She stood on the balcony without moving. The wind ruffled her hair, pushing the strands back away from her face. Her grey eyes stared in one direction: gates of Minas Tirith. Her delicate fingers held on to the railing, as if she were waiting for something to happen. There was no expression on her face save for the slightest hint of impatience in her eyes and mouth.

She was waiting for him. He had been away for two months this time. Two months of waiting. Two months of long vigils at the window. Two months of anxiety. How much longer could she wait? He had promised to be back when the moon was at its fullest. Today it was.

Her eyes suddenly spotted something—something in the distance that was fast approaching. Lips parting, she leaned forward, hands tightening on the rail. It was him! It had to be him. Without farther thought she walked back into her room. Flinging on a cloak, she pushed the doors open and ran through the long halls. Several people shouted at her, but she ignored all of them, her mind fixed on only one thought: her husband. Somehow, she made it through the endless corridors and down the stairways to the stables. A startled stable hand moved out of her way, stuttering out apologies and making frantic gestures. She gave him a brief smile before she mounted her horse and gave it full rein.

The pair clattered through cobbled streets of the city, rapidly descending from the highest level. She was bent low over her horse, her hair streaming behind from the winds. Skillfully she maneuvered through the narrower streets and around the corners, the steps of her mare never faltering.

They arrived at the courtyard. She straightened up on her horse, looking away from the people who were staring at her and whispering. Her eyes were on the gates; her ears were alert to every sound outside of them. At last, she looked at the soldiers standing guard and nodded. They obeyed her immediately, drawing the locks and slowly pulling the wide doors open. She slowly dismounted, and stood waiting.

The horsemen poured into the courtyard. Her eager eyes sought out the one she was looking for. She raised a hand, catching his attention. His name formed on her lips.

“Estel.”

Though he could not hear her, he could tell that she said his name. Alighting from his own horse, he slowly walked toward her. He quietly said her name as he reached her.

“Arwen.”

She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. Willingly, he pulled her close in a fierce embrace and pressed his lips to hers. They forgot the rest of the city, the rest of the world in that one heartbeat. At last, reluctantly, they broke. She rested her head against his shoulder, sighing in contentment.

He was back, and that was all that mattered to her in that one moment. “Le melon.” She whispered lovingly. “Estel nîn.”

The End

Translation:

Le melon – I love you.

Estel nîn – my Hope