The sight of her dear, familiar nessamelda tree
brought a smile to Arwen's face. Impulsively she
slipped from her horse's back, tossing the reins to
Elrohir as he paused to look back.

   "I'm going to walk across the valley. Take care of
Isfin for me please, brother."

   He caught the reins and continued on after Elladan,
both smiling indulgently as they always did at her
whims.

   She climbed her tree first, settling contentedly
into the nest of boughs she'd woven for herself back
when the tree and she were both very young, for a good
long look at the valley of Rivendell. Lorien was fair
but Imladris was home. It was good to be back. Though
truly she hadn't been away very long - twenty winters
perhaps or a little more.

   When she'd looked her fill she descended and
started down the winding path to the little rushing
river that bisected the valley, fed by the cascading
falls of a dozen mountain streams. The bridges were
all farther downstream near the house but she knew a
place where the river ran shallow and it was possible
to cross dry-shod on rocks.

   All her favorite places were along this path; her
tree; her still, clear pool formed by a back eddy of
the river; and on the other side of the little ford
her dancing lawn. A perfect circle of green sward
ringed by dark hemlocks and pale birch trees.

   A bird sang, its music blending with that of the
waters, and Arwen danced to it for the sheer joy of
being home. The bird flew away, she laughed, started
to follow -

   "Tinuviel!"

   She whirled, heart in mouth, to see a man standing
in the shadow of the trees. He took a step forward
into the sunlight one hand extended as if to stay her.

   "Tinuviel."

   She saw at once he was a Man not an Elf but the
light in his eye and the shape of his face proclaimed
him one of the Line of Isildur and her remote kin.

   There was nothing to be afraid of, no reason at all
for her heart to pound so. She produced a smile.
"Beren?"

   "Would that I were." He answered. "But alas, I am
merely Estel."

   "And I am but Arwen."

   He smiled and her heart gave a great leap, catching
her breath in her throat. What was the matter with
her?

    "Welcome home, Lady. They are making great
preparations for your reception up at the house."

   "And yet I find you here?" she wondered.

   His smile became a wry grin. "I was given a choice
between weaving garlands with the maidens or playing
accompaniment for Lindhir as he  practiced his song of
welcome."

   She laughed, a little breathlessly. "So you ran
away? I would have done the same." and she held out
her hand to him.

   He bent to kiss it. Many men had done as much but
none of them had sent a tingle racing up her arm or
caused the blood to rise warmly in her cheeks. She
felt giddy and bewildered. She wanted to laugh and
sing for joy and to cry as she had never cried in all
her long years. She wanted to stand here forever with
this man's hand in hers, looking into his eyes. And
she wanted to run far, far away and never see him
again. What was wrong with her?
                **************

    She climbed the steps to the terrace outside her
rooms alone but with a hand still warm from his clasp
telling herself she was just glad to be home and
pleased to meet so handsome and charming a kinsman
nothing more - nothing to be frightened about.

   Entering her rooms she dropped her cloak on a chair
and bent to inspect herself in the mirror. She had
rather more color than usual but her hair was a mess.
Reaching up she began to undo the braids only to have
her hands slapped aside.

   "You're making it worse, let me."

   "Ellian!" joyfully Arwen turned to embrace her
friend.

   "You have kept us all waiting a half hour at
least." Ellian teased. "But a few moments more won't
matter. We might as well fix your hair and change your
dress too while we're about it. You've been climbing
trees haven't you?"

   "Ony the one." Arwen sat on the stool before the
dressing table and watched in the mirror as Ellian
unbraided and combed out her hair with practiced
skill.

   They might almost have been sisters, they had the
same coloring; soft black hair, eyes the deep blue of
a summer night's sky, complexions like the white
petals of the niphredil blossom. Ellian was, perhaps,
not so beautiful. Or maybe it was just a different
kind of beauty. For she was Mortal, a princess of the
Dunedain, descended through many generations from
Elros Half-Elven, twin brother to Elrond of Rivendell.

   "I met a Man in the valley." Arwen said suddenly.
"A kinsman of yours by the look of him. He called
himself Estel."

   In the mirror she saw Ellian nod recognition.
"Aragorn, my nephew."

   "Why have I never seen him before?"

   Her friend laughed. "Because he wasn't born yet of
course! You've been away a full two and twenty years.
Aragorn is but twenty."

   So young? "He's very beautiful." Arwen said, and
immediately wanted to bite her tongue, as if she'd
given something away.

   But Ellian didn't seem to find anything significant
in the comment "You think so do you? Wait until you
see my Belecthor. Tall as his father and fair as his
mother!"

   "Oh!" suddenly Arwen remembered, twisted around on
her stool pulling her hair out of Ellian's hands. "How
could I forget! Arador is dead - and Belegorn too.
Your father and husband both at once." her eyes
filled. "I wanted to come back to be with you but
Grandfather wouldn't allow it. Too dangerous he said."
      
   "Celeborn was right." Ellian replied with a brisk
hug. "The passes weren't at all safe and none of us
want you risking your mother's fate." She turned Arwen
firmly back to face the mirror and resumed work on her
hair. "You would have been most welcome but truly
there was little you could have done." a moment's
hesitation then, "You heard about Arathorn as well?"

   "What? Oh no, not him too!"

   "A few years later. Aragorn is his son. He was just
two at the time."

   Tears slid silently down Arwen's cheeks. She'd
heard such news before of course. It had always
grieved her but never frightened her before, nor did
she understand why it did now. The fear loomed beyond
the edge of her thought too great and monstrous to be
faced.

   "Arwen!" dismayed Ellian stopped combing to put her
arms around her friend. "I didn't mean to spoil your
homecoming. Our lives are always brief, you know
that." she held Arwen closer, rocking her as Celebrian
her mother used to, long, long ago when she was a
child. "It is not how much time we have but how we use
it that counts. My father and husband and brother used
theirs well. They will be remembered. And they left
sons to follow them. That is our kind of immortality."

   Drying her eyes Arwen looked at her friend and
realized something else. "You've changed."

   "Of course I have." Ellian smiled gently. "I've
taken a husband and lost him, run a holding and raised
two children. I've grown up." another hug. "But don't
worry, my Beruthiel is just of an age to make a
playmate for you. She's eager to meet you."

   That had happened before too. The daughters of the
House of Isildur had been her friends and companions
as long as she could remember. For a few years they'd
be close as sisters but then the Mortal girl would
change, chose a new life and move on, leaving Arwen
behind.

   Odd. She'd never thought of it like that before. It
was as if she were a flower floating on the still
surface of her pool while the river of Imladris rushed
by carrying Ellian, and all the girls before her, to
new places and new lives. It was a strange thought and
it made her feel sad. As if she was missing something.

   For the first time in her nearly three thousand
years of life Arwen Undomiel found herself wondering
what it would be like to leave her father's house. To
live somewhere else with someone else.

                **************
   Estel had a tree too, a large and ancient beech
growing on the riverbank a mile or so above the House.
Arwen sat beside him on a crude platform built between
three branches overhanging the water, its uneven
surface softened by layers of worn and weather faded
rugs, munching an apple as the setting sun shone
through the river cleft tinting the whole valley gold.

   "Berya, Meleth and I built it when I was eight," he was
explaining, "then the others came and we let them in
on the secret."

   "And you would steal apples and come here to eat
them." Arwen finished. She pitched her core into the
river below and looked at him. "Why not just ask for
the apples?"

   "Where's the sport in that?" He grinned, "Besides,
they might have said no. Grownups often did."

   Arwen thought back. "Not to me."

   "That I do believe." Estel said, amused. He took
another bite of his apple and when he'd swallowed
continued; "Our mothers and especially Grandmother
were far less indulgent than the Elves. And I don't
doubt Uncle is far stricter with his fosterlings than
he ever was with his daughter."

   "That doesn't seem fair."

   He shook his head. "When I was young I would have
agreed with you. But Uncle is right. We Isildurioni
are destined for hard lives. We need a hard
discipline."

   Arwen's heart contracted painfully. She hated to be
reminded of the difference between them and of the
hardships and dangers Estel would endure as a Ranger.
he must have seen it in her face for his tone quickly
turned light again.

   "Besides there was only one of you - and you can't
have been as naughty a child as the five of us were!"

   "What did you do?" she asked, fascinated.

   He laughed. "What didn't we do! Knocked hands and
noses off statues, built cities out of the books in
Uncle's library, daubed frescoes with berry juice,
tracked mud and riverwater through every room, kept
kestrels in the summer tower and put pike in the lily
pool, climbed the pergolas and dug holes in the
garden!"

   "And I missed it." Arwen mourned. "I wish I'd come
home sooner." Never had she been so painfully aware of
the inexorable passage of time. Already she had lost
twenty years of his life. At best he had no more than
a hundred eighty or ninety more and then - her mind
shied desperately away from completing the thought.

   "We'd have made your life a misery." he was saying.
"Frogs in your bed, birds' eggs down your back, honey
in your hair. You'd have hated the lot of us.

   "Not you." she denied, looking into eyes that
sometimes seemed grey, sometimes blue, but always with
that elusive spark of starfire shimmering in their
depths. "Never you." The evening breeze down from the
mountains caught up her long hair, blowing it forward
around her face, the soft ends tickling his.

   "I suppose you would have gotten over it." he
conceeded huskily. "Eventually. When I was an old, old
man."

   His breath came ragged, as if he'd been running.
She was having trouble breathing too, drowning in
those eyes. Slowly, almost without the will of either,
they leaned closer.

   "I've already lost too much time." she whispered.

   Their lips touched and there were no more words.
            ******************

   Arwen climbed the steps to her terrace and entered
her darkened chambers. Bent to light a lamp and a
voice said; "I will thank you not to break my
grandson's heart, Arwen Undomiel."

   She gasped and almost knocked over the lamp, spun
to see a tall woman sitting still as the shadows that
cloaked her. "Ellemir!" Arwen put a hand to her
throat, pulse pounding. "what do you mean, break his
heart?"

   The Lady of the Dunedain rose and moved forward
into the light. She had a distinct look of Arwen's
father, the same grey eyes and winged brows, beautiful
but grim with the hard experience of many years. Yet
there was no grey in the long hair, black as Arwen's
own, and if there were lines upon her face they were
not visible by lamplight. She looked stern, almost
angry. Arwen tried not to quail.

   "One does not cure a young man's infatuation by
paying attention to him! You know that as well as I
do. What is the matter with you, Arwen? You handled
Arathorn and Halbarad beautifully."

   "That was different." Arwen husked. It had to be.
Because if it wasn't then Estel's feelings would
change. He'd grow away from her just as Ellian had.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Break his
heart? it was he who would break hers!

   "Arwen?" Ellemir touched a tear, sparkling in the
lamplight, her own face softening with pity and
dismay. "It seems it is not just Aragorn I should have
been worrying about." wonderingly. "Have you fallen in
love with my grandson?"

   "Is that so impossible?" Arwen asked, a little
bitterly, turning away arms wrapped tight around
herself.

   "Not at all." Ellemir said calmly to her back. "I
fell in love with his grandfather after all, and I
assure you I had no intention of doing any such
thing." her lips quirked in a rueful, reminiscent
smile. "I was going to be a second Lady Haleth, a
maiden warrior-queen, living only for her people." a
short laugh. "The truth was I'd been my own mistress
since I was eighteen. I liked my independence and
meant to keep it. Then Arador came and upset all my
plans. Of course if he hadn't." she finished drily,
"there would have been no Aragorn and we wouldn't be
having this conversation."      

   No Aragorn. No Estel. Ellemir had finally put into
words the fear Arwen had been fighting all these weeks,
dragged it into the light where it had to be faced.

   "He's going to die!" she burst out in passionate
terror. "In battle like Arador and Arathorn or of old
age. He'll die and I'll never see him again as long as
the world lasts!"

   "That is the fate of Men." Ellemir agreed coolly.

   "If Estel dies I want to die too!" Arwen cried
frantically.

   "Which would solve nothing." the Woman's tone was
crisply unsympathetic, bracing. "You are an Elf,
living or dead, you are bound to the Circles of the
World while we Men are doomed to pass beyond them."

   "I am Half-Elven." Arwen contradicted in a hushed,
almost frightened whisper. "I can choose to become
Mortal if I will." The idea was scarcely less
terrifying then the thought of losing Estel.

   Ellemir caught her breath, shaken. "Arwen this is
your life we are talking about." she said recovering
herself. "More than your life, the destiny of your
soul." Sternly. "It is not a decision to be made
lightly or in a moment of passion. If you choose a
Mortal life it is your father you will not see again
as long as the World lasts. And your mother and your
grandparents. You will break their hearts, Arwen, can
you to do that to them?"

   "Father." she said miserably, then. "Ellemir, what
am I going to do?"

   "You are going to be calm." was the firm answer.
"You will take your time and think carefully about
what you want to do." a thin smile. "I promise you,
Aragorn is not going to die for many years yet."

   Arwen subsided onto the bed, trembling in the
aftermath of her emotional outburst. "Take time.
Think. Yes, I will do that." she felt calmer already.
She was not accustomed to making hard choices, or
decisions of any kind, it comforted her to think this
one could be put off for a little while.

   "Remember," Ellemir said softly, "all choices bring
with them regrets, and that is as true for Elves as it
is for Men. Arwen, do you want to tell your father, or
shall I?" Arwen looked at her in surprise. "Your
decision affects him as well. He should be warned,
given a chance to prepare himself."

   Elrond's daughter looked down at her tightly
clasped hands. "I am a coward. You tell him. But say I
haven't decided *anything* yet." took a deep breath.
"When I do, I will tell him myself."
               **************

   Elrond recieved his nephew and foster son in his
library, a large hall walled with open colonades, with
galleries above and balconies overlooking the lower
terraces and gardens. The candles in their twining,
multibranched holders had been lit washing the leather
bindings of the books with gold and reflecting in the
polished wood of benches and reading desks.

   The Master of Rivendell sat in his high backed
chair and studied Estel - Aragorn - with a measuring
eye. Tall as the Kings of Men of Old with the strong,
clear cut features of his House unmarked as yet by
time or care, so young, so very young. The eyes that
met and held his gaze were grey as the twilight sky
behind him, shot with the silvery Elven light that was
the visible sign of their kinship. Their expression
guarded. Elrond thought he knew why and spoke quickly
to set his nephew's mind at rest. 

   "Aragorn, you know already something of the burden
you are heir to. For ten centuries the Dunedain of the
North, led by the Heirs of Isildur, have fought in
secret against the Lord of Mordor, defending the free
peoples of the North from enemies they do not even
know they have. But soon the time for secrecy will be
past."

   Aragorn's head lifted eyes narrowing, his interest
caught.

   "Nearly a thousand years ago Arvedui, the Last
King, was given the chance to reunite the Realms of
the the Dunedain and overthrow the Dark Lord-"

   "It was not his fault that he failed." Arvedui's
many times great grandson, broke in defensively.

   "I did not say that it was." Elrond replied his face
tightening with remembered grief - and anger.
"His rights were denied, his claim discarded, and he
and his people fell into shadow."

   "But from the shadows we have continued the fight."
Aragorn reminded him.

   "Indeed you have, but at great cost. Gondor too has
paid the price of her pride and folly. Her strength
dwindles, if not her courage. And perhaps adversity
has taught her wisdom." Elrond certainly hoped so.
"Your peoples suffer as the Dark Lord's power grows.
They need their King; The Heir of Isildur, Elendil's
son of Arnor and Gondor. You, Aragorn."

   His nephew's eyes widened at that and Elrond saw
him swallow.

   "Why do you think we named you 'Hope', Estel my
son?" he asked with unwonted gentleness. "You are the
last hope of your people; either you reunite the
Realms of the Dunedain and throw down the Dark Lord
forever, or the world of Men and all of Middle Earth
falls into Darkness unending. It is a great burden but
one I believe you have the strength to bear."

   "I hope you are right, Father." Aragorn husked and
stood silent coming to terms with his destiny.

   Elrond watched as initial fear and uncertainty gave
way to determination, as he had expected they would,
and then to an intense excitement he did not
understand at all.

   "Aragorn -" he began and was cut off.

   "I was glad when you sent for me, Uncle, for there
is a matter I have long wanted to discuss with you but
my courage failed me." His eyes lifted to Elrond's
burning silver bright, his words came in a rush. "I
love your daughter Arwen and she loves me. I know she
is far above my worth but if, as you say, I will have
a throne to offer her - the High Kingdom itself -"

   "Aragorn - Estel!" Elrond managed to stem the
flood. His nephew fell silent, watching him with
half-fearful hope.  

   Elrond was shaken as he had seldom been in all his
centuries of life. Aragorn was not the first Heir of
Isildur to confess a passion for Arwen. In fact they
had fallen in love with her with almost monotonous
regularity over the generations. But none of his
predecessors had claimed she returned his love or
spoken of marriage.

   Forcing back a sudden, terrible fear Elrond managed
to speak calmly. "As to your worth, you are my own
brother's child, however many generations removed, so
I can hardly complain of your birth." a thin smile.
"And as I have had the training of you I cannot justly
complain of your breeding either. But you are mortal,
Aragorn, and Arwen is not. That presents -
difficulties."

   "I know." his nephew agreed steadily. Adding with a
defiant lift of the chin. "There are precedents."

   Elrond could not restrain an almost painful smile.
"Were there not neither you, nor I, nor my daughter
would exist." said the son of Earendil, son of Tuor
and Idril, and of Elwing daughter of Dior, son of
Beren and Luthien Tinuviel. With contained agony. "You
do not know what you ask of me, son."

   Aragorn sensed something of his Uncle's pain, even
if he did not yet understand its cause. "It is Arwen I
will ask." he said quietly. "She who will decide."

   "As is her right." Elrond agreed. "But not now. You
are only twenty, Aragorn. Too young yet to offer
marriage or even pledge yourself to any woman. And
your education is not completed. It is time you left
Rivendell and learned the ways of the Wild."

  "I know." Aragorn admitted. "But I thought it only
right you should know my intentions - and my hopes."
                  ***********

   Aragorn left his Uncle's presence still half dazed,
his impossible love suddenly become possible.

   In later years a foolish legend would arise that he
had been brought up in ignorance of his true name and
heritage. That was nonsense of course, he'd always
known perfectly well who and what he was: Aragorn son
of Arathorn descended in direct line, father to son,
from Isildur, heir of Elendil the Tall High King of
the Realms in Exile. Born of the blood of Elros
Half-Elven first King of Numenor and twin brother to
Elrond of Rivendell, through whom Aragorn could claim
descent not only from the great Heroes of Old but from
Kings of the High Elves and even one of the Holy Ainur
who'd existed before time began. There was no nobler
lineage among either Men or Elves.

   But for all his high birth he had hitherto held
himself unworthy of the hand of Arwen Undomiel. How
could he ask the daughter of Elrond to share the rough
and dangerous life of a Ranger chief? But the High
King of the West could give her the sort of life she
was accustomed to, that she deserved.

   Elrond was right, Aragorn had no real idea what he
was asking, or of the choice Arwen would have to make.
He knew nothing of the Doom of the Half Elven and
death was far from his thoughts as he stood on the
terrace under the stars remembering the prophecy and
wondering how to make it come true.

   It would not be easy he knew. His kingdom of Arnor
was long fallen and the Lords of Gondor had denied the
claim of the Heir of Isildur not once but twice. And
if he thought of the High Kingship more as a means to
win the hand of the woman he loved than as the great
and solemn burden it was, perhaps that was just as
well. For if at the age of twenty he had seriously
contemplated just how much depended on his single
life, his will and his wisdom he might well have been
too paralyzed with terror to ever so much as leave his
chamber.

   As it was the optimism of youth and the added
incentive of love gave him confidence. He knew he
would find a way to achieve his dream and was eager to
begin at once. Now, that very night. Mind made up he
left the terrace and headed for his own quarters.
                ****************  

   Elrond was still in the library, standing on a
balcony under the stars, when he sensed movement
behind him and turned.

   Ellemir stood there, tall and grave. "Matters are
more serious than we thought."

   "I know." he replied heavily. "Estel told me."

   Winged brows drew together in a frown. "I thought
we agreed I would speak to Arwen first."

   "It was he who raised the subject." Elrond
answered. "I called him here to tell him of his
destiny."

   The frown deepened, shading from annoyance into
concern. "How did he take it?"

   "Well enough. Until he was distracted by the
prospect of a throne to offer Arwen."

   "Distracted." Ellemir smiled faintly, walked past
Elrond to sit on a stone bench against the railing.
"What else would you expect? He is young and in love -
and he can scarcely ask Arwen Undomiel to share the
life of a mere Chief of Rangers."

   Elrond gestured dismissively. "That is not the true
obstacle."

   "No." Ellemir agreed. Quietly; "Arwen spoke of the
choice of the Half-Elven."

   Elrond's face went grey. He steadied himself
against the railing with a shaking hand, suddenly
looking every one of of his six thousand years old.

   "She bid me say she has decided nothing - yet."
Ellemir said quickly. "Aragorn will not be in a
position to offer her marriage for many years. Their
feelings may change -"

   "Do not seek to comfort me with false hopes!"
Elrond interupted harshly. More quietly. "I have
forseen and feared this from the day she was born with
Luthien's face."

   There was a silence between them. Broken at last by
Ellemir. "First we take your sons and now your
daughter too. I am sorry, Elrond."

   He sat down wearily on the bench beside her. "It is
their choice to make. Just as once, long ago, it was
mine."

   "And you chose to be of Elven kind though you'd
been raised as a Man among Men." she slanted a curious
sidelong look at him. "Why?"

   He smiled wryly. A very personal question, and one
only Ellemir would have dared to ask - in this Age of
the World at least. "I wanted to see my parents
again."

   And Earendil and Elwing were in Aman where no
Mortal Man might come. Her usually keen eyes softened
but her tone was dry; "You've been in no hurry."

   "One of the advantages of immortality," he answered
just as drily, "there is always plenty of time."
Looked up at his father's star high above. "And I have
had work to do here. They understand."

   "I hope Celebrian will." Ellemir said bleakly. "I
know the pain of losing a child. But at least I can
look forward to finding Arathorn again beyond the
Circles of the World. She - and you - will not have
even that comfort."

   Elrond bowed his head. It was not until she saw a
drop sparkling like a jewel on his robe that she
realized he was weeping. She reached for his hand and
he gripped hers tightly.

   And they sat so, beneath the rays of the star who
was father to one and ancestor to the other, and wept
together for the tragedy of the Half-Elven.
                 ************

   "Arwen."

   She looked up from the book she wasn't reading then
dropped it unheeded to the floor, flying across the
room and into his arms. They closed welcomingly around
her but his voice sounded a little startled.

   "Sweetheart, what is it?"

   "I missed you." she said into his shoulder.

   "After a mere two hours?" his voice quivered with
amusement - and something else. "You're going to have
to learn to endure longer seperations than that,
Dearling."

   "I know." She pulled away and saw for the first
time how he was dressed, in the dark green cloth and
leathers of a Ranger. "Estel! no, you said we had time
yet -"

   He put a finger to her lips, cutting her off. "We
do now. And I'm not going to waste any more of it."

   She stared up at him bewildered.

   He continued earnestly; "I should have gone weeks
ago, I've been delaying, selfishly, because I wanted
to spend as much time with you as I could before
saying good-bye."

   "Good-bye!" she started to protest and he silenced
her again, this time with a kiss.

   Her head was spinning by the time they broke apart
and it took a moment for what he was saying to
register.

   "- I knew it was hopeless, how could I ask you to
leave Rivendell for a battered old villa surrounded by
an armed camp?"

   "I don't care about any of that!" she interupted
fiercely.

   "But I do." He said firmly. "Yet now I find I can
offer you a throne, the High Kingdom itself but it
will take time. Prophecies don't come true by
themselves they must be worked at. It will mean many
years apart but with more than a few stolen weeks
together at the end of them. Will you wait, Arwen?"

   Looking up at him Arwen realized she'd been foolish
- again. It had never occured to her that Estel might
have his own ideas about their future together, that
maybe all the choices weren't in her hands after all.

   "Arwen?"

   "Of course I'll wait, as long as I must." she
wasn't the one who was going to grow old and die! Her
voice shook a little as she pleaded; "Try not to make
it too long."

   His delighted, and yes relieved, smile lit up the
room. "I will return when I may, expect me at no time
and any time." another long kiss and he was gone, with
less sound than the breeze rustling leaves across the
terrace steps.

   Arwen sank bonelessly back into her chair. Ellemir
was right, she did need to think long and seriously
about what life with Estel would be like and to
prepare herself for it.