Whew! This was a long one to write and edit. Hopefully I edited well enough. You guys have to forgive me for the names in this chapter. I have a thing for names beginning with the letter A. 🙂
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A short year ago, Gondorians could tell you a tale of a people bereft of their last vestiges of hope. They had been a people perpetually beleaguered by the malediction of a relentless foe. A foe who was as cunning as he was deceptive even as he had been whilst their ancestors resided in the blessed land of Numenor. That unalloyed hatred, which had precipitated the downfall of Numenor, had lost none of its potency throughout the Ages and had increased a hundred fold by IsildurÂ’s victory at the Battle of Dagorlad. But a year ago that foe was utterly vanquished under the united bonds of fellowship of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. The terror that had once encroached their doorstep was defeated and the gathering darkness was dispersed. What an alteration a single year had made on hearts that once feared to hope, lest hope cherished, would drive them to despair.

Now, hope was a new feeling treasured in every bosom. It was no longer the frail hope for deliverance from persistent adversity, for the threat of strife no longer loomed heavily upon their weary souls. Instead, it was a pure and natural hope for realized dreams and personal aspirations. Life was the way it should be, with its varying moments of disappointments, happiness, solemnity, tranquility, trials, and every emotion experienced by men. Gondorians had a renewed passion for life. There is nothing more effectual in stimulating our esteem for life when that offensive and uninvited guest named Death hovers gloomily near our door. With Gondorians, it was no different. The years of oppressive fear had served to enhance their appreciation for freedom in its truest sense. Consequently, there was much to be thankful for and much to celebrate.

This expression of gratitude was adopted wholeheartedly throughout the city. Public celebrations, private parties, and all manner of revelry characterized the week of the New Year. The merchants were content since business was blossoming daily. Now that the royal couple had moderately succeeded in reviving commerce, there was money to spend. Even those who had plenty were unusually disposed to charity. The public squares were full, the formerly vacant residences occupied, and the resonance of exuberant laughter, echoed once again through the formerly desolated streets. The city was beginning to show spurts of prosperity.

In the highest level of the city, the White Tree flourished near the fountain in the courtyard of the Citadel. Its growth was a portentous sign of things to come with its widespread branches and abundant leaves. Further away near the mountain of Mindolluin, the palatial splendor of the royal residence stood majestically in the shadow of the mountain. From all external appearances, it was a vision of quiet tranquility. But indoors, activities were at their busiest. Aredhel had ordered a complete cleansing of the interior floors. Servants were kept busy throughout the week, cleaning windows, waxing floors, dusting furniture and the reception rooms were partially ready.

On the fourth floor, away from the industrious efforts of the dutiful servants, the royal suite was silent. Except for the occasional flickering of the wall lightings, and the gentle tousle of the window draperies, all was still. A vague melancholy murmur from one of the adjoining rooms penetrated the quiet.

It was Arwen. She was nestled in a cushioned window seat, in one of her private rooms, holding a piece of parchment in her trembling hands. Tears had already fallen, blotting some of the words written on the parchment in a steady and proficient hand. Her eyes no longer sought the words, for they were already engraved upon her heart and in her memory. Instead, her blurry gaze sought the enchanting firmament, which at that time of night, was decked with a myriad of sparkling stars. What bittersweet memories urged renewed tears to her eyes, one could not tell. But unconsciously, she had let fall the precious letter from her unsteady hands. It was a missive from Elrohir and it read as follows:

My Beloved Sister,

I am assured that this letter finds you in all the bliss deserving of a noble heart such as yours. I have no doubt that Estel is similarly situated. When I last saw you both, his eyes alone convinced me that I was confiding you, my dearest sister, to the eternal protection of his loving arms. Indeed, who in the world who bore witness to all your struggles would dare to distrust the security of your happiness? I have seen the immense passion that you both share and I am humbled. If my will be granted, I hope one day to aspire to a love such as yours. Only then could I say that I have truly lived, for I did not fail to notice that the lovely eyes of my fair sister were the brightest that I had ever seen them, on the day that she became the wife of Estel, the man who has held her affections forever.

I will spare you nothing, dear one, since I know that your heart will discern that which I have chosen not to disclose. Our father suffers acutely and in all honesty, Elladan is inflicted scarcely less so. For myself, I assuage my sorrow with the confidence of your happiness. But I am also a brother who loves his sister more than life itself. Therefore, I understand the grief of my father and brother and I commiserate with them. I pray that our father is soon reunited with our mother. I fear that only she alone can save him from the immurement of his despair. Together, their love will transcend the sorrow occasioned by the loss of you, their most beloved daughter.

But truth be told, I am anxious, and not injudiciously, about our motherÂ’s reception of these tidings. I have no wish to augment the torment of mind that you, my beloved sister, must certainly endure on this score. I only wish to offer my support, as one who is familiar with all the particulars of your suffering and in whom you can unguardedly confide. I know that in the darkest hours, you are strengthened by the one you have chosen to cleave to, but know also that the one who once dried your tears when just a little girl, offers you his unwavering support, should you ever need it.

My dearest sister, your absence is felt most keenly among us. I await only our fatherÂ’s departure before Elladan and I could gather you once again in our brotherly arms. Until then, I will rely on our faithful correspondence to fill the void. I know that the constant tidings of our father serves as a balm to your wounded and steadfast heart and I pledge you my word that I will not fail in keeping you abreast of our doings.

I will end only with the hope of receiving word from you soon.

Most affectionately yours,

Elrohir

These words weighed heavily upon ArwenÂ’s spirit. The confirmation that her adored father suffered through her actions heightened her grief. The tears slid rapidly down her cheeks. She was hopelessly burdened by this knowledge but felt sincerely indebted to her brother for his forthright disclosure. She was a person who appreciated honesty; regardless of the exasperated suffering its admission had accorded.

No one, but her husband, witnessed her moments of dejection. At times, she was assaulted by spontaneous and painful memories that were often triggered by something as subtle as a scent, a taste, or even a voice. Yet, she was invariably able to maintain her composure even while she yearned for a release. But in private, whilst resting in the loving arms of her husband, she would let reign the suppressed grief that her afflicted heart longed to discard.

Aragorn, the devoted husband that he was, was invariably affected by his beautiful wifeÂ’s sorrow. It maddened him when he was helpless in his attempts to restore serenity of mind to her. Every tear that fell pierced his heart and often he would pray for mercy that sleep would provide her a temporary solace. When his prayer was granted, he would watch over her as she slept whilst wondering how he had ever came to deserve her sacrifice: she, who had forsaken all that she had loved to cleave to him. And there he would silently re-assert his promise to prize her above all that existed in his life.

Arwen was still lost in the depths of her sorrow when a discreet knock withdrew her gaze from the beautiful azure of the evening sky. At her bidding, one of her maidens entered.

“The presence of your ladyship is requested in the music room. The Lady Melian and Nessa await your arrival.”

It was then that Arwen recollected her prior engagement for the evening. Melian and her had committed themselves to the task of instructing Nessa in the art of dance. But, only after she had diffidently procured their vow of silence. Three nights had expired since their lessons had commenced and their pupil had adapted quickly. She had a natural grace for the recreation and excelled in the art quite rapidly. They had only to instruct her in the most popular dance routines of that epoch and she would be set for the evening of the ball.

Rising reluctantly, Arwen dismissed her maiden, after charging her with the conveyance of her intention to join both ladies shortly. She went into another adjoining room where fresh water was kept in readiness for her use. She carefully removed all traces of her recent distress from her grave and lovely face before quitting the room to join the others on the third floor.

Upon her entrance into the music room, her swift gaze alerted her to a third and unexpected occupant. It was Lothiriel, the beautiful princess of Dol Amroth. For a fleeting moment, she had imperceptibly communicated with Nessa and Melian. Their eyes pleaded her silence on the matter that had brought her forth from her seclusion. Clearly, Nessa preferred to guard her secret. Nevertheless, Arwen moved forward to greet their guest in a manner befitting of her noble heart. She inquired after LothirielÂ’s welfare and that of her siblings.

“And your father, how is he?” Arwen queried.

“I believe he is well. I have not seen him these past few days. His party arrived in Minas Tirith several days ahead of my own. Today when I arrived, my eldest brother told me that he has left with Faramir and Erchirion with the intention of celebrating tonight with some of his old acquaintances.”

“Then you came alone?”

Lothiriel nodded. “Have no fear on my account, your ladyship. My brother Erchirion will have no qualms in seeking me here if necessary.” Nessa, who was seated some distance away conversing with Melian, heard her last comment, which she felt was decidedly meant for her.

Arwen too had discerned the subtle meaning in Lothiriel’s statement and quickly sought to efface the ill effect that had naturally sprouted in her heart. “There is no need for that,” she graciously told Lothiriel. “One of my servants can accompany you home at any time you are ready.” Lothiriel seemed momentarily disappointed by her ladyship’s unexpected offer. “You may have faith in my servants. I trust them with my life. They are loyal to myself and to the king and to every person that we hold dear. You may assuredly number yourself among the last.”

“Thank you, your ladyship,” was all that stumbled from the startled lips of the young princess. It was originally her plan to have Erchirion escort her home. She had suspicions, which she was impatient to have confirmed, and her ladyship’s suggestion had thwarted her designs. For weeks her brother had constantly alluded to a nameless lady and all her meditations concerning the matter had distinctly directed her curiosity to a particular personage in the Telcontar household in Minas Tirith. Sadly, all her plans would be laid to ruin if Erchirion did not return soon from whence he had wandered and before she would be forced to accept her ladyship’s offer.

She let her gaze fall on Nessa, who seemed insensible to her observation. The graceful neck, the fine features, the smooth complexion, the long eyelashes, the light gray eyes, and the dark black shiny hair collectively heralded the beauty of the descendent of the northern Dunedain. The princess was struck with the loveliness of the young girl to whom she had taken an immediate dislike during their initial meeting. Almost suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation assailed her consciousness. She was ashamed. A moment of clarity had revealed to her the error of her actions. It is true that in their initial meeting she had heard ErchirionÂ’s unkind jest to Nessa regarding her cold reception of her, but her anger had been misdirected. She should have reproached Erchirion for exerting such liberties before a virtual stranger rather than transferring her anger to that innocent stranger.

If she dared to discover what truly inspired her ungenerous feelings, she would realize that she craved ErchirionÂ’s attentions. He was a good brother to her but he rarely sought her company or held extended conversations with her. Consequently, to see him sustain a conversation with a new acquaintance and someone as young as herself, was disconcerting to say the least. To add insult to injury, for the entire duration of his stay, she had watched him leave every day to seek the company of this newly acquired acquaintance.

“Is his highness within?” she inquired of her ladyship.

Arwen nodded. “I expect him home in the late evening.”

“Then I can safely assume that my father and brother are with him. In that case, if your ladyship will permit it, I would like to take advantage of your gracious offer. I already foresee their late return and I have several engagements early tomorrow.”

Arwen acquiesced to her request and before long the princess of Dol Amroth was homeward bound. She savored the time in the open air to reflect upon her past actions toward Nessa. She had always treated her with polite indifference or insolent disregard. It all depended on NessaÂ’s interpretation. Howsoever that may be, she was resolved to remedy her past behavior and reverse the negative impression she was certain Nessa harbored for her. This she planned to execute only after ensuring that her charitable feeling was not ephemeral.

For her part, Nessa had already forgotten their recent guest. She was not a person to dwell on things that meant so little to her and over which she had no control. The princess she knew, had taken an unfair dislike to her, but it was of little matter to her. All whom she loved was confined to that residence and the others were back home in her village. So it was with minimal effort that she was able to resume her activities, as if their flow had never been interrupted. Melian, who was humorously relating to Arwen the details of an earlier encounter with Avallon, was guiding her along in a dance that resembled the Waltz, while Arwen accompanied their footsteps with a superb rendition on the golden harp.
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While the ladies were thus engaged, Aragorn, Amandil, Legolas, Faramir, Imrahil and Erchirion headed out for an evening of drinks in a nearby tavern. It was one of those frequented by noblemen, captains, and other men of craft. At that hour, the tavern was moderately full though more were expected to arrive with the gradual progress of the evening.

The current establishment, in which the six friends were comfortably arranged, was one of the best that catered to those Gondorians who resided in the highest levels of the city. At first glance, the cross section of men seen conversely, some boisterously and others discreetly, or assembled around a game board or mingling in desultory groups, represented that class of Gondorians whose pecuniary circumstances were highly propitious. They had duly acknowledged the entrance of their revered king at whose command they were bided to resume their activities. Some had formerly made his acquaintance through official matters of court, while others knew him only from a distance.

It was widely observed during the past year of his reign that he was hardly seen beyond the vicinity of the Citadel. But that was easily forgiven by his people, who were satisfied to reap the rewards of his efforts to elevate their situation from the destitution of war. The Queen, they had occasionally seen abroad during her numerous visits to the Houses of Healing or during her missions to administer eleemosynary aid to the less fortunate. At other times, she was seen among a bevy of beauties walking through the streets near the Citadel after a few productive hours spent with the women of Gondor. It was reported, however, that the kingÂ’s seclusion was primarily attributable to the policing of his outer lands. He had re-established and improved upon the former hierarchy of command, which enabled him to maintain proper vigilance over his lands. The men he had honored with these command positions were loyal to him. Every week they consistently dispatched status reports to him, informing him of any significant occurrences within his distant lands.

“Has her ladyship granted her permission?” Prince Imrahil asked Aragorn. They were standing near the bar area, with a glass of ale in hand, before proceeding to the table that was reserved for them.

Aragorn smiled benignly. “After some gentle persuasion,” he admitted with a trace of humor in his voice. He was reminiscing on his humble plea to his wife to allow him to set aside a private room for games and other forms of entertaining occupation for their gentlemen guests on the night of the ball. The Ball was her creation and he paid her due respect by consulting her first.

“Gentlemen,” Imrahil said turning to the others, “Your minds may be rendered at ease. The king has just assured me that there will be ample distraction for those of us who dread the prospect of submitting to an entire evening of dance.”

“Ah! But father, you astonish me with that kind of talk,” Erchirion exclaimed. Could it be that the pleasure of attending to a beautiful woman has faded from your memory?”

Imrahil laughed. “Ah!” said he, “my son is appalled by my stated preference. I can assure you that I can still yield to the merits of a beautiful woman’s company. But I can also admit that the pleasure derived from their charms wanes quickly during the course of an entire evening. There are few who can sustain a stimulating conversation and even fewer who can hold my attention.”

“But, father, you are rather strident in your judgment of the fair sex,” Erchirion protested. “My experience has been of a different kind. I agree there are some whose pleasure at a ball revolves around frivolous conversations, but there are many whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, who have shown more wit than you have given them credit for.”

“I meant no offense, Erchirion,” Imrahil said appealingly. “I know how gallant you are in the defense of the fair sex. Heed not the unjust words of your father who looks for logical conversations among a throng who is gathered with the primary motive of amusement and recreation.”

“You spoke rightly, just now father, and in favor of Lothiriel, your own daughter.”

“Gentlemen, my son reprimands me for speaking too hastily and without an infallible premise. But let me resume what it was my intention to say. Since our host has succeeded in allotting a room for our enjoyment, I intend to take full advantage of its use.”

The others had listened in silence to the exchange between father and son with some amusement. Aragorn knew that he was not so fortunate as Prince Imrahil in the commandeering of his time. Duties would occupy a portion of his evening leaving him a modicum of flexibility. The others, however, were at liberty to utilize their time according as they saw fit. Faramir had resigned himself to an evening of incomplete enjoyment in the absence of his betrothed, while Amandil plotted his evening according to the activities to be held in that aforementioned room.

For his part, Legolas was more concerned with the delay in his friendÂ’s arrival. He had expected him a few days earlier and a room was made in readiness to receive him. However, his anxiety did not stem from any fear for his friendÂ’s safety. He was a redoubtable fighter, whose first defense lied in the power of his persuasion, before he resorted to that of the sword. Rather, he was anxious to discover all that had transpired since his departure from Mirkwood a few months earlier.

“I am glad that I was able to render my service to you,” Aragorn said addressing Prince Imrahil. “It remains to be seen just how well you will be able to maneuver your retreat from the companionship of these fair maidens, of whose beauty I have heard so much.”

Prince Imrahil must have been excessively tickled by Aragorn’s comment for he laughed for a full minute. “You may ask what is so diverting to me, and I will tell you shortly,” he said after sipping his ale. “Indeed, a year ago I would still claim that the maidens of this region are prodigiously endowed with the most exquisite beauty that nature can offer, notwithstanding the frivolity that sometimes escape their lips. But I am a year older and a year wiser. While in their own right our maidens still maintain a claim to that beauty….” He paused before humbly stating, “And I say this respectfully, their beauty pales rapidly, when measured against the singular beauty of the Queen Evenstar.”

A hush fell on the small group and the companions grew uneasy. A man would have to be blind indeed not to recognize the unmatched beauty of GondorÂ’s fair queen but he was also content to affect the insensibility of a blind man. At least, that was the philosophy held in the hearts of these companions. To them it seemed that Aragorn was oblivious to the exceptional beauty of his wife and it seemed almost sacrilege to them to hear it declared openly.

Aragorn, who was anxious to restore some comfort to his companions, only responded by saying, “You honor me, Prince Imrahil. Nevertheless, I look forward to greeting Gondor’s fair maidens.” Whenever it came to any allusion to his wife’s physical attributes, he was fiercely protective. In a different light, it might even be considered selfish. But who is to judge the reasons for his preferred reserve on the subject.

Fortunately, most of the groupÂ’s attention was soon drawn to a disturbance in a further corner of the room. A small group of men, who could not conquer their curiosity, gathered closer to a raised and irate voice, while others were content to observe from a safe distance. At first, Aragorn and his companions paid little heed to the initial outburst, believing it to be some squabble between two inebriated patrons. But the increasing breadth of the crowd prompted them to venture forward to investigate.

In the clearing, a group of young, impeccably dressed noblemen were involved in a livid altercation. Hands gripped sword hilts while others restrained the more irate of the two antagonists.

“Do you really think that I would stand by without defending my sister’s honor? Then you know nothing of me, my friend,” muttered the nobleman, who was being restrained by the firm hands of two of his friends.

The target of his fatal attempts stood calmly by, with a single hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have said nothing that in any way reflects adversely upon your sister’s honor,” he stated with an impressive calm after some time had expired and his antagonist was relatively subdued. His grave expression softened, as if he saw a vision that no one else there could see. “Lady Arien commands my utmost respect,” he continued in a tone that was as modest as it was sincere.

“Name her not,” shouted the other in a renewed fit of rage. “From this day forth, I no longer acknowledge you as a friend. And in reparation for your denigration of my sister’s honor, I demand your repentance. If you refuse, then tomorrow at sunset our swords shall meet.”

This declaration, delivered with the impassioned indignation of a devoted brother, galvanized the attention of the onlookers. Those who had remained seated during the exchange immediately rushed forward after word of a proposed duel had swiftly circled the room. The former mumblings metamorphosed into full-scale excited chatter. The promise of sport and spilt blood energized the less sagacious of mind. Aragorn and his companions stood silently by. Gondor had no laws in existence against dueling and it was rarely done except for a few miscreants here and there.

The calmer nobleman had yet to vocalize his acceptance of the otherÂ’s challenge. A flood of inquiring eyes was glued to his person, awaiting the affirmation that they knew was forthcoming. Some whispered in electrified tones to their fellow patrons, others gripped the forgotten glass of ale in their tense hands, while others observed the two young men with an unmistakable expression of pity.

After some deliberation, however, the calmer nobleman acquiesced to the open challenge, although his expression clearly showed that he thought it was folly. One of his friends quietly protested, not daring for the multitude to hear, lest they should label his friend a coward. Nevertheless, he attempted to dissuade his friend from executing this ignoble act. In his eyes, dueling resolved nothing and only resulted in the needless taking of a mortal life. And what purpose would it serve? Through the machinations of several human tongues, a few kind and perfectly respectable words of admiration were misconstrued into something sordid. Hence, the disagreement had ensued.

The next moment, their mutual friends were eagerly vying for the role of seconds and before long, the arrangements were completed. Tomorrow at sunset, either the offending party would die, expiating for his alleged deed, or the noble brother would die honorably defending his sisterÂ’s name.

Meanwhile, there were few minds that expounded on the ramifications resulting from such a proposal. In LegolasÂ’ mind, he saw the fault of expiating a supposed wrong on the blade of another manÂ’s sword. AragornÂ’s mind was similarly engaged, while the others shook their heads at the inanity of employing such a method to resolve a conflict. Their minds were of a higher understanding that condemned the idea of a man dying by another manÂ’s sword, for a trifle such as this. Unlike the majority of the crowd, they had perceived the distinct probity of the calmer nobleman. He had conducted himself in such a manner as to refute the alleged veracity of the accusation brought against him.

Shortly thereafter, the crowd dispersed to resume its former occupations. Some were echoing their decision to witness the duel on the morrow, while others were proposing wagers on the hopeful victor of the match. To these idle men, who formed the majority of the patrons in the establishment, money lost on a rare sport such as this, did little to erode their comfortable fortune.

Aragorn and his companions had retaken their seats with minimal chatter amongst them. “Faramir, do you know these men?” inquired he, after some thought.

Faramir nodded regrettably. “They are strangers to me.”

“I may be of some service, my lord,” interjected Erchirion. “My sister and I have made the acquaintance of the brother and his sister on one occasion.” The others were surprised. “It was a brief encounter and I am as much a stranger to them as any of you are. From that meeting, I was anxious to hasten Lothiriel’s departure though the sister was very pleasant. The brother, on the other hand, I found to be provokingly arrogant. His hubris, perhaps, spans the entire expanse of Mount Mindolluin. It was suffocating to listen with patience to his conceited effusions. His sister, I must agree, is a portrait of loveliness, in beauty and manner. In any case, I believe that his name was Lord Alcarin and the sister, as you have heard, is Lady Arien.”

“What of the other gentleman? Do you know him?” Aragorn had been pleased by the other nobleman’s manner.

“Yes, my lord, but not nearly so well as to give a fair account of him,” Erchirion admitted.

“Nevertheless, I will hear what little you may know of him.”

“He is the only son of Lady Erendi, who, as you know father, was widowed for as long as I have known of her. He is also the sole heir to his father’s extensive property in Anorien and the property here in Minas Tirith. From secondary reports of him, I gather that he is a well-mannered and considerate young man. His behavior this evening has certainly proved him to be of a worthy character. However, I cannot recall his name since I was never officially introduced to him.”

“Thank you for your information, Erchirion. Perhaps there is someone who might be able to shed more light on the cause for this quarrel.” Aragorn’s gaze was fixed on a young man who had lately re-entered the tavern. He was at the bar absentmindedly twirling a glass of ale with his fingers tips. The others followed his gaze and at an imperceptible sign received from him, Amandil arose to invite the young man to join them.

This young man was friend to both Lord Alcarin and the unnamed nobleman. It was he who had attempted to dissuade his friend from irrevocably committing to the duel. His name was Lord Aratan and he was of like mind to his noble friend.

“My lord, you summoned me?” he said to Aragorn.

“Sit down my friend,” Aragorn told him, waving him into an empty chair. “Now enlighten me on the cause for this evening’s quarrel. You are friend to one of the gentlemen?”

“Both, my lord. Lord Alcarin and Lord Anarion have been my friends for as long as I can remember. It grieved me to witness their disagreement but it is for the Lady Arien that I fear the most.”

“Why is that? Aragorn asked.

“Why, my lord?” Lord Aratan said confusedly. “But of course. You cannot know all. I misspoke just now. Lady Arien has sworn me to secrecy and I cannot betray her confidence. You are sagacious men. You should be able to discern that which I have not said. But of this I am certain, either outcomes of tomorrow’s duel will unequivocally ruin all her hopes of happiness. There is a shadow that clouds all her prospects of joy and I am powerless to remove it.”

“You are a loyal friend,” Amandil interjected.

“I can only claim that title with regard to Lord Anarion. He and I are like brothers, having suffered the same fate at a very young age. His father died when he was five years old and my mother died when I was eight. Lady Erendi is like a mother to me just as my father has been like a father to Anarion. We were both fortunate in that aspect. But most significantly, Anarion is perhaps the most honorable man I have ever known. This unfounded claim of calumny is absurd. Lady Arien is like a sister to him. He would never disparage her name in any way or any other person for that matter.”

“I have heard enough, my friend. I will do all that is within my power to render the outcome of this circumstance, if not happy, a just one,” Aragorn said rising to his feet. “Gentlemen, I must bid you a good evening. There is still much for me to achieve on the morrow.”

Legolas and Amandil also arose to depart. They had endured enough excitement for the night and the tranquility of the Royal Residence beckoned to them. Erchirion, Faramir and Imrahil elected to remain behind for a few more drinks and Lord Aratan had accepted their invitation to remain with them.
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Later that evening, while preparing for bed, Aragorn related the whole of the affair to his wife. The two spoke for some time on the matter and before they drifted off to sleep, Arwen had resolved to invite the Lady Arien over to the mansion on the morrow. Aragorn was pleased with her resolution, as it was exactly what he had intended when relating the entire incident to her. Very soon thereafter, he fell into a deep slumber, while Arwen, who was still heart sore, meditated on ElrohirÂ’s letter.

The next day, a beautiful young lady of about NessaÂ’s age, was seated in the sitting room on the first floor. She was nervous. She could not imagine why the Queen had summoned her so urgently. Of her brotherÂ’s intentions, she was fully aware. She had pleaded with him to no avail. He was determined to pursue this ignoble act. The night had been spent in a flood of tears, which left her pale and listless. There was but one way that she saw out of this wretched ordeal, yet she lacked the courage to employ it. Her brotherÂ’s will was inexorable and she knew that he would never voluntarily submit to her wishes. But, if she remained submissive, in deference for her brother, the man that she admired most in life might lose his life because of her. Truly she was in a glum predicament.

“Lady Arien,” Arwen declared upon entering the room. “My apologies if I have kept you waiting long. May I offer you some refreshments?”

“You are very kind but no thank you,” Arien replied timorously. “My appetite is not what it should be today. Your ladyship must forgive me.”

Arwen smiled. “There is no need to apologize, but at least partake of a little wine. You seem a little un-well.” Arien nodded gratefully and Arwen beckoned one of the servants forward with a glass of wine. After Arien had taken a few sips, Arwen continued. “You must be most anxious to discover the reason for my summon, so I will promptly place your mind at ease. Are you aware of your brother’s proposed duel?”

“I am, your ladyship, much to my sorrow,” Arien stated gloomily.

“Then that accounts for your current discomfiture. Do you know what spurred this disagreement?”

“Some ill-conceived rumor regarding myself, your ladyship. But I know Lord Anarion very well, and I can vouch for his integrity.”

Arwen was silent. ArienÂ’s utterance had opened to her mind another aspect of the affair. It was not so much what was declared, but rather the tone in which it was declared.

“Then, how can we prevent innocent blood from being spilt today?” Arwen entreated earnestly.

“I have little hope, your ladyship,” Arien said in the most melancholy voice. “I am so rattled by this change of events that it seems my reason has abandoned me. Will you not guide me? Tell me what I should do?”

“I think you undervalue your influence,” Arwen said kindly. “I think you already know what has to be done.”

Lady Arien sighed. “Your ladyship speaks as though she knows my strength.”

“And Lady Arien speaks as one who is resigned to defeat without attempting to try.” Arwen smiled benignly. “Will you at least try?”

Lady Arien was silent. “I will try,” she said after several minutes had passed.

“Then there is no time to lose. It is midday already.”

Arien arose. “I go with courage then. I have never thwarted my brother in his will and I pray my courage aids me in what I am about to do.”

“Then go with the blessings of the Valar.”
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By late evening, it was reported that a crowd that had gathered at sunset to witness a duel, was sorely disappointed, when, after an hour of waiting, a friend of the two duelists came to announce that a truce had been made. Rumor had it that a relation to the offended party had brought about reconciliation.

Only a few intimates knew the truth. Currently, it was being related to Nessa by one of the chief participants in the changeful affair.

“And what was your brother’s response to your threat to drink the tainted wine?” Nessa was asking.

“At first he was furious,” replied Arien. “I had deliberately poured the toxin into my glass within his presence. I wanted to be sure that he fully comprehended my determination. When I placed the glass of wine to my lips, I knew I had conquered. His anger dissipated in an instant and I saw that he trembled.”

Nessa looked at her gravely. “Did you really intend to drink the wine?”

“Why, I believe at that moment I was willing to do whatever was necessary,” answered Arien earnestly. “My brother realized it as well. An agonized cry was involuntarily elicited from his throat and it solidified my suspicion.” Turning to face Nessa, she said, “But why do you look at me with that haunting expression?”

“I would never have the courage to take my own life,” Nessa exclaimed honestly. “And surely that was not what her ladyship had intended for you to do.”

“Indeed no! But I had determined that it was the only way in which I could successfully deter my brother from pursuing his madness. I know his weakness well. Independent of his love for me, I knew that he could never endure the disgrace culminating from his sister’s taking of her own life. It pains me to say this, but next to his love for himself, he loves the honor of our family name best.”

“What courage you possess. One would have never known that of you.”

“Nah! My courage came from another source. The love of my brother and the love of a friend strengthened my resolve.” She looked at Nessa tentatively.

“What is it?” Nessa asked. “Is there something else that you wish to say?” Arien nodded in the negative so Nessa continued. “You must place a high value on this man’s friendship to sacrifice your life in an attempt to save his.”

Arien smiled. “There is little that I would not do for him.”

Nessa looked curiously at her new companion of several hours. They had spent the day together after Arien had accepted Arwen’s second invitation to the Royal Residence. “Are you saying that this man holds your affections?”

Arien slightly colored. “Yes,” she replied honestly, “though he has not the faintest idea of my regard for him. He treats me more like a little sister.”

“I know the feeling,” Nessa muttered to herself. In an audible voice she said to Arien, “Considering the recent disagreement between your brother and him, it works to your favor that they knew nothing of your regard. It might have exacerbated the situation.”

“Yes, I have tried to propitiate myself with that exact reasoning. But am I doomed to suffer in silence? My brother and Lord Anarion will never overcome this rift. Until father returns from his journey, I am entrusted to the care of my brother. His eyes will follow my every footstep tomorrow night at the ball. He is determined that Lord Anarion maintains his distance from me.”

Nessa said a grateful prayer to the Valar for sparing her the dictates of an overprotective and selfish brother. “Then it is left to you to preserve the peace. I am sure that there will be plenty other partners to be had tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, but there is only one whose attentions would render me happy all evening.”

Nessa sighed. She hoped that Arien had not planted her affections in infertile soil, as she was gradually beginning to believe of herself. “Don’t you think it is a bit imprudent to plan your happiness around a single person?”

“How unromantic you are!” Arien declared in an astonishing tone. “Have you never experienced love?”

Nessa blushed. “I believe I have, but it has never rendered me happy.”

“Nor I. At least, not in the way I believe it should.”

“Then why pursue it? There are surer things in life that guarantee happiness.”

“Nessa, have you never observed the royal couple? In that brief encounter this morning, I have. Can you not feel their love?”

“Constantly! It is never absent from their interaction. But maybe that kind of love is only intended for a few.”

“How pessimistic you are. If you persist in that train of thought, love might indeed escape you.”

Nessa smiled. “Then I repent of my ill-thoughts. There, does that please you?”

“As long as you are in earnest.”

Nessa chuckled. “The day is growing dark. Perhaps we should return to the mansion.” Arien nodded and the two young ladies retraced their footsteps, passing a newly erected gazebo, which was purposed to host an outdoor orchestra tomorrow night at the ball.
—————————————————————————————————————————

The following day, while Aragorn and Amandil were getting their shoulder length hair slightly trimmed and groomed, Lord Anarion and Legolas were with them. They had made the acquaintance of Lord Anarion on the previous day, when he came to personally articulate his gratitude to the king. His friend, Lord Aratan, had apprised him of the kingÂ’s interest in his predicament and he was certain that it was his invisible hand that had saved him from the dreaded act of taking a friendÂ’s life. For, it was a known fact that he was the better swordsman; a fact that Lord AlcarinÂ’s pride would never allow to penetrate to his better judgment. But what he did not know is that Lady Arien was in fact the savior of his conscience. Nor would he learn it until several weeks had expired.

“Legolas, this Aranwe is very elusive,” Aragorn was saying. “Do you still expect him today?”

“Alas! I do. But it could also be the day next or the day after that. I cannot comprehend what delays his arrival. He should have been here several days ago.”

“In any event,” Aragorn said, rising from his chair, “we are prepared to receive him.” He critiqued his hair cut in the looking glass and appeared to be satisfied. The hair was still shoulder length but some layers at the top had been trimmed to accommodate a becoming hairstyle that enhanced the fine features of the handsome face.

After Amandil was similarly attended to, the four men quitted the room to survey the room set aside for their evening entertainment. Exactly to his specifications, Arwen had overseen the arrangement of the room after duty had altered his original plan to do it himself. Several tables were arranged for the simultaneous playing of games, while a considerable area was prepared for those who felt inclined to lounge and discuss political, social, or other commonly debated affairs. All that Arwen had demanded of him, was that he keep the windows open to lessen the asphyxiating smell of smoke that she was certain would dominate the room. But Aragorn had protested that smoking was not nearly as common in Minas Tirith as she believed.

“Howsoever that may be, my love,” she had said, “I still would rather that the windows be kept open. But then, Amandil will be here and I know how much he dislikes that noxious habit. Yes, I am almost certain that he will ensure that the windows are kept open.”

His companions were silently examining the room. “Well, gentlemen, is it to your taste?”

“It suits me fine,” answered Amandil. “Considering this is where I intend to wile away the evening, I speak honestly when I say it meets my approval.”

“You are a fortunate man,” Aragorn replied almost wistfully. “But are you so sure that all of your time will be yours to command? Some beauty might succeed in distracting even the imperturbable Dunadan.”

Amandil smiled. “You have known me these past twenty years, yet sometimes I think that you do not know me.”

“Make no mistake, my friend. I do know you, but I also know life. And I know it well enough to assert that when you least expect it, a single moment can alter your life forever.”

Amandil bowed slightly. “I am wise enough to know that I should never discredit the advice of those who are older and wiser. Therefore, I must accept your word as it is.”

Legolas, who was gazing through one of the floor length windows, had half-listened to Aragorn and AmandilÂ’s exchange. His hands were clasped behind his back and he was staring at the outdoor gazebo though really seeing nothing. He was thinking of Melian and wondered what the night of celebration held for them both.

“Lord Anarion,” said Aragorn turning him. “Though sport, drinking, and debate lay strong claims on a man’s pleasure, I hope you do not intend to spend the entire evening behind these closed doors.”

Lord Anarion laughed. “No my lord. I have the Lady Erendi, my mother, to attend to. I have already engaged her for two dances. After that is accomplished, then I could say that my good deed for the evening has been achieved. I could retire here thereafter.”

“I sense that there will be an abundance of unhappy ladies this evening and I fear it will be of my own making. But, if that is the way it is to be, then so be it. Now I am certain that next year her ladyship will strongly disapprove of another gentleman’s room.”

It was Legolas who laughed now. “And that would be to the misery of many. But in way of a compromise, all you need do is allow the ladies to participate in the chess games. I know Aredhel is a worthy opponent for any of you here.”

“The room is not off limits to them,” Amandil interjected. “It is just more likely that they would prefer the more entertaining recreation of dancing.”

“Can you dance, Amandil?” asked Legolas. His face was amused.

Before Amandil could answer, Aragorn was laughing. “I can vouch for it that he can. One does not spend more than one night in Imladris without learning to dance.”

“Yes,” Amandil admitted. “One embarrassing experience was all it took for me to learn.” He begun to chuckle when he thought of his past ordeal.

A knock on the door interrupted their banter. A servant opened the door and Arwen, Melian and Aredhel entered. “You are ready, my lord?” Arwen asked upon her entry.

Aragorn nodded and took her arm. “Lord Anarion, I will see this evening. I already look forward to meeting Lady Erendi.” The young man bowed to Aragorn and took his leave. The six companions then left the Royal Residence, heading toward the Hallows and the tombs in Rath Dinen. There, the body of Halbarad, much loved by them, had rested in peace for a year.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Later that evening, while the residents of the Telcontar household were adorning their attire for the ball, the mysterious Aranwe arrived. Word of him was rampant among the household elves though never reaching the ears of the primary household occupants. His effect on the elves was notable. Never had they seen such remarkable beauty in the person of another male elf. But there was also some hidden something about him. He was old or rather ancient. Perhaps even one of the elder from the First Age. His eyes were markedly sad like one whom life had altered by some cruel circumstance. The spirit seemed dormant though there was little that evaded the notice of the lifeless gray eyes. Despite the unrivaled external beauty of his personage, his presence inspired an unaccountable fear. So much so, that the elves that Aredhel had designated to attend to him were very relieved when they were finally allowed to quit his presence. And even then, it took a brisk outdoor stroll to revive their spirits.

Upstairs, Arwen was in her private rooms, adorning her evening attire. The gown was of two layers though it was scarcely perceivable. The neckline was scooped and lined with a burnt-orange, beaded brocade. A similar design characterized the narrow fitted upper sleeves. The skirt of the gown fell fluidly to the ground with a delicate train of about a foot in measurement. The color of the dress was rendered indistinguishable by the interchanging hues of the silken velvet material. The primary shades were of a burnt orange and a lovely shade of red. The sleeves of the under dress were fitted to the wrist in a lovely beaded design. However, the sleeves of the over dress were of a wide elven design with a zigzag edge. The sleeves of both dresses were of differing color. The Georgian elven sleeves were of a reddish color while the exposed under sleeves, which terminated at the wrist, were of a burnt orange color. A mantle, of the same interchanging hues with a beaded border, completed the attire.

“Thank you, that will do,” Arwen told one of her maidens who was grooming her hair. It was pulled back from her face to accommodate the comfort of her crown. It fell in waves down the back of her mantle from an elegant design at the crown of her head.

A knock resonated on the door and Aragorn entered. He was adorned in a long, dark red velvet tunic with a high neck. The collar was trimmed with a combination of cranberry and burnt orange beaded design, which continued along the center front of his tunic. He wore a matching mantle that trained in the back and was also trimmed around the edge with the same flower-beaded design. Both attire for the royal couple was resplendent with other intricate details, which was only noticeable to those who took pleasure in scrutinizing the creativity of such works. Arwen dismissed her maidens and closed the door behind them.

Aragorn reached out his hand to her. “How lovely you look tonight,” said he, after warmly kissing her hand.

Arwen amusingly bowed her head. “The king of Gondor also commands my admiration,” said she in return. Aragorn kissed her hand again.

“Shall we?” he said, giving her his arm. Arwen acquiesced and the two exited their suite to descend the stairs.

At that time, Nessa and Melian were conversing in the latterÂ’s room. Both ladiesÂ’ gowns were similar to the QueenÂ’s own but only in the style of sleeves and length of dress. Nessa was adorned in a mellow gold color with a beaded brocade of deeper yellow at the neckline and a matching beaded, low-slung, v-shaped girdle belt at the waist. The under dress that was exposed at the front center, was a light shade of yellow and the back of the skirt was trained. Her black hair fell in voluminous layers just pass her shoulders and efficaciously magnified the beauty of her face.

Melian was adorned in a lime green gown with a v-neckline and collar. The neckline and collar were embroidered with a beautiful beaded design. A wide, high silken belt fitted her waist and trailed down the front of her gown. The under dress, which was exposed in the front, was of a darker shade of green, which perfectly matched the belt. The skirt was also trained in the back. Her brown hair was pulled back into an exquisite bun to reveal the beautiful design of the neckline of the gown.

Aredhel, who had just entered to summon them, was dressed in a white boat neck dress with an intricate beaded detail. Her black hair was long and loose and she wore a silver jeweled band around her forehead.

“Ladies, the others await you. Come along now. Some of the guests have already arrived.”

The three ladies entered the sitting room on the first floor, which was closed to the travails of the invited guests. The servants dispensed a glass of wine to each lady, as they made ready for the toast. Amandil and Legolas were also assembled there, both looking amazingly handsome in navy blue and green, respectively.

After everyone was furnished with a glass of wine, Arwen commenced her toast. “A friend once told me that anything in life is attainable as long as I had faith. He told me this at a time when hope seemed in vain. The shadow was growing daily and the odds seemed overwhelming. But even then, he had hope. At that time, I never knew that those words would be his last to me, in this lifetime. I had seen him leave for danger numerous times before and like my brothers, he always returned. I knew that there would come a time when I would never hear his loved voice again, but I never thought that it would be this soon.” Arwen paused to control her emotions. Aragorn gently squeezed her hand and whispered something into her ear, after which she shook her head. “Forgive me,” she said softly to her companions, her voice shaking with emotion. “But I speak of a friend who was very dear to me, as he was to some of you. “ Her eyes met Amandil’s in a sign of commiseration. “The year has passed by so swiftly and is a profound reminder that time stands still for no one. That rapid weaver, who is known to us as Time, has woven many of our treasured moments into memories and soon many things are forgotten. But, for as long as I live, this day, a year ago, will invariably be special in my heart. In giving their lives, many have made it possible for us to live our lives in a liberated and peaceful Middle Earth. May their souls rest peacefully until we are re-united in love beyond the confines of this world. To Halbarad, a sincerely missed friend, and to all those other cherished lives lost that we are now left to moan.”

The others raised their glasses in the spirit of the toast. The atmosphere was somber and reflective. More than one mind remembered a companion that was lost, whom they would never see again. After several minutes had passed, it was MelianÂ’s turn to make a toast. It was arranged between Arwen and her that the second toast would be hers.

“While in sorrow we moan for those who were lost, I would also like to toast to the celebration of their lives. They died defending our freedom but they lived upholding our beliefs. And to those who are here, who fought valiantly toward this happy end, we salute you for your valor and triumph. To you, Elessar, for your sound leadership and unfailing courage, during a time when the fear of the enemy was strongly prevalent; to you, Legolas, for your unwavering loyalty to the king, in treading the path that few have trodden; and to you, Amandil, for your steadfast support and courage in taking that path to the den of oath breakers. Without your bravery, Middle-earth would never be what it is today. I am genuinely honored to know you and I raise my glass in toast to you. To the Ringbearer and your celebrated fellowship.”

After the seven friends had drunk to the toast, it was time for the royal couple to retire to the reception room designated for the receiving of their guests. While they prepared to greet the throng, the guests loitered in the hallways and lobby, whispering amongst themselves.

At first, the splendor of the Halls was the topic of interest, but that quickly faded the moment Aranwe was spotted within their numbers. He seemed oblivious to their overt exclamations of fascination and that peculiarity only served to heighten the excited murmurs. But much to the disappointment of many, Legolas was clearly on his way to summon him away.

“Aranwe,” said he clasping the hand of the elf. “Time is short and I must defer my inquiries to a more suitable time. First I would like to introduce you to the royal couple and a few close friends.”

“Certainly,” responded the other. He was dressed in robes of a light blue color, which splendidly accentuated his perfect form. As Legolas guided him along, all eyes followed their retreating figures. The mysterious Aranwe was the cynosure of every eye. Never had any of them seen such great beauty in an elf or man. Legolas was the first to enter the reception room where the royal couple was comfortably settled in two throne-like chairs. Melian was standing at Arwen’s side and Amandil was standing at Aragorn’s side.

As he approached, Legolas could not help noticing the effect his friend had on his companions. Like everyone else, they were clearly astonished by Aranwe’s beauty. The both of them bowed reverently to royal couple before Legolas proceeded by saying, “May I present Aranwe, a close friend and advisor to my father. He has been my tutor in many things.”

The royal couple greeted Aranwe in their custom. “Welcome! Aranwe,” Aragorn declared. “You are most welcomed in our home.”

Aranwe bowed again but said nothing. From the moment he had entered the room, his eyes were glued steadfastly to the Queen Evenstar.

Arwen, whose hand was resting lightly on that of her husbandÂ’s, shivered under his gaze.

“Is her ladyship cold?” Aragorn softly inquired after he had felt her tremor.

Arwen turned to him smiling. “I am well,” said she, though her vision was blurred.

Aragorn noticed it but said nothing for the moment.

“May I have your permission to approach?” asked Aranwe, who was staring intently at Arwen. His voice had the most soothing, if not mesmerizing, effect, which was so incompatible with the sensation his presence produced.

Arwen acquiesced and he came forward. “Legolas has told me that you are the daughter of Elrond, Lord of Imladris. I am honored to finally make your acquaintance.” He took her hand and gently pressed his lips against it.

Then something occurred that only Legolas and Melian as immortals were cognizant of. An immense feeling of grief so overwhelmed their senses that both were literally staggered by the effect. MelianÂ’s eyes were clouded with tears, which threatened to spill down her cheeks. Legolas seemed dazed, as he struggled to regain his composure. It was unexplainable to all except the two wills that were at odds.

After Aranwe had kissed ArwenÂ’s hand, their minds had touched. **I know you** his voice had echoed in her head.

**And I am not her** she had returned to his mind, in a sea of anguish. She felt as though she was drowning in his grief and she gripped AragornÂ’s hand so hard that he was visibly disconcerted. Just like Melian and unbeknownst to her, the tears chased each other down her cheeks.