Guys, sorry for the late update. If I didn’t stop editing, the delay would be even longer.

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It was customary that at least once per year the king betook himself to various lands in his realm to see first hand how his servants were engaged. The time now fell due for this purpose and a fortnight after his dinner party he was set to depart with his knights for an absence of two months.

The Prince of Mirkwood was yet in Minas Tirith. He had requested and was granted a part in the kingÂ’s delegation, which would eventually terminate in the land of Rohan, for a time. There he and Aragorn intended to ride to the Glittering Caves to fetch Gimli, who was to reside again in Minas Tirith until the prince fulfilled his nuptials.

A week yesterday marked the ladiesÂ’ return to Gondor. Since then, because of their duties, they were hardly to be found at home. Likewise, Queen Evenstar was often from home and closeted with the king and his steward, who was to abide in the city during the kingÂ’s absence.

On the afternoon before the kingÂ’s departure, Melian was in the Citadel patiently awaiting NessaÂ’s return from an excursion abroad in the city.

“I thought it was impossible for you to sing where all is stone and marble,” teased Nessa as she entered the room; Melian had been softly singing to herself as she sat writing.

Melian chuckled. She was still focused on her writing when she said, “It is true that my heart overflows with song when I walk among the birches, but one need not be there to remember the joy that they impart.”

“Melian, have you daydreamed the afternoon away?” Nessa lightly scolded.

Melian laughed merrily. “I suppose that would be awful of me,” she acknowledged, “but no, I did no such thing. I am happy to report that I have been quite useful this afternoon. Why, I have written at least a half dozen letters of refusal on Arwen’s behalf.” She laid her feather pen on the desk and lazily rested her cheek against the palm of her bent hand. “But why do you look at me like that? It is a delicate business to word such things and very tiresome too.”

Nessa’s grin widened. “So, tell me, who should we rely upon next to be offended?” She poured herself a glass of water from a jug that was set aside for them and replenished throughout the day. “Lady Golwen still passes me with a very stiff nod. Can you believe it? It has been three months already.”

“I can and do believe it,” Melian gingerly replied. “It diverts me.” She smiled wickedly. “But how did you do today? Had you any success?”

Nessa sighed heavily. She had spent a significant part of her day visiting with various noble women who were assigned to different areas of the city. These noblewomen had volunteered their time and services to the Queen’s educational plan, which she had later committed to Nessa’s oversight. The plan dealt solely with children who were orphaned by reason of the Great War and children whose pecuniary situation was destitute and consequently, their education. She was also laboring under the ill effects of sleep deprivation, owing to dreams that had habitually begun to beset her sleep. “Some success in part, in that I have accomplished what I set out to do; but there are problems, as there ever will be, I suppose.”

“In some areas, the plan works fine, though it is not without its encumbrances,” Nessa explained. “But in other areas, the challenges are engrossing; the existing inconsistencies harm our progress and the disagreements among the nobles further exacerbate the situation. I do not know whether I feel more like crying or laughing,” she added in frustration.

“Laugh to your heartÂ’s content,” Melian replied restlessly; with her free hand she twirled a tiny bottle of sand – normally used to expedite the drying of ink on parchment – between her fingers. “It would do us both good.”

“Truly it would,” Nessa gravely rejoined, “but my lips protest.” Her face was a brooding picture. “I have deceived myself into thinking that all would be well. I did not anticipate these problems; or rather, I did not anticipate these dissensions and petty squabbles among the nobles. Everyone wants to do things in her own way; but I must insist upon some degree of uniformity or else it would be chaos.”

Melian told her that she supported her in this opinion. “It is essential that you uphold your authority over this situation,” she adjured.

Nessa was pensive. “Do you know, Melian, I am often persuaded that half these problems would not arise if I was regarded more seriously. My age does me no favor in these matters.” She shook her head woefully. “And the pride of these women is not to be dismissed. When you are with me, I am easier; yet, I would not encourage it; this is my test.” Her tone darkened gloomily. “And there are times, I assure you, when I do feel my infirmities; Lady Lalaith, I believe, takes pleasure in promoting them before me. She does it so eloquently too that I can hardly accuse her of the slightest ill will towards me.” She frowned. “Not that I would mention it openly; rather, at least in knowing her true mind towards me, my fortitude would be strengthened and my feelings prepared.”

“Make no friend of these ladies,” Melian advocated, “if it inhibits your ability to work through them to achieve your ends. And do not be averse to spurning their services if they do no honor to your leadership. It might seem a harsh thing to do, but recall to your memory that it has been done before. This counsel should not be new to you. All this Arwen has told you. Did she not forewarn you of these things?”

“Yes,” Nessa mourned, “but it was a difficult admonition to hear, I admit. It is so much better to be liked than disliked.”

Melian demurred. “Think of it, Nessa, you would not be bound by the ridiculous expectations that others have of you.” Nessa looked at her friend strangely; but then she saw that Melian suppressed a chuckle. “I do not mean to make light of your concern, but there is some truth in what I say. Besides, it is generally rare that a leader is beloved by all that is subject to him. Think of yourself no differently.”

“Thank you, dear Melian, for your kind consolation,” Nessa replied, sarcastically and with a roll of her eyes, “there are hardly enough words at my disposal to intimate the depth of my gratitude. Cutting words could have had no lesser effect. When next I find myself hated, I shall think on these, your words of comfort.” The two looked at each other and began to laugh.

After they had done laughing, Melian sincerely exhorted, “You must show a strong hand and a willingness to put away those from you whose actions subvert your authority. And to the others, you must draw their attentions to the necessary evil that must proceed from the harm that their dissensions create at the expense of the children. These are the future of Gondor and it is they that will carry the renown of this great country into posterity.”

Nessa listened assiduously. She thought back to a time when the children had been the genuine focus of their collective efforts. Their helpersÂ’ ambitions then had been purely magnanimous and demonstrated regularly by their benevolent sacrifices. But time had so changed them that their pride eclipsed every good intention.

Nessa was resigned to give up her perturbation for the day. She was exhausted and more than ready to return home to rest before dinner. Melian agreed to join her and the two passed from the Citadel to the courtyard where the White Tree of Gondor, heavily laden with blossoms, was guarded day and night by the Guards of the Tower.

Arriving at the gates of the royal manor, they were again greeted by the sight of two silent guards dressed in the kingÂ’s livery. Passing into the grounds before the royal manor, a faint melody drifted to them. Beyond the hedgerow, someone was singing in the elven tongue of things past.

Melian recognized the voice immediately and hurriedly urged Nessa, who was separating the small branches of the hedgerow to peer through, to come away.

“Such sadness,” Nessa remarked quietly, almost to herself. “He sings as though his heart faints.”

“Tis our way,” Melian remarked absent-mindedly. “The sadness of the years is upon us… so long… yes, so long as the world as we knew it withers away.”

They listened silently as the song continued until, at length, the singer abruptly said, “Shall you make yourselves known?” Melian and Nessa were both startled by his suddenness. They looked at each other. “I know you are there and I have forborne this long for you to come forth.”

Melian and Nessa both blushed.

Nessa answered that it was she and Melian and that they were just passing through to enter the house. “But I heard your song and could not resist the temptation to linger and hear its end.”

Silence. There was an ongoing struggle in the breast on the other side of the hedgerow until finally, the prince spoke. “Shall you ladies take tea with us? We have only just requested it.”

Nessa looked at Melian, who nodded her consent. “Happily,” she declared to the prince. “But, I do not expect that we will stay long.” The two ladies walked further up the paved lane where it branched off to the right around the hedgerow. There they descried a table set on the neatly trimmed lawn, sheltered by a canopy. The prince stood alone, and expectantly, with a few servants nearby.

Upon joining him, Nessa asked after Lady Vana. “Is she to join us?”

“She should be along directly,” Legolas simply replied, offering no further explanation.

Melian commenced small talk with the prince. “So you ride to Gimli tomorrow,” she remarked, upon seating herself. “I have certainly missed his company.”

“So have I,” Legolas confessed. “I never thought it possible that a dwarf should hold a claim upon my affections.”

Melian smiled. “There were many good things born of that darkness that has passed.” Legolas agreed. “Do you ride to Edoras also?”

“Yes, and from thence to the Glittering Caves,” Legolas confirmed.

Melian smiled serenely; she remembered so well Gimli’s passion for his Glittering Caves. “I should dearly like to see them if ever my path leads me that way.”

Legolas smiled. “Gimli would be pleased to hear you say that; only, do not encourage him.”

Melian laughed. “I consider myself duly warned, but I already know something of what you imply.”

For the most part, Nessa partook of her tea silently; she was drawn into the conversation only when her opinion was solicited. But she was quite content to be silent; for, not only did this interview open to her mind a veritable intrigue in the aspect of the prince, but it also confirmed her in an opinion that foreshadowed grief. Her penetration was this: that the prince greatly admired Melian, there was no doubt; very remarkably, however, it seemed to her that within his will there waged an immense struggle to contend against this inclination.

Aredhel and Lady Vana eventually joined their party and Nessa was forced to relinquish her private deliberations; but every so often, her gaze was drawn unconsciously to the princeÂ’s face; so remarkable was its effect upon her that she seemed almost mesmerized. Nonetheless, she was soon forced to surrender this attraction, for the prince had become easy in the presence of his intended. And it was no wonder to her either, for she also was under the spell of Lady VanaÂ’s charms; her steady sweetness could not fail at any time to influence those within its reach. Her cheerful air was infectious even to Melian, who was smiling more often than was her wont in their joint presence.

Presently, Aredhel was speaking to Legolas. “And when does your father ride to Ithilien? The time draws near.”

This question produced a curious effect upon the prince. He became slightly agitated, though he disguised it as best as he could by rising to pour himself some tea, when his cup was already full. “He is for Ithilien already,” the prince calmly replied, “but we do not expect him for several weeks yet.”

Lady Vana had been immediately at his side to assist him when she noticed this eccentricity. She gazed at him apprehensively; he smiled down at her, but it failed to reassure her. Her hands slightly trembled when she lifted the teapot to fill her own teacup.

The ladies seated at the table were quite unaware of this fateful moment. In fact, they had quickly proceeded to another topic of discussion surrounding NessaÂ’s earlier grievances. Then it was AredhelÂ’s turn to air her own grievances about the progress of the alterations to the nursery on the fourth floor.

“Nothing is ever done correctly in my absence,” she complained. “And when it goes contrary, it has to be undone and then we have lost more time.” Nessa and Melian both smiled furtively; they knew that she demanded perfection in the minutest details; a report had reached them that the workers despaired of her demands. “And I do not understand why I take this trouble upon myself when Arwen seems pleased with the progress even when the alterations are imperfect, or worse, shoddy; she is too easily reconciled.”

“She trusts implicitly to your judgment, that is all,” Melian assured her.

“Yes, I suppose so,” reflected Aredhel. “Still, I should like to have a critical opinion on what I have accomplished thus far.”

“I make a poor second, but I gladly volunteer,” Melian informed her although she was not quite sure what she was getting herself into. Nessa would have also offered her time, but she knew that Aredhel meant to depart directly. As it was, she was hardly able to withstand the onslaught of sleep pangs that even then harassed her and the allure of her bedchamber dominated her thoughts.

Legolas and Lady Vana had, by this time, rejoined their company. None of the other ladies had noticed the change in Lady VanaÂ’s demeanor; so engrossed were they in their own designs that they parted with the two lovers in full ignorance of what had transpired.

For a time after their company had left, Legolas and Lady Vana sat in painful silence. Vana was the first to speak and she began tentatively. “I have had word today from Mother,” said she. “She writes that all is prepared to receive your father.” She anxiously observed her beloved’s face. “Legolas,” she continued “why are you uneasy?” Her face was apprehensive and the fear in her voice, palpable.

LegolasÂ’ heart was deeply stirred. Impulsively, he reached out his hand and gently touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and cradled her cheek against it. Memories of their earlier life in Mirkwood awoke in his heart. All the love that she had so freely given, all the sacrifices that she had so readily made, all the kindness that she had so generously shown became pronounced in his mind. How easily he had forgotten all that was good and pure in her.

Tenderly, lovingly, he began to trace her delicate features with his hand until it was damp with her tears.

He groaned inwardly; this was his doing, he knew. He repented bitterly. He began to feel how selfish he was and how little he deserved her devotion. Aragorn had been right but he could not have seen it then. Yes, there was much to regret in that love that was forsaken but he knew now that there was something equally precious in this union to come.

In the work of an instance, his blindness perished and the veil was lifted. But, how was he to undo what he had so thoughtlessly wrought? Through her tears, his false position was magnified; formerly, he had congratulated himself for his earnest efforts to love her well. But half-heartedly he had sown, and sorrowfully he reaped. Was it too late for him?

The next moment he was down on a bended knee before her. He took her hand and kissed it affectionately. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I have made you unhappy. I am sorry.” He gently wiped the tears from her cheek. “What can I do, my beloved? Tell me at once. I cannot bear to see you shed another tear.”

Lady Vana was unequal to conversation. Legolas waited helplessly until she was able to compose herself; he was in desperate agony. Thoughts of returning to Ithilien flooded his mind. Presently, there was nothing more important to him than his ability to quiet her fears and to reassure her of his ardent love toward her. He strongly berated himself for every morbid thought that he had treasured up against their promise day.

Finally, he was aroused to the truth that his life was no longer about his desires only; Vana was his and he was hers; they had pledged themselves to each other. The bleak view that he had hitherto nurtured was at once renounced; he would think no more of that unhappy loss; he was adamantly resolved upon it.

At last Lady Vana spoke. “I am sorry,” said she sullenly. She raised her eyes to meet his.

“No, you have no reason to be sorry,” Legolas insisted. “It is I that should be sorry, and I am.” He gently caressed the residual tears from her cheeks. “You are unhappy and I am to blame. I should have known this.” He paused. “I am no longer determined to ride forth with the king. We should return to Ithilien directly.”

Lady Vana was resolutely against this. Not only because the prince had given his word to Gimli, but also because she desired the time apart to contemplate her situation.

In the end, the prince conceded. He was still dissatisfied with his failure to dispel her fears despite her vigilant efforts to mask them. Hence, he went away from Minas Tirith with a dread that harrowed him every step of his journey.

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Twilight, Death, Sorrow: the clamor of battle had ceased. An eerie silence lingers; a malodorous decay permeates the atmosphere. Across the trampled battle plain, a slender white silhouette glows palely against the twilight. It is a young maiden; she is clad in silver white. Beneath the grass-stained hem of her gown, her unshod feet are partly visible. Her face is pallid and solemn, her eyes haunted and listless.

Slowly, unconsciously, she weaves her way through the battle-strewn field. Her path leads her near the broken body of a young soldier; a small cry issues from her lips; she quickly averts her eyes; she grows calm; the flicker of life that for a moment has pierced her insentient gaze is eroded as quickly as it had come.

Onward she treads, amid carnage and suffering, passing faces that are stoic unto death. But there are othersÂ… so many others; faces that mirror suffering; she cannot bear it; she looks away, death encompasses her; it is everywhere. There are others; they comfort the wounded; they gather the dead. All is solemn; all is morbid; all is bleak.

In a moment, the scene is changed. She stands on a grassy plain, sprinkled with yellow flowers. She is alone; all is silent; a chill penetrates the air; the sun is brilliant; its rays are vain. She shivers; she dreamily lingers; time stands still; her gaze is drawn; something lies in the grass; it attracts her; it repulses her; it is before her feet. She sees his face; she sees the wound; he sees no more; his life is gone; he is never more.

Nessa awoke instantly; she was disoriented for a full minute before she was sensible to the familiarity and safety of her surroundings; she had been dreaming again. She restlessly smoothed back the strands of her hair that were loosened from her braid. She questioned the reasons for these dreams that came so frequently now, and always essentially in the same form. She knew that they had their root in what had happened some seven years before but it puzzled her that they should occur out of their season.

By now she was very much alert, much to her chagrin; the routine was such that she knew that it would take several hours of thought for her to grow weary enough to fall to sleep again; yet, her body was undoubtedly tired. She had barely slept these eight days together since the king and his delegation had departed and at odd times during the day, she was embarrassed to find herself hopelessly wrestling against sleep. Arien had suggested that she take a day for herself but her obligations were such that they could not be deferred to another time; at least, not presently.

She had spent the better part of last evening examining a certain mystery which neither Arien nor her could make any sense of. Some five days ago, Lord Alcarin had an unexpected visit from Lord Anarion; according to Arien, they had been shut up together for a quarter of an hour, which was an incredulous thing by itself. But nothing spectacular had ensued and Lord Anarion had gone away as quietly as he had come. Nevertheless, there was a heavy mystery that overshadowed that meeting solidified mostly by Lord AlcarinÂ’s subsequent seclusion for the rest of that day.

But Arien could learn nothing of what had passed; unfortunately, she and her brother were not on speaking terms. The rift came after her first allusion to her intention to secure a personal care giver for him. They had not quarreled openly; instead, Lord Alcarin had begun a silent campaign to undermine her decision. Hence, Arien began to experience vacillating periods of doubt and guilt and was absolutely wretched.

Oft times, Nessa went there in the evenings to sit with Alcarin, as she had been used to do, to read or debate. She still found it a pleasure to pass an evening with brother and sister but found the visits of late to be more than a little taxing. It was difficult to mediate between brother and sister in order to maintain a tolerable passing of the evening. Arien was invariably willing to assist her, but Alcarin would remain obdurate, and gave nothing.

For her part, Nessa thought ArienÂ’s decision a good one; despite AlcarinÂ’s intimidations, she hoped fervently that ArienÂ’s wishes would prevail. And, they did in the end, though through no burst of courage on ArienÂ’s part. Instead, Lord Alcarin, some two days ago, had abruptly yielded. It had taken Arien a couple hours to accustom herself to this sudden change in his determination; moreover, she desired Nessa to go to Alcarin to confirm the same for her.

Extraordinarily, this change in AlcarinÂ’s decision that should have filled ArienÂ’s days with some semblance of peace served only to augment her confusion. She dismayed that he would recant his decision; she harped often on the memory of his violent opposition to her scheme; she began to dread the consequence of her decision, should it prove ill.

These were the devices that she used to torture herself daily to render herself more wretched than she had been before. Without success, Nessa had tried her best to dissuade her from this destructive train of thought. But Arien persisted in her misery. Perhaps it was her way to atone for the imposition that she intended to place upon her brother, for it was exceedingly clear that he was still opposed to her course.

Reflecting farther upon AlcarinÂ’s decision, NessaÂ’s mind was gradually illumined with an impossible thought. Could this change, unlooked for, be the work of Lord Anarion? Impossible! The more she mused about it, the more impossible she thought it yet the more possible it seemed. But, there was still that old animosity between the two men that could never admit of a mutual understanding upon any subject. Yet, she could not sway the conviction that Anarion had in some way influenced AlcarinÂ’s decision.

The subject of Lady Vana now came to her mind. Some strange mood had befallen her since that day that they had taken tea together. Sometimes their daily occupations brought them together and she had observed a consistently troubling pattern with Lady Vana. There were brief spells or lapses in which Lady Vana would be completely unresponsive to her conversation. At first she had thought it just a pre-occupation with the plans for her approaching nuptials, but that conclusion lasted for a little above a day. The successive days had strengthened her opinion that there was more involved than she had originally thought, especially since Lady Vana had begun to keep to her room as much as was courteously possible.

Sleep had finally begun to interrupt her thoughts and she struggled against it no longer. Only, she wished that she could be of use to Lady Vana in some way. She was loathed to think of the grief that could taint that sweet, steady spirit; and somehow in Lady Vana melancholy seemed more dramatic.

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Later that day, Nessa and Arien was assembled in the sitting room of the latterÂ’s home. They had seen a few prospects, but none that quite satisfied their vision. It was useless to apply to Lord Alcarin; he had already articulated to Arien that he would have no part in this. This, of course, rendered Arien less willing to rely upon her own judgment; she was ever anxious to do the right thing by her brother, but she felt that in trying too hard, she cannot but fail. Nessa acted as her friend and at first, did her best not to influence her decision; but it soon became apparent to her that Arien relied substantially upon her opinion and without it, nothing would be settled.

Presently, they had just finished with a prospect whose name was Rien; she was, by several years, the youngest that they had seen yet. She was quite far from the matronly vision that they both entertained, but there was something about her that appealed to them. Perhaps it was her gentle nature, her pleasant air or simply her exceptional patience. The latter, they knew, because she had waited above half the day to see Arien without previous notice.

When the other appointments had concluded, and Arien could see her without restraint, she was plenty surprised to find a girl no older than herself. Initially, she was disappointed; the role required constancy and sacrifice and she doubted the existence of those qualities in someone so young.

Arien was worried. She and Nessa had already exchanged at length their opinions about Rien but there was something else. “Nessa, did you observe her hands?”

“Yes, they are very fine hands,” Nessa replied unequivocally.

“What could this mean?” Arien frowned.

“Arien, you have your reservations and I entirely support you in them,” Nessa advised. “Let us speak to her plainly.”

“I do like her,” Arien solemnly declared, “but I must be prudent.” She rang the bell and requested that Rien be summoned.

While they waited, Arien ordered some refreshments to be brought in for their little party. Rien came and was seated and she seemed to Arien to be a little faint. “Are you unwell?” she asked Rien.

“I am well, thank you,” Rien readily responded though a little shakily, “I am just a little tired… and anxious, I admit.”

“Had you something to eat?” Arien asked anxiously. Earlier, when it was made known to her that she had a guest who waited since morning, she had asked her housekeeper to provide her with something to eat.

Rien answered that she had and thanked Arien graciously.

“How you do tremble!” Arien cried. “This will not do.” She impatiently rang the bell again to command that the refreshments that were ready to be served be brought in promptly. Her servants complied and very soon the three ladies were partaking of the fresh fruit of that season. The tea came a quarter of an hour later and Arien was able to inquire of her housekeeper if Rien had eaten anything of what she had presented to her earlier that day. She was appalled to learn from her housekeeper that it all went to the advantage of the other prospects that had waited with her during that hour.

After they were satiated and disposed to more sober matters, Arien applied to Rien for further details of her past. The references that she had provided from Ioreth and another lady of ArienÂ’s slight acquaintance were good testimonials but they offered little information in the way of her distant past. And besides the present reservations that she already entertained, Arien thought it essential to know more of this person who could potentially become a part of their intimate home life.

At first, Rien seemed uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. She overcame those first few pangs, however, and began to tell her story.

RienÂ’s life was a mirrorÂ’s reflection of ArienÂ’s own life for her first one score years. She had been born to privilege, grew up in comfort, and destined for every benefit that could be hers. But at the tender age of sixteen, tragedy bechanced and her young father passed away, leaving his wife and daughter to the care of his faithful steward. Their fortune upon his death was consisted in a modest landed estate; from this they expected to derive a reliable and comfortable stream of income.

But the situation was vastly altered by the successive death, two years later, of her fatherÂ’s faithful steward. Having no head for business, her mother, through her own connections, secured a steward who would eventually become the pivot in accelerating the course to their present hardships. By the time they had become cognizant of their unfavorable pecuniary circumstances, it was too late to retrench to their good fortune.

In his failure to administer the business of their estate, their steward had reduced their fortune to nothingness; more significantly, there were debts to be repaid. Her mother had shed many tears over their misfortunes and had rapidly sunken into a depression that had endured through the subsequent years. Thus, at the age of one and twenty, she became the head of their household.

The crucial decisions then fell to her and after many days of mental distress, without help or counsel, she had concluded that it was better for them to give up the place. Had there been no debts, she was persuaded that they could have supported themselves tolerably enough upon the rents of the estate; since such was not the case, she had only one choice; she began to make every preparation to quit their home.

Through the urgings of her old stewardÂ’s widow, she did not entirely give up the place. Arrangements had been made through that dear ladyÂ’s connections to let the place.

Thereafter, she had only to settle the means by which it was necessary for them to survive. Fortunately, her mother was invited into the household of a dear widowed friend who was in need of companionship. It had been a relief off of her mind as there could only be one now to be anxious about. Indeed, to be alone and friendless was easier to bear knowing that her mother, at least, was safe and sheltered.

Thenceforth, the one consuming goal of her mind was to secure a situation. Having never worked a day in her life, she had often despaired. But then she heard of a situation in Minas Tirith with an ailing lady who was desirous of a young companion. It was there that she had learned the skills of a healer, though it had not been required of her. But she had grown so very fond of her mistress that truly it had been a challenge to witness her pain without attempting in some way to alleviate it.

And so it was that after seven years of strife, her mistress had at last succumbed to her malady. Again, Rien found herself at the mercy of strangers. In her misfortunes, no one had been kinder to her than her mistress; no stranger had loved her so well. And at no time was it made clearer to her than upon that sad occasion; her benefactor had barely yielded her last breath when her children diligently sought her to give her notice of the time they expected her to depart.

But even then the beneficence of her mistress extended beyond the grave; for she had laid a charge upon her kindly housekeeper to search out a situation for her Little Flower, as ever she called Rien. The housekeeper had taken this earnest charge to heart and had wasted little time in seeking an opportunity for Rien, who, at that time, was yet ignorant of her mistressÂ’ kind solicitude.

It was just lately that Rien learned of this. The kindly housekeeper had repeated to her the exact words of her mistress: “And take care that no one breaks that Little Flower’s spirit. Such serenity, such compassion, such selflessness, without care or concern for her person; in all my years, she is the best I have known yet and will never know anymore within the confines of this world.”

The preceding was never disclosed to Nessa and Arien but they had comprehended enough to discern that here was a gem not to be met with often in the world. And they were certain that there were privations endured with just as much equanimity as she had demonstrated before. In fact, the two beliefs now joined together in ArienÂ’s mind, at least, to shape something of RienÂ’s character; she now believed her to be capable of steady sacrifice.

It was Arien’s turn to speak and she spoke very sincerely to Rien about the challenges of her brother’s care. “My brother is often… well… difficult. He commands relentlessly and expects the impossible, most times.” She scrutinized Rien closely. “He is also very impatient and expects everything to be done in his way without deviation. I do not say this to discourage you. Rather, I prefer that you are aware of the challenges that his care presents.” She paused to allow for any inquiries that Rien entertained but she had none. “On the other hand, his physical care is not nearly as engaging. His manservant conveys him wherever he wishes, unless I strictly forbid it; but even then my brother eventually has his way. I shall not tell you any more, however,” said Arien, “lest I prejudice you against him before you can form your own opinion; but I thought it wise to apprise you of his temperament before you pursue this course further.”

“And I thank you for your solicitude on my behalf, but I am not discouraged from this course,” Rien reassured her.

“Very well,” said Arien, pleased. “You can be assured that any knowledge of your private affairs will remain between us. I ask only for your leave to acquaint my brother with your history.”

This, Rien did not like and earnestly appealed to Arien to dissuade her from her purpose. “Lady Arien, if I may speak so boldly,” she ventured, “I was never very different to how you see me now, except that once upon a time, I was surrounded by fine things. My reduced circumstances has persisted these seven years, much longer than I had anticipated, and I no longer hope as I used to in the early years. I have long since realized that the absence of such things in my life was never essential to the essence of who I am; I am as I have always been. Now I beg your pardon when I earnestly entreat you to honor my confidence and say nothing of my past to your brother.”

Arien was not offended by this entreaty because of the conciliatory tone in which it was delivered. Nevertheless, the thought of concealing this knowledge from her brother did not leave her easy, but she agreed nonetheless. Her compassion had been stirred and it overrode, for the moment, any influence that her reservations might have had.

It was therefore agreed between them that Rien would take up her abode on the premises as early as possible. A letter would follow that evening explaining the terms, which included a trial of one month with no obligation on either side.

————————–

Three weeks had expired since the kingÂ’s delegation had departed; during this time, Melian had noticed a peculiar change in Lady Vana, who no longer troubled herself to be cheerful. Like Nessa, Melian had thought it a mood that would surely pass; but as the days grew into weeks, she also became concerned when Lady Vana had begun to keep to her room.

What strange mood had besieged her, they could only guess. Melian had thought often of applying to Nessa to see what she could discover; but she hesitated in fear of her own motives; she was not entirely convinced that they would exonerate her of a selfish interest. Not only that, she felt guilty.

“Melian, really, must you dwell upon this continually?” Arwen berated. The two were in the royal suite on the fourth floor in the sitting room. Arwen was meticulously sewing a pattern on a tiny white garment. “And must you pace so? You are making me faint.”

“I am sorry,” mourned Melian, “Truly I am. But you cannot imagine how much this grieves me. I cannot help myself.”

Arwen looked at her cousin, steadfastly. “I see no need for you to worry yourself so vexingly,” she calmly reasoned.

Melian sank down unto the sofa where Arwen was seated. “I cannot bear to think of myself as the cause of unhappiness.”

Arwen carefully laid aside her needlework to give her cousin her full attention. “Really, you give yourself far too much credit in this matter.” Unlike Melian, she thought that the answer to this riddle lied solely between the prince and his betrothed.

“I do not know what to believe,” said Melian despondently. “It would be a relief to my mind to have some confirmation that I had no hand in this.”

“Come, come now,” Arwen entreated, “we will think no more upon these unhappy things. Your behavior to the prince has been above reproach. You must dismiss these doubts at once. Let us think on happy things.”

In spite of her mood, Melian slowly began to smile; then she began to chuckle. “Happy things, happy thoughts!” she said, “they are precious.”

Arwen took up the needlework that she had laid aside. “Now what do you say to helping me with this pattern? Your hands have been idle enough.” Melian assented; she took her work tools from her own workbasket and began to assist Arwen. “So what is this that I have heard of Arien’s engaging a caregiver?”

“Yes, she has,” confirmed Melian. “I have not been fortunate to meet her though I have visited their house above three times since her coming. I say fortunate because Nessa speaks very highly of her.”

“Does she?” Arwen rejoined. “And what does she say?”

“Many things,” Melian answered. “But they all speak to a beneficent spirit.”

“And what does Arien intend to do with her time now that her responsibility is eased?” Arwen asked.

“Accept more invitations, I suppose,” Melian said. “I know Nessa is glad of it. She has been longing to walk out more with Arien than she has done previously.”

“And you were never young enough?” Arwen teased.

“I must own it,” Melian laughed. “They are but little children to me.”

“Indeed, so they are to us,” Arwen admitted. “A brief while it has been since they have walked their paths.” Melian was observing her cousin with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. “Why do you look at me like that?” Arwen asked.

“Oh, no reason,” said Melian, smiling. The two continued to work and chat cheerfully and it was there that Nessa met them some time later.

“Ah, Nessa, you are come at last,” Melian greeted. “Tell us, how does Arien get on?”

Nessa sat in a chair across from the cousins and told them of her visit that night with Arien. “The real obstacle lies with Lord Alcarin,” Nessa opined.

“Does he not find her agreeable?” Melian asked.

“It is not that simple,” Nessa rejoined.

“What do you mean?” Arwen asked.

Nessa summarily told them of Alcarin’s opposition to Arien’s scheme. “I am convinced that he intends to punish Arien through Rien.”

“What an awful thought!” Arwen frowned. “But surely he does not intend to prolong this grudge.”

“I think it most likely that it will continue for some time,” Nessa observed. “I am sorry to say it, but Alcarin’s character has sometimes shown a propensity toward a darkness that lies within.”

“But you are his great friend, Nessa,” Arwen said, “Can you do nothing? You must be able to influence him in some way.”

“I have attempted to soften his opinion in this matter, but you know how strong willed he can be.”

“Indeed!” Arwen recalled. “He is an obstinate fellow. Do not give up trying to influence him to do right by this – what did you say her name was – yes, Rien.”

“Not likely,” Nessa replied with a wry smile. “I do have my own selfish reasons, I must admit.”

Arwen laughed. “I am sure that they would do you no discredit.”

“I hope not,” Nessa owned. “But what do you say of Lady Vana? Thrice I have invited her on my excursions and thrice I was denied. It is unlike her to be anything but complaisant.”

“You have observed this?” Melian asked archly.

“I have; though I do not know what to make of it,” Nessa declared.

A thoughtful silence succeeded until Arwen spoke. “While you were from home, Nessa, Lady Erendi called to see us. She is to dine with us tomorrow evening.” This revelation turned the conversation to pleasanter subjects and the three did not quit the room until far into the evening.

————————-

A few days later, Queen Evenstar returned from the Citadel earlier than her custom. There had been some unpleasantness that day that had tested her sorely. There was one Lord Mardil who was involved in a land dispute with another Lord whose name was Earnil. When the lower courts had ruled in Lord EarnilÂ’s favor, Lord Mardil, through the connections of his wifeÂ’s family, thought it expedient to appeal to the king.

In due course, his case was brought before the king and the judgment of the lower courts upheld. Dissatisfied with the kingÂ’s judgment, Lord Mardil had, at that time and as a last resort, requested of the king that a later date be appointed at which time he would be able to present two witnesses in favor of his cause. To acquit himself from any blame arising from this declaration, he had further explained to the king that one of his witnesses, an elderly man, had not been well enough to appear before him. And since the word of one witness was insufficient, he respectfully begged his sympathy in allowing him a second hearing.

Queen Evenstar had sat in judgment at the kingÂ’s side when he had proclaimed his word. She had observed every gesture, every expression, and every subtlety with her keen eyes. She had thought Lord MardilÂ’s motives mercenary and from the beginning to the end of his appeal, she was never persuaded otherwise.

Nor was the king deceived. Nevertheless, he had granted Lord MardilÂ’s appeal to be heard again at a later date.

Hence, Lord Mardil had appeared before Queen Evenstar this day. True to his word, he was accompanied by two witnesses whom he declared to be attesters to the signing of a certain land title between his grandsire and the grandsire of Lord Earnil. Throughout the initial stages of the interview, a most peculiar and distracting thing kept occurring; the elder and most frail of the two gentlemen would, from time to time, erupt into spasms of laughter; and at other times, he would raise his voice in soliloquy. It was plain to every mind present, except perhaps that of Lord Mardil, that the word of this gentleman could not be regarded; its validity was unquestionably worthless.

There had been a few faint sniggers among the nobles and courtiers present. Queen Evenstar had forborne patiently; she had dealt compassionately with the old man and wished that he had no part in the service of Lord MardilÂ’s dubious cause. She had spoken very benignly to him and had found that he had sporadic moments of clarity in which he spoke soundly. Notwithstanding, his word could not be deemed truth and therefore could not establish the authenticity of Lord MardilÂ’s claim.

Lord Earnil, on the other hand, had previously provided the king with a legitimate title defining all the boundaries of his land except one that was vaguely worded, perhaps because of the singular friendship that had existed between the two then living grandsires; it was this boundary that was disputed; it involved a fractional piece of land for either parties but more valuable, it seemed, to Lord Mardil.

At the heart of Lord MardilÂ’s cause was the assertion that a more recent title existed whereby a fair exchange was made between the two grandsires. In the absence of this document to support his claim, he expressly depended upon the word of these two witnesses. Hence, it was with great difficulty that he had restrained himself when Queen Evenstar upheld the kingÂ’s judgment.

And when he could restrain himself no longer, he became verbally abusive to the elderly gentleman. This occurred at court though not immediately before the queenÂ’s presence. Nevertheless, a report – though slightly exaggerated by the time it reached her – concerning this matter prompted her to charge two of those who stood before her to bring the old gentleman to her.

Queen Evenstar was as gracious to him as she had been before, making every allowance for his mental frailty. Lord Mardil, who had acted as his protector only so long as he could further his aim, had forsaken him and had by this time departed the city. Queen Evenstar was seriously displeased with the report of Lord MardilÂ’s behavior, but she endeavored her best not to give way to her displeasure. And by turning what was meant for evil into some good, she commanded that the old gentleman dine in the hall with her people and thereafter escorted safely back to his home where there was not one soul to be anxious about his absence.

Presently, she was walking unshod upon the lawn in the gardens beyond the house. One of her maidens was with her, holding an umbrella aloft to shade her from the sun; it was four hours past midday. “Leave me,” Arwen commanded, “I shall walk on; I have no current need of company.” Her maiden obeyed and Arwen was left alone with her thoughts.

Directly, she began to wonder where her husbandÂ’s journey had taken him that hour; she wondered how he found the work of his servants; she wondered many things including whether he felt her absence as keenly as she felt his; they were truly the best of friends. It was often strange to their minds that now that they were married, a separation of a few weeks felt just bearable; yet, in times past, the separation of years had not that impact. Marriage had made them one in the truest sense; the full extent of their joy was ineffable.

While her mind was thus engaged, from habit, her footsteps naturally led her to her favorite jaunt along a sheltered pathway, which eventually opened into a spot akin to a small glade. When she was almost upon it, she was very startled by the sight that greeted her there. Nestled within that secluded and sparsely sheltered spot was Lady Vana; and upon her face was such a naked and profound expression of forlornness that Arwen was straightly disturbed.

It seemed to Arwen that Lady Vana was laboring under a great agony of mind; this impressed her with a strong foreshadowing grief. It was imprudent for her to remain thus and most undesirable to be discovered in her current situation; yet, she was unable or unwilling to pull herself away; she lingered in indecision; she watched as Lady Vana rested her golden head upon the arm that lay upon the flat rim of the stone water fountain; she was seated upon the grass; the folds of her white gown were spread oÂ’er her bent feet; her whole attitude was destitute of the slightest cheer.

Arwen, thinking it quite unjust that she had remained silent this long, retraced her footsteps a little and began to sing a soft melody to assume the disguise of having just arrived; she purposely lingered here and there to pick flowers. By the time she reached Lady Vana again, the elf maiden had recovered a little of her spirits; but it was apparent enough to her that Lady Vana had been sufficiently alarmed by her sudden appearance.

The two greeted each other cordially and Arwen half thought that Lady Vana would retreat to the house; to her surprise, the elf maiden lingered.

“I never thought to meet you here,” Arwen told her, “others have preferred yonder spot where the grass feels softer under the feet.” Lady Vana gave a small smile – a very sad, forlorn smile. ArwenÂ’s heart was touched with pity. “I am delighted that another has thought it worthy.”

Lady Vana did not trust herself to speak; she was unsure whether she had gained sufficiently the mastery of her emotions. Arwen suspected as much and allowed it to be so. It took no exertion on her part, for she was indeed enchanted by that spot in their gardens. It was there that she would often resort to be still with her thoughts and few ventured there.

In that place was a small flock of songbirds whose undersides were, for the most part, yellow and their topmost parts varied in shades of green. These Arwen would feed with tiny pieces of fruit when she went there with that purpose. Today, however, she settled for petting them when they ventured near. They were her regular companions in that place.

“I suppose you think me silly to be so terribly fond of these birds,” Arwen said, not really expecting an answer.

Lady Vana smiled slightly. “Not at all,” said she. “There was a time once when I was very fond of birds myself, though they came but rarely to Mirkwood because of the darkness that was once there.”

Arwen gently stroked the yellow green feathered head of one of the little birds, “And now?”

“I suppose I am still fond of them,” replied Lady Vana; she was watching Arwen pet another of the birds that had joined the other. “I just have not had the time to pursue this interest, even in Ithilien.”

“Understandable,” Arwen replied cheerfully. “You have a lot to do in the way of preparations.” A trace of gloom overshadowed Lady Vana’s countenance, but it vanished quickly. Arwen silently scolded herself for misspeaking and hurriedly returned to the subject of her birds. “I hope I will remain in your favor when I confide to you that I have given them names,” said she.

Lady Vana laughed merrily. “But how is that possible? Can you truly tell them apart?”

Arwen nodded. “Indeed I can,” she confidently rejoined. “Let me acquaint you with my dear pets, one by one, if you please.” She began to demonstrate to Lady Vana the means by which she was able to distinguish her birds. It was simply their distinctive habits that allowed her to achieve this purpose. By the time she was finished, one at least was in considerably better spirits.

“Thank you,” said Lady Vana to Arwen. “When you happened upon me, my spirits were not what they are now. In my troubles, I have forgotten what a succor nature can be.”

“In your troubles?” Arwen kindly asked. “Surely you do not have troubles. The future is bright at your feet. You have only to step forward.”

Lady Vana smiled sadly. “That may be,” said she, and that was all that she would say anymore on the subject.

Arwen was at this time beginning to experience a little discomfort, physically; her darling little one had become unusually active in that last hour and she felt that it was time to retire to the house.

“Are you well?” Lady Vana inquired, after noticing the slight change in her demeanor.

“I am well, thank you,” Arwen replied. “I have exerted myself unusually this day; that is all.”

“Shall we go in, then?” Lady Vana inquired; Arwen acquiesced. “I am sorry that I have not been a pleasing guest these past few weeks together,” Lady Vana continued. “I hope to be of some social value henceforth.”

“You do just as you please,” Arwen generously responded. “Only, take care to smile a little more often; it becomes you well.”

Lady Vana chuckled softly. “I had not realized just how awful a guest I have been,” said she.

Arwen discouraged that thought by saying, “We cannot always be in one spirit; at least, I think, it was never so ordained.”

Arwen said nothing to Melian of her conversation with Lady Vana; but all had noticed that evening that Lady VanaÂ’s spirits had improved. Yet they were still not what they had been, formerly.

————————————-

The next day, near evening time, Nessa was dozing on one of the sofas in the library; a book lay opened upon her lap, which threatened to slip to the floor. “Oh, Melian, forgive me,” said she, sleepily. “I can hardly forbear to keep my eyes open. What were you saying?”

“Next to Avallon, I was beginning to think of myself as the most insipid person in this household,” Melian accused.

“No, indeed!” Nessa protested, laughing. She still found the domestic enmity that existed between Melian and Avallon a trifle amusing. She rubbed her eyes impatiently. “I have slept very fitfully these few weeks together.” Melian made her a funny face. “My conscience is clear; I have nothing to confess.”

Melian chuckled. “I brought no accusation against you.”

“I just thought that I would make it known openly,” Nessa defended.

“Have you not tried Aredhel’s strong brew?” asked Melian. “That tea is certain to make you sleep.”

“I happily decline,” Nessa returned immediately. “I have tried it once before and I had not the will to exert myself the day following.”

“Perhaps you had too much of it,” Melian replied as she began to climb a wooden stepladder to reach a high shelf.

“True,” Nessa agreed, “nevertheless, I would rather not risk it lest perchance it should render me more useless than I was today,” she reflected shamefully.

“As you like,” Melian conceded; she began to climb slowly down from the ladder. “And what is this I hear of Lady Lalaith?”

“Ah, so you have heard of it also,” rejoined Nessa; she was sorely tempted to surrender to sleep but she resisted by rubbing her eyes none too gently.

Storing away the ladder, Melian said to Nessa, “It was a good decision.” Her expression was one of disappointment when she further added: “I did hear also that she took quite a few of your volunteers with her when she left. I had more faith in those ladies than they have proven worthy of.”

“Your source is unerring,” Nessa affirmed. “I had hoped to part with Lady Lalaith on better terms and as quietly as possible.”

“Really, Nessa,” Melian rebuked, “were you at all acquainted with this woman?”

“Yes, I know it was silly of me to think so,” Nessa submitted, “but unfriendly partings are always in such poor taste.”

Melian began re-shelving the other books that they had been using to lower shelves. “Did you know that Arwen had a letter from Lorien today?” Nessa replied that she did not. “Yes, from Elrohir. Though I wonder what he could mean by sending his regards to me when he owes me a letter these few months together.” Melian frowned. “But more to the point, it seems that he is not to stay long with my uncle. He is to ride north almost immediately with Amandil where they are both to terminate their journey in Arnor. I think it unlikely that Elladan should remain in Imladris. My cousins are never long apart.”

Nessa contemplated this information. “But, Amandil, is he well enough to risk this journey?”

“Well enough, I should think,” answered Melian. “Though these years have been unkind to him, he is a hardy man; he has been used to living in the wild for many years, homeless and wandering. I entertain no fear for him; I believe him to be of a strong constitution.”

“Yes, that is true, I suppose,” said Nessa, lightly.

“And besides all this,” Melian encouraged, “Elrohir is his traveling companion. Together, I firmly believe, they would do well; do not forget that Elrohir and Elladan, like their father, are healers.” She turned to Nessa. “I hope at least that I have quieted your fears.”

Nessa blushed. Times ago, she had confided all to Melian; that time now seemed so distant. And now that she was more sensible of her years and her circumstance, confessions did not come so easily; nevertheless, she made an effort; she reasoned that it was sometimes better to have a confidante in these matters.

Nessa replied that her concern, which was that of a friend’s, was indeed abated and that she prayed that the journey would prove as safe as Melian’s sanguine hope. “But Melian,” said she, “it is such an oddity… all that has come to pass. I can hardly bring myself to understand it and not the least with reference to myself. It has created such divergent feelings within me that I hardly know what to make of them.”

“That is understandable,” Melian empathized. “Give yourself time to make sense of your feelings.”

Nessa was still unsettled. “But I do worry,” she confided to Melian. “Not only about my own private feelings but about what others may think; I do not want to be perceived as changeable.”

“Dear Nessa,” Melian exhorted, “others will think what they are determined to think, independent even of your behavior. Are you yet ignorant of this?”

“But their opinions must arise from my own conduct,” Nessa insisted, “and I cannot bear to think of the harm that I have already done, in the past.”

“Suppositions,” Melian said derisively, “that is all that they have of a certain. Now, perhaps we should ponder the battles that we can win; it is not likely that we can influence the idle or the lover of intrigues to cease their speculations. In times of peace they have little else to amuse themselves.” Nessa chuckled in spite of herself; some of her acquaintances came to mind. “So you see,” Melian continued, “it is useless to worry; we can no more deter the fruit of fatal lips than we can forbid the rising of the sun.”

“You are right,” said Nessa; she was silently resolving in her heart to adopt Melian’s advice. “I shall no longer worry about such things.” Again she was contemplative; earlier she had tried to impress upon Melian her real confusion, but it did not have the effect that she had intended; she was only a little reassured. “But what will you say when I speak to you more plainly about the perplexity of my feelings?”

“I shall say that you are perfectly justified therein,” Melian promptly answered. “As I mentioned before, give yourself time to work them out. I will say further that the future is an abundant mystery; there is no use abiding in it, and what it may hold, when today is a perfectly good day to enjoy and forget your troubles.”

Nessa smiled in spite of her dissatisfaction; she was hoping to hear counsel that spoke more to the nature of her feelings; but it never failed to awake her amusement when she was admonished to live in the present. “I shall try,” said she, chuckling. “I shall henceforth endeavor to think of my troubles in this light, always.”

“Nay, do not give free reign to building air castles now,” teased Melian.

Nessa laughed merrily. “I should think not,” she assured her. “There are too many things to keep me stayed in reality.”

The two had a good laugh. Melian began to talk about the north thereafter; she knew Nessa enjoyed hearing about it, especially since it was the place of her heritage. There were very few places that Nessa had traveled and she knew that Nessa hoped that opportunity would one day lead her that way.

———————-

Aragorn and his delegation had journeyed for six weeks before finally terminating in Rohan. His company had ridden from Minas Tirith turning northward, passing the Druadan Forest into Anorien. Since the throne had been restored, and a time of peace prevailed, the inhabitants in Anorien had multiplied. Upon this journey, he met with various leaders who had the charge of overseeing his lands and the business of executing his will. When he had done with these, his course was set for Rohan; there he intended to meet with King Eomer, partly for business, partly for pleasure.

Duty aside, he felt a mixed pleasure in being abroad again. His knights were also of the same mind and more so now that the threat of war was diminished. At evenings, when the camps were established, there was much merriment among the company, although strong drink was forbidden. The few inns they met along the way were, for the most part, forsaken. A few times the king had overnight in the homes of his servants, who were lords of different lands in his realm, but he invariably preferred to camp outdoors.

The night before they were expected to arrive at Edoras, Legolas and Aragorn were conversing some distance from the campfire, after dinner. The men about were already given to their diversions, sparking a chuckle or two from the sentries nearby who were already engaged in the somber duty of protecting their camp.

“You are uncommonly silent this evening,” Legolas observed to Aragorn.

“Indeed,” Aragorn admitted, “but so it is when a man leaves his family behind; they are never far from his thoughts even when there are other things that hold a claim upon his mind.”

Legolas nodded. He had thought ceaselessly of Vana along the way.

“Do you know Legolas,” said Aragorn, smiling wryly, “since coming to these fields, I have thought often of our sprint on foot from Tol Brandir, when the urgent need was upon us to find our friends, Merry and Pippin.”

“Aye,” said Legolas, laughing merrily, “it was a remarkable feat indeed and in a hopeless time. I do believe that Gimli had the worst of it.”

Aragorn laughed heartily. “Yes, but even at the end of it, he was ready to do battle with Eomer concerning certain harsh words.”

“Yes,” said Legolas. “And in his estimation, the object of his admiration was well worth his life’s forfeiture.” Legolas smiled. “And so it may always be that a man will lay down his life in honor of such a person.”

Aragorn nodded; all evidence of mirth was gone from his stern face. “I have been thinking, Legolas, that this journey will not allow us time enough to visit Isengard. We have lingered long enough on the road and I am increasingly anxious to be at home again.”

Legolas was not averse to the idea of shortening their trip. In fact, he was willing any day to return speedily to Minas Tirith. He empathized with Aragorn; he was well aware that he held it a grievous thing for the birth of his child to take place while he was from home; and, as the time drew near, he knew that Aragorn was uneasy.

Yet, Aragorn had no valid reason to believe that the birth of his child was imminent; in fact, they thought it very likely that they still had two to three months to prepare. Nonetheless, the anxiety was upon him continually and he thought that he should be very glad again to see the white tower of Ecthelion.

Shaking off this oppressive feeling of apprehension, Aragorn mentioned to Legolas that he should have been glad of some Longbottom leaf to soothe his current affliction. Legolas owned that he could not agree, as he disliked the practice of smoking and thought Aragorn the better for giving it up. “In the realm of habits, there can be nothing worse than the enslavement to such an odious practice,” Legolas frankly opined.

Aragorn smiled wryly. In this matter, he knew that his wife’s opinion coincided perfectly with that of the prince. “No matter,” he said. “I have given it up for good, it seems. But, I must learn to consider it a small thing to weather the occasional pangs that besets me.”

“Yes, well, I commend your resolve,” Legolas sincerely replied. The activity around the campfire had grown lively with song and their attentions were naturally drawn thither. “Oft times when the memory of Boromir surfaces in my mind, I think it a curious thing that I should now live in his realm.”

“Now there is a subject that is steeped in sadness… and regret,” Aragorn replied. “Little did we know how it would end that morn we set out from Imladris.” He recalled his own heaviness at that time; for, even then did he know that only through darkness would he arrive at his inheritance and thereby, his treasure.

The two fell into silent thought. The years had done little to diminish the potency of their memories.

Later that night, when the men had retired to their beds, Aragorn made arrangements with the captains of his knights regarding the journey henceforth; some detours from their original plan were necessary if they were to expedite their return to Gondor. They planned to stay, at the most, a fortnight in the land of Rohan.

The next day, late in the afternoon, brought them in sight of Edoras. By the time they arrived at Meduseld, the kingÂ’s golden hall, the king had already heard of their coming. The two kings greeted each other as brothers, with a sincere appreciation on both sides for each other.

“You are come at last,” said Eomer cheerfully. “The queen and I almost despaired. For two days now we have expected you.”

Aragorn apologized, explaining that it could not be helped. “I was detained a few times by my provincial lords; I did not anticipate the delay.” It was then that Aragorn saw Lothiriel, standing near her throne, where also stood that of Eomer’s. She was radiantly beautiful as ever, with a blissful air about her; he was pleased to her so evidently content. He bowed to her, kissed her hand, and complimented her on her appearance. He took that time also to convey his queen’s best wishes and presented Lothiriel with a gift from his lady.

The three sovereigns were chatting together for some time when Aragorn asked, “And how is young Elfwine? Is he much grown since I have last seen him?”

Eomer brightened; Elfwine was their pride and the delight of their home life. “You shall judge for yourself, my brother,” Eomer replied. “Here he is.”

Aragorn turned as a golden haired little boy and his nurse were ushered into the room. The child had grown indeed, though he was still quite a little fellow; he was not yet four years of age. He was still as good-natured as Aragorn remembered and he was pleased that he once again took easily to him, for he allowed him to lift him to his lap. The child seemed mesmerized by the green stone that hung from the chain on his neck and questioned him ceaselessly about it.

“He is a curious child,” Aragorn remarked to Eomer.

Eomer laughed. “Aye, that he is,” he said proudly. “His mother and I are constantly overwhelmed with many questions.”

“It shows a natural affinity for knowledge,” Aragorn replied. “It should be encouraged.”

“That is the opinion of his mother,” Eomer said; he was observing Aragorn with his son; the way he patiently took care to explain his answers to his son’s questions was pleasing to him.

The hour soon came when it was time to wash up for dinner; regrettably, Elfwine was taken away to his own private dinner. It was then that Legolas joined them; he had been for a time with some of GimliÂ’s kin who were making their journey to the Glittering Caves on the morrow. He had been invited to join their party to the caves but Legolas had graciously declined in favor of staying above ground as much as possible.

The king and queen greeted Legolas no less cordially than they had Aragorn and he was soon escorted to his chamber to prepare for their evening meal.

The next few days, the kings spent a portion of their days in council regarding matters of their realms. At evenings, when the king and queen presided over their table, the happy state of their union was plainly evident; at these times, the business of their kingdom was set aside for pleasurable conversation.

Aragorn was asking Lothiriel if she missed the seashores and she responded thus: “Indeed, I do,” she admitted honestly, but triumphantly added, “but I have gained a prize far worthier.”

Eomer, who was talking to Legolas, pretended not to hear his wifeÂ’s statement; but he was secretly pleased. Though they were happy, he was sometimes worried when he knew with certainty that she missed her birth land.

“And how does my father get along?” asked Lothiriel. “You have mentioned nothing of him since the day you first arrived.”

“I have seen so little of him since your last visit to Minas Tirith,” Aragorn said. “He dined with us some weeks ago and he was well then. Your brother, I see more often; he too has been away much recently, but he has many times dined at my table.”

“Yes, my brother tells me that Erchirion is often in Minas Tirith,” Lothiriel rejoined, thoughtfully.

“Has he some duty that draws him there?” asked Eomer.

Aragorn smiled faintly; his own thoughts he kept to himself and said only this, “He is often enough with Faramir. I cannot speak for any engagement that he may or may not have there.”

The conversation now turned to LegolasÂ’ nuptials. His fatherÂ’s journey southward would bring him to the lands of Rohan and the king was prepared to receive him.

During this conversation, Lothiriel was called away to attend to Elfwine who was asking for his mother. When she arrived in his nursery, the child was awake and crying. One of the nurses quickly tied an apron about her, despite her mild protestations, and she scooped her son from his bed and began to smother his tender cheeks with her kisses. His little golden mane was damp and she feared for a moment that he was becoming ill. She felt his little neck and was relieved to fine that his temperature felt normal to the touch. He wound his little arms around her neck and nestled his head upon her shoulder. Within a half of an hour, Lothiriel was able to calm him as only she could and placed him back in bed. She had often jested with Eomer that it was her motherÂ’s touch that did the charm.

When she rejoined her table in the hall, she found that Eomer was to ride with Aragorn, Legolas and their company to the Glittering Caves three days hence.

———————————

Some weeks after Nessa had rejected Lady LalaithÂ’s services, she began to experience the full measure of that ladyÂ’s displeasure. Real or imagined, she became convinced that there was a secret plot against her when coincidences occurred too commonly. Fortunately, it did little to harm the work that she aimed to accomplish; socially, however, her life was a disaster.

As the days progressed, she found that she was shunned from too many social engagements to account for it in some other way. Her mutual acquaintances regularly spoke of various invitations, and there were very few mentioned for which she herself had received an invite. The thought that Lady LalaithÂ’s hand was so far reaching seemed absurd to her at first, until it was confirmed to her by one of the noble women who had stood with her against Lady Lalaith.

Queen Evenstar, through Lady ErendiÂ’s information, held a full knowledge of Lady LalaithÂ’s machinations. She meant to do nothing, however, desiring that Nessa would earn the respect of the nobility without her intervention. As to her own opinion in this matter, she thought that Lady Lalaith had the social graces of a serpent, and Nessa did well to part ways with her.

It is true that Nessa endured a difficult time in dealing with this widespread rejection, not knowing the cruelty of the world that punishes without just cause. But nothing could have prepared her for the shock of its effect in direct practice.

The first such occasion occurred one evening while at a rare social engagement. Arien had also been invited and was to join Nessa later that evening. Unfortunately, the conspicuous entrance of Lady Lalaith soon brought Nessa to a place of regret.

Almost immediately, the mood of the party was altered. The very atmosphere seemed poisoned by her presence and the gentle hum of mirth faded. Straightway, Nessa began to feel the influence of Lady LalaithÂ’s chastisement; persons with whom she held earlier conversations began to evade her though not entirely heartlessly; there were many who stared in sympathy and that counted somewhat toward softening the blow. Still, her mortification increased as the evening progressed and she sought frequently for the appearance of ArienÂ’s friendly face.

But suddenly, as if a light was kindled in the darkness, behind her, she heard a familiar voice that she did not expect to hear in all of this company; it was Lord Anarion.

“More courageous has been known to shrink before their enemies,” whispered Lord Anarion, “but you stand defiantly.” Nessa’s heart leapt in her breast to hear his friendly voice; her eyes moistened. “Lady Lalaith has met her equal, though not in design. Why is she your enemy, Nessa?”

“A difference in opinion,” said Nessa unevenly, “that is all.”

Anarion had only just arrived that evening in Minas Tirith and knew nothing of this from his mother whom he had yet to see. He noticed that Nessa was a little pale; he asked her if she would take something to drink; she declined; he then applied to her to let him have the honor of escorting her home if she felt inclined to quit the party; again, she declined, explaining that she expected Arien every moment.

Anarion was being called away by some of his acquaintances when Nessa pleaded softly and urgently, “Please, do not leave me.” To this application, Anarion willingly complied. He felt compassionately for her knowing too well the cunning of Lady Lalaith in practice.

They entertained themselves as best as they could, under the circumstances; barely anyone dared Lady Lalaith’s disapproval by conversing with Nessa; to most, she was invisible. Anarion, who cared very little indeed for the approval of men, suffered nothing from this ostracization. His concern was primarily for Nessa, whose resolve seemed to diminish as time passed. “Why do you subject yourself to this unmerited censure?” Anarion pressed.

“I shall never succumb to intimidation of any kind from any quarter,” Nessa warmly answered. “That is my purpose.” She looked defiantly in Lady Lalaith’s direction. “I am determined never to waver.”

Later that evening, when Nessa looked and felt the martyr in as much that the overt hostility had taken a toll upon her, Anarion was finally able to persuade her to quit the party. Arien had not made an appearance and it was safe to believe that something important had detained her.

Before leaving the party, Nessa overheard a candid exchange between Anarion and their host that served to elevate him higher in her regard.

“I hope that you enjoyed the evening, Lord Anarion,” hailed Lady Mardil, the host of the party. “Do come again soon. You have been away too long in Anorien. I do not understand how you or my husband can prefer that quiet life o’er this city life. It is such a dreary existence when I am away in Anorien. I hardly know what to do with myself when I am there.”

Anarion looked long and hard at her before saying, “My compliments to you, Lady Mardil, on a splendid dinner, but there was much to be desired in your attentions to Nessa and what was due to her from you as her host.”

Clearly, Lady Mardil thought Anarion’s forthright reprimand audacious and was immediately indignant. “Lord Anarion,” said she in a voice of hauteur, “I am not in the habit of personally entertaining my guests. There are many things that demand my attention while hosting a dinner for a large party. It is very unreasonable in you to expect me to distinguish one guest above another with my attentions. Only our sovereigns deserve such attention.”

“Unreasonable, perhaps, under different circumstances,” said Lord Anarion. “But I see that you are determined to misunderstand me. I can only leave it to your conscience to bear me witness. Good night to you, Lady Mardil.” Without another word, he bowed slightly to her, and turned sharply upon his heels and departed.

Lady Mardil stood rooted in her position; her wounded pride could not absolve Lord Anarion; with a vehement desire to avenge her ego of his forwardness, she was immediately in the confidences of Lady Lalaith.

All that had happened that evening vexed Anarion but he restrained himself remarkably.

Nessa was eager to check on Arien before heading for home so the two bent their footsteps thither. Upon arriving, they were led into the sitting room where she was accustomed to sit with Alcarin and Arien after dinner. They did not have to wait long before they heard light footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. Arien burst into the room with a profusion of apologies.

“My dear, Nessa,” said she apologetically, stretching out her two hands in greeting to Nessa, who took them in hers. “I am so sorry I was detained, but it could not be helped.” She had not seen Anarion. “Alcarin is unwell and I have had the time of it this evening.”

“What is the matter?” Nessa asked, herself forgetting Anarion’s presence.

“It is the fever,” Arien said, worriedly. “It always unsettles me especially in his condition.” She shook her head. “I do not like it at all.” Her eyes were anxious. “But Rien has been marvelous. She has been so calm and reassuring. Never have I been happier to have her with us.” She pressed Nessa’s hand fondly to her cheek. “But you, Nessa, how have you fared this evening?”

“Not too good, my dear,” Nessa replied sincerely. “With you I must be honest. Were it not for Lord Anarion, they might have broken me.”

Nessa had turned to look at Anarion and it was only then that Arien saw him. He came forward into the light and greeted Arien.

“I am very glad to hear that you were not alone,” Arien said to Nessa, after she had greeted Anarion. Precisely at this time, a knock interrupted their discourse. When bidden, a servant entered with the tidings that Lady Arien was wanted this minute. She made her apologies to Nessa and Anarion and told them that she would be happy to receive them again on the morrow if her brother fared better. As the hour was late, Nessa and Anarion also thought it expedient that they should be on their way. The friends parted ways, Nessa and Arien very fondly, and Arien and Anarion with a polite nod.