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There could be no prey more devastating upon a manÂ’s mind than the bitterness of his wasted years. This in particular was the affliction under which one forlorn soul labored, seeking admirably to reconcile himself to the inexorable hand that fate had dealt him without measure. A weaker will might have succumbed; this will, however, bore no outward manifestation of submission. His tormenter indeed had many times sworn in his frustration to use whatever means open to him to break his insolent spirit; for so he deemed it when that thrall regarded not his torment.

Physically, the years had ravaged the frame of this once sturdy man into an atrophied figure. Remarkably, the physiognomy of his bonny looks was marred only by a new thinness of face over which a generous covering of facial hair grew. The eyes were still a singular blue and made even more profound by the adversity of recent years. But internally, there must needs be unrest.

The author of his captivity had long been a source of contentious debate within himself. Reflection served only to heighten his past failure in exonerating himself from said situation and was therefore relegated to oblivion. Survival prefaced liberty and was therefore imperative; it was essential to preserve his mind.

Admittedly, his physical strength was badly diminished owing not so much from the one ghastly meal he was given daily, but rather from the suspension in the use of his muscles. His confinement was severely cramped and allowed only limited paces. Foremost upon his mind was the rebuilding of his strength, without which there was little hope of liberty.

With little difficulty, his body had adapted to the meager meal regiment that was administered to him daily; there were countless times when heartfelt gratitude pondered fondly the harsh years of ranger life, which undoubtedly aided in his quest of survival. His emaciation was of little matter. The all-consuming goal of his bedeviled existence lied solely in the restoration of his strength.

Emancipation necessitated deliberate patience and the engagement of those personality traits that he had thought himself perfectly without. There was only one resource open unto him, however, and therefore expedient to employ.

That tool which he intended for the attainment of his ultimate goal had presented itself daily in the form of a wiry, ill-tempered young girl. He knew that it was a formidable task that he had set to himself but nonetheless pursued it unwaveringly. Consequently, silence was forfeited for a few words of acknowledgement.

At first his visitor, whose unbridled resentment was outweighed only by this new astonishment, was unresponsive and doubly suspicious. But these were actions that were judiciously anticipated and therefore by no means discouraging to our prisoner.

The weeks flew by and any other man might have despaired but for this poor soul who took painstaking efforts to cultivate some level of trust with his proposed emancipator. Her vacillating temper was his brutal foe and was in itself a veritable test of his patience.

His labor, however, was not vain. However futile it had seemed at the first, it had given additional purpose to his unending days. And more importantly, the first fruits of his labor were near at hand.

There came a time when he knew of a certainty that her master had gone from home. During those times, there was a marked increase in the presence of guards along the vicinity of his prison. This, notwithstanding, was his opportunity to bring his labor to fruition even if the results were frugal.

A few days of careful persuasion yielded little. There were times when despair was thwarted only by unquenchable will and a patient spirit. But at last the day came disguised in a domestic squabble and a healthy dose of filial disobedience.

For good measure, in her hatred, the young girl had intended to do more damage than did occur in actuality. The prisoner, however, had persuaded her to consider the consequence upon her fatherÂ’s return and even ventured to moderate her anger by empathizing with her against her drunken mother.

This clearly had an effect that all his cherished hopes did not anticipate for he was quite incredulous when after an hourÂ’s repartee he was presented with the prospect of a brief sojourn outdoors. Indeed it was too much to be borne by anyone who was at the mercy of her capricious temper.

When the guards heard of this, there was much wrestling to be done to the conclusion of which they submitted on the condition that he was watched at all times.

It cannot be expressed in words just how our prisoner felt when at first the warmth of the sun caressed his bare, pallid skin. For, while he took care against the assault of the sunray upon his eyes, the prickle of the wind on his skin and the echo of the environment around him was perfect ecstasy.

The sojourn outside was particularly disturbing on one level. The prisoner felt most keenly the insignificance of his existence in the grand scheme of things. By all indication, the world had forgotten him. Perhaps those who cared had mourned and were now healed.

There were many things pondered in that hour, not the least of which were his former companions back in Gondor. But not all thoughts were of them as his keen glance surveyed his surroundings. Disorientation had dissipated long ago and by now he was fairly aware of his general location.

Here again was cause for gratitude toward his ranger cloth. A quick reconnaissance under his trained eyes revealed a scanty perimeter defense. This, of course, he attributed to the absence of the commander and his band of cohorts.

At the thought of the commander, the prisonerÂ’s jaw tightened. An old memory flooded his consciousness and a cloud of bitterness enshrouded his heart. Neither the reason for his captivity nor the reason he was kept alive was hid from him. He was on equal footing with his captor in terms of this apparent mystery.

More grievous still was the extent to which his strength had deteriorated. He had expected frailty but not to this degree.

Detrimental to his plan was the absence of the commander. As he now saw it, there were too many variables involved to effect an escape. Too many days had been wasted in which his persuasive power accomplished little and this outdoor venture had revealed to him just how truly weakened his body had become.

While his thoughts raced on in this manner, an imperfect sound invaded his hearing. A few furtive glances at the guards nearby almost caused him to doubt; but if there was anything positive begotten from the years of confinement, it would have to be the acute development in his hearing.

His heart quickened. That sweet, familiar sound of yesterday year had drifted to his ears; but as quickly as it had come, it had vanished.

He dared not hope.

It was easier to trust to what was in his power to do rather than to the hope of aid from another corner.

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The tidings had been proclaimed and it was generally known among GondorÂ’s nobility that the prince had succumbed and would soon join the ranks of connubial bliss. As many as knew him rejoiced in these tidings and looked forward in earnest to that joyous day of promise.

But when soon the weeks advanced into months, without word or purpose from the prince, some began to doubt. Others settled it within their minds that it would be a long engagement. But in neither case was proof given in contradiction.

Indeed there were some in the Telcontar abode who privily delighted in this delay, hoping fervently that the prince would understand his heart. This, at least, was NessaÂ’s opinion on this dastard affair. She knew nothing of MelianÂ’s hopes beyond her own speculation and therefore took no deviant stance in her friendÂ’s favor. Indeed, to her Melian seemed more indifferent to this report than she would have ever supposed her to be.

Time had so changed their fortunes that nothing resembled the hopes of seven years prior. She had looked forward, with fondness, to the princeÂ’s return from battle, knowing that at least his heart was confirmed in loving one of those whom she herself loved best. But the affair had assumed a sobering reality and the sharp bend in the road was never anticipated.

There was no mistaking the truth of the situation, however, for since the news had been received at the TelcontarÂ’s abode, there was an unequivocal tacit agreement formed amongst the hearers to relegate that news to private reflection. And so it was never discussed openly or ever mentioned in private repartee.

In truth Nessa yearned to approach the subject with any one of her intimate friends, but her sense of propriety forbade it. Truly it was never discussed between her and Arien though it was sufficiently clear that their hearts were united in judgment.

For differing reasons, the two deemed it an undesirable match; Nessa, because of her attachment to that passive inference given so many years earlier and Arien, because she saw no true spark of unparalleled affection on the princeÂ’s side.

Whereas Lady Vana was clearly smitten by the very presence of her betrothed in a room, there was no distinguishing sentiment on the likewise from the prince when she entered a room.

In this conclusion they thought themselves perfectly justified, since even after many years of marriage the royal couple still gloried in the throes of a deep, authentic love, which was felt by anyone, stranger or friend, who were at any time in their midst.

Yes, there had been more limited opportunities by which to observe the newly betrothed but one evening in their presence had quite put Nessa under the conviction that the exchange of sentiment between the two was unequal.

Nessa liked Lady Vana; she was a sweet, steady, mild tempered beauty whose faults were yet to be discovered. In terms of companionship, Nessa found her to be in every way pleasing. Indeed so much so that she soon began to ascribe this trait as Lady VanaÂ’s elusive fault.

Nevertheless, Nessa genuinely liked her and hoped that if this match was indeed to be, that time would reconcile it to her heart.

She had often thought Fate cruel for the waste it had lain to their hopes and ambitions in love, but she had also learned to adapt. And herein was that old adage manifested that while there was life there was hope.

However reluctantly she would have formerly admitted that, her smiles came more frequently now.

It was a change Aredhel gladly welcomed despite the agitations occasioned by this new closeness between Nessa and Erchirion. To this purpose she had made it her goal to be always present when that young couple socialized at the TelcontarÂ’s residence. Though she was very fond of Erchirion and saw no harm in him, wisdom dictated a safeguard.

Nessa had noticed this new peculiarity of AredhelÂ’s and was quite frankly, grateful. Her relationship with Erchirion was developing into something much dearer, and truth be told, she found it terrifying. She dared not think of the consequence should an attempt at more fail.

It was a fear that had more than once robbed her of a peaceful nightÂ’s sleep and rightfully so. There were shared moments when she felt certain that Erchirion was on the cusp of confession and she dreaded its fulfillment.

In her heart there was a blossoming love that his kindness and constancy had engendered, but she could not yet bring herself to trust it; she did not mean to learn her lesson twice by repeating the mortifications of the past. Nothing but the firmest confidence in her own heart and the guarantee of his requited love would set her down this bittersweet path toward love.

In the meantime, she was guarded in her actions lest at any time her behavior was misconstrued as encouragement.

Erchirion was neither dissuaded nor hopeless about the situation. He had been patient this long and he was willing to be patient much longer. In his estimation, the prize was worthy of it.

Meanwhile, the interim pleasures of life filled their storybook pages. Nessa, who went regularly to ArienÂ’s home in the evenings, some times coerced Melian into accompanying her. Other times Erchirion would bring Lord Anarion with him when the latter was so disposed to company.

Since the passing of his friend, Lord Anarion indeed came very little to Minas Tirith. He was confined to his estate in the plains of Anorien where his mother had taken up her abode. But even when she took up her residence for brief spells in the city, Lord Anarion was scarcely to be found in Minas Tirith.

When he would wait upon Lady Arien at her residence, he could not be easy; it seemed the memory of the old enmity that formerly existed between him and her brother was sure to plague their minds during attempts at intercourse. This arose not so much from the strife itself but rather from the suppositions surrounding that strife.

They were changed people and almost strangers in heart.

While others were present, however, they felt nothing amiss in their interaction and Lord Anarion attended gaieties at Lady ArienÂ’s residence for as long as he felt so inclined.

These companions, consummate in friendships and allied in pleasure, were nonetheless to be pitied. Oft times that black cloud threatened to keep them ever mindful of Fate and how she had so used them to her derisive whim.

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Part of her demandedÂ… neededÂ… longed for closure. When it came, however, the pain that she had expected was curiously absent. In its place was a strange numbness. It was as though someone else had inhabited her body. Her own laughter indeed echoed strangely to her ears and she was not completely insensible to the questioning glances that the others gave her from time to time. It was plain to see that they thought her exhibition insincere.

In truth, Melian herself did not know what she was about. Something had changed within her when Aragorn had brought home the news of the princeÂ’s pending nuptials. And how cowardly of him, she had thought, to announce his engagement to them in such a way. Heartfelt esteem dictated that there was more due them than the form in which it was delivered, even though the prince had presented himself in person to the king.

In the beginning, it seemed that she was glad to grasp at any point that would serve to lower the prince in her estimation. Anything to keep at bay that feeling of precious loss. Fortunately, she realized early the harm of that course; the only fruit reaped along that way would be that of bitterness and she had no desire to become what she most hated.

It also did not help that the news of the princeÂ’s engagement hung palpably in the air. Though no one spoke of it, it was obvious that everyone thought of it. Melian half wished that it was overtly spoken of and finished with. It would certainly relieve everyone of the opinions they were obviously craving to share.

Still, there was no telling what feelings would be invoked by an open discussion of the matter. She half fancied that there was a favorable chance that she would disintegrate into that fragile state that was reprehensible even in imagination. No, it was better to endure the suspense of these emotions.

Once that first dilemma was passed, it was easy to pretend that life was its usual self and herein was the domination of her insouciant trait fortified.

The prince rarely came to the TelcontarÂ’s and the few times he did, Melian was able to receive him with cordial though polite indifference. Twice he had brought his betrothed with him and both times Melian was gracious and obliging. It took no particular resolution on her part because Lady Vana indeed was a sweet person. In fact, it took more courage on her part to preserve that strength of heart.

Time took care of what was not in MelianÂ’s power to do. She no longer had to deliberately occupy her mind with the other aspects of her life. They soon came naturally to her thoughts once more. Of course there were still days when some semblance of that precious loss would taint her thoughts, but these were very few and far between.

Besides, while she could share in the happiness of those around her, her own happiness possessed progressively less of her thoughts. For one thing, she was happy to witness the growth that Nessa had made. Her smiles were more frequent now and Melian was glad of it. Like Aredhel, she had her concerns but they were purely of a different nature.

Melian was persuaded that the problem of closure would with time present itself a problem. Sadly, she was convinced that Erchirion was in no danger of possessing that heart in its entirety. It was such a pity! Besides the other positives that recommended the match, the two were so alike in tastes and tempers that it was quite inconceivable that they should ever be separated.

Melian genuinely hoped for their sakes that their desires would not be thwarted by Fate. It seemed to be the common thread that wove their lives together in bittersweet accord.

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There it was. He had done his duty. No one could fault him for it. He had done what was right to do. Lady Vana was happy, her family was happy and his people were happy. What more could there be to confirm him in the validity of his actions?

It was left only to plan and secure their future.

In doing so, the two became reacquainted with each other. That something that Lady Vana had feared would separate them was no longer evident. Indeed she had never seen Legolas so devoted and unwavering in his pursuit of pleasing her. It was very reassuring after that long period of doubt and more than once she had chided herself for the fears that had re-surfaced in the days subsequent to accepting his proposal.

Each day Legolas had made her fancies vain. He courted her assiduously, always anticipating those things that would bring her the most pleasure. There was scarcely an evening when they were not together and even then he was sure to elicit some delight by proxy. Lady Vana was so affirmed in happiness that she was almost afraid of it. There was bound to be some misfortune that she could not foresee.

Admittedly, there were times when she had a vague sense that Legolas was attempting to quiet some inner conflict. But she invariably attributed that to important decisions that he was required to make as leader of their realm. She had not the slightest idea about the truth of the situation.

It was decided between Legolas and her that they would wait a twelve-month or so before exchanging vows. Legolas especially had requested this in fairness to Lady Vana. He felt certain that he could love her, in his own way, now that his decision was unalterable. He simply needed that period of courtship to nurture that love. This, at least, he owed to Lady Vana.

He also meant to repeat his vows in sincerity of heart.

Regarding Melian, her apparent apathy to his pending nuptials did more to aid him in his courtship of Lady Vana than he could have done on his own. They had dined in mutual company on more than one occasion and at first Legolas had thought her indifference a disguise. A second interview, however, had persuaded him otherwise.

Naturally it was a difficult verdict to sustain in spite of the fact that it was expedient for her to forget him as soon as she possibly could. He refused to attribute the resulting feelings to that of an injured pride. Rather, in his heart, he mourned the loss of that love that could no longer be and which he had succinctly stifled in its growth. He knew then that it would never be the same again with them for as long as they lived.

There was some remorse in that truth, but it was useless to repine. After all, there was hope for the future where the promise of a happy home and mutual labor was sure to suffice.

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While the future portended uncertain fates for their companions, Aragorn and Arwen was fairly certain of what the future had in store for them. Indeed, all their hopes were entirely wrapped up in that little somebody who intended to put in its appearance the following year. Arda itself could not contain the joy of these two lovers on this delightful occasion and all Gondor swelled with the tidings of an impending heir.

ArwenÂ’s feelings were scarcely to be described upon review of her delicate state. The enormity of her situation took some getting used to. Physically, there was hardly any change and yet she felt with certainty the life that grew within.

Aredhel, Melian and Nessa were perfectly thrilled by the news and quite frankly welcomed the promise of little pitter-patter down the silent hallways. It was the change that they all needed. They could not fathom an instance where childlike enthusiasm could not serve to dispel clouds of gloom.

Aragorn, for his part, was proud of the prospect of becoming a father. He was scarcely less enthusiastic than Arwen in the situation, though his enthusiasm manifested itself in a different way. When others congratulated him, there were no effusions of pride. Prompt discussion of business almost always succeeded a laconic acknowledgement of gratitude.

Arwen and him had written to Imladris to the intent of sharing their joy but had not received any word from either Elladan or Elrohir. Accordingly, Aragorn was surprised when one day, some weeks following, an epistle addressed to him in ElrohirÂ’s firm handwriting was presented to him with an accompanying report that it was from Lorien.

He would have opened it immediately had he time then, but he was due at court directly and therefore secured the letter in his drawer for perusal at a later time.

The letter he had received read as follows:

My dear brother,