with white cushioned mats on the soft-carpeted floor. The two paintings on the walls were the only other adornments to the room. His eyes rested on his wife, who was seated cross-legged on one of the cushioned mats, clad entirely in white. He slightly bowed his head in greeting to her then gently closed the door behind him.

The White Room had been their joint idea. It was their sanctuary away from the rest of the world. The solitary curtained window partially revealed the midnight blue of the evening sky but locked out all else. Within that white room, time veritably seemed to stand still. Within those walls, they had succeeded in creating a place that afforded a much-needed reprieve from the harrowing duties of the day and the disturbing reflections of the night.

Aragorn sat in silence across from his wife. Without uttering a word, he reached across and enclosed his wifeÂ’s hands in his own callous hands, which told the world of his many storied past, of sword fights and harsh existence. He raised them almost reverently to his lips, showering them with warm kisses.

Arwen felt the thrill of her husbandÂ’s warm lips upon her hands and her anxiety was almost melted away. For five days now, she had endured in silence the hurt she felt from his subtle distance. She respected his individuality as a person, other than in his role as her husband, but she disliked the feeling his detachment had engendered in her heart and desperately sought to understand it.

While her mind was thus engaged, Aragorn was gently caressing her hands. There was nothing unusual that had occurred recently to inspire his unfavorable mood. It was simply the mood of a man who was overwhelmed by the burdens of a vast kingdom. The challenges were continuous, their succession inexorable. As soon as one problem was solved, another replaced it almost immediately. His shoulders felt heavy and his mind was full.

Finally, breaking his silence, he solemnly said to him wife, “I have often wondered if the price we pay for the inheritance of a kingdom is worth the comforts it affords. I look at all those who surround me, and their faces tell of a story that is free from care, free from exacting ambitions, free from vast responsibilities, free from intriguing complications and I almost find myself wishing that our places were exchanged. To abnegate the role of leader into someone else’s hand.” He still held his wife’s hands and he felt her encouraging squeeze. “But then,” he continued, “almost immediately, I plead the forgiveness of my forefathers for shunning the pride of their labors and I remember their struggles to maintain this legacy that has now passed on to me.”

Arwen understood her husband perfectly. The king had not yet relinquished the ranger. How could he? It was the individual he had been for the greater part of his manhood. The ranger longed for his liberty, while the king was bound to the responsibility of revitalizing a declining kingdom.

“I too long for the free and the wild untamed world beyond that is devoid of responsibilities and loads of parchment,” she told him lightly. The latter part of her statement had succeeded in extracting a smile that lit up his handsome face. “But, this is our lot in life. In my own way, I have tried to lessen the external pressures of our public life by creating a home that caters to our comforts, making it easier for us to leave the world behind.”

Aragorn was quick to respond. He raised her hands to his lips, kissing them profusely, while entreating her forgiveness. “Forgive me,” he said passionately. “I can assure you that I am still the happiest man alive in terms of my matrimonial life. Your devotion, your selflessness, your enduring love, has strengthened me through many trials. At the end of the day, my heart is lightened when I remember that within the hour, I would once again have you at my side, sharing in your excellent company. The dreariness of life fades before your smiles. But for you,” he whispered, “but for you, I could not have transitioned so effortlessly into a role so far removed from any other that I have known. There is gratification in the knowledge that I am building a life for you and any children that we might one day have, but at times the task is daunting.”

Arwen smiled knowingly. She reached up her hand, gently tracing his brow. “As I am well aware. Whenever I am thwarted in the achievement of my objectives, I think of you and your enormous share in the complexity of our charge, and I am inspired to tackle them from a different angle. So you see my love, but for you, I might have conceded many times to defeat.”

Aragorn smiled sheepishly. “But we are a fine pair, my dear, to only see each other in our triumphs and defeats.”

Arwen comprehended him and firmly interjected. “But all our efforts directly benefits our people. If we did not place them first in our public aspirations, there would be little need for us to be commiserating within this white room. Our sacrifices are for their prosperity as well as ours. The burden would not be this heavy were it not for the human lives that depended upon our good judgment.” She paused a moment before asking, “Have I your confidence then, to share with me your anxieties whenever they prove overwhelming?”

“You have my word,” he answered solemnly.

Arwen was satisfied. This was her Estel and not the man that others saw. The king, the ranger, and the warrior were forgotten, and the husband, the friend, and the lover sat before her. And oh how she loved them.

“Have you taken dinner?” she asked suddenly.

“I have,” he answered with a trace of exhaustion in his voice. Though he would have never admitted it, he was very tired from presiding over duties since early morning. “Aredhel was waiting for me.”

Arwen felt a pang of guilt. She had been so perturbed by her vacillating emotions that she had forgotten to make arrangements for a late dinner for him.

“Why so grave?” Aragorn inquired gently. In another setting the fleeting look might have eluded his notice, but in the White Room it was clearly represented to him.

As Arwen looked at her husband’s handsome face, imprinted with the labors of the day, she felt forcefully the ungenerous nature of her earlier thoughts. Internally, she berated herself for her inconsideration. “I should have been prepared to receive you,” she whispered softly. “Estel, if you only knew.”

Aragorn gently placed his finger against her lips, gesturing for her to be silent on the subject. “I was first at fault. My silence wounded you,” he said with the utmost tenderness. “I should have spoken to you before of my concerns, but I did not wish to burden you while you were already anxious about Melian and I was not ready to share with you what I believed to be weakness on my part. A man is never comfortable admitting weakness,” he added with a smile. “But now I know it would have served better if I had spoken. It would have spared you the anxiety that it was my intention to avoid.”

It was Arwen’s turn to speak and she did so fervently. “Never, should you desire to spare me anything that influences your happiness. I pledged my word to you on our wedding day that I would endure the good and the not so good with you and I intend on honoring my promise.”

Aragorn pulled her closer to him. He knew she meant every word. The beautiful gray eyes that he loved clearly showed him the passionate love that was roaring within their depths. He was home. She was home to him and he was happy to be home.