Arwen’s Heart

‘Why,’ Arwen enquired politely, even as she set careful stitches in her embroidery, ‘am I being kept away from Imladris?’

Celeborn shifted his mild gaze from his granddaughter to fix it on his wife.  It was a question he had been long expecting.  In fact, the only surprise was that Arwen had not put it before.

Silver-grey eyes lifted to inspect the Lady of the Golden Wood from under long black lashes.  The silence extended, but Arwen was skilled enough at negotiating with her grandmother to recognise the ploy and she refused to fill the opening with needless remarks.

‘Are you no longer content with us here in Lothlórien?’ Galadriel returned gently.  The sun caught her needle as a spark of light before she buried it in the golden flower.

Not an answer, Celeborn thought, but clever.  Enough hurt in her voice to make a lesser opponent apologise, but, at the same time, not so much as to sound deliberate.  But Arwen, young as she seemed to him, was not a lesser opponent.  She was Celebrían’s daughter, and Elrond’s – and she had absorbed her grandmother’s own subtlety over these many years.

‘Daeradar?’

And that proved it, he decided ruefully.  He was now being pushed into siding with either his wife or his granddaughter – and either choice seemed to him to be dangerous.  He stood to annoy either one or both, depending on his choice of words. 

‘The passes are not safe, my granddaughter,’ he said.  ‘I would not wish to expose you to any risk.’

It was true enough, after all.  And a concern for her safety was not something she could dispute, not after what had happened to her naneth.

‘Yet my brothers arrived alone and will depart alone,’ Arwen remarked dispassionately.  ‘Are the passes safer when they are traversing them?’

Celeborn spread his hands.  ‘I would not have them travel without guards,’ he admitted.  ‘But they are warriors – and I cannot stop them.’  He sighed, a faint breath that would have passed unobserved by one who knew him less well than his daughter’s youngest child.  He did not like what his grandsons had become in their grief for their naneth.  For a century or two they had been as adamant in their quest to rid Arda of the orcs whose kind had dared lay hands on the Lady of Imladris and he had feared that, in their savagery, they were at risk of becoming what they desired to destroy.  He had done his best to open their minds to what they were doing, as had their daernaneth, but neither of them had been able to penetrate the diamond-hard shell of ice in which the twins had sealed themselves. Only time had served to thin this barrier; time and their growing affection for the men with whom they spent so much of their time.

Elrond, too, had been close to collapse as, yet again, he had faced the defilement of what he most valued and the destruction of his family.   It had been all Glorfindel could do to stop him breaking under the strain.  His son-in-law, however, was made of tough stuff and had been dragged to the brink before.  He had survived, and healed, as much as one could.  He would endure as long as was needed.

Their granddaughter, he thought, looking at her, had been all they felt they could protect from the ruin – and they had done their best to shield her, here in the timeless peace of the Golden Wood.  And in saving her, they had saved themselves.  The need to be strong for Arwen had forced him to put aside his own grief, and continue to plan the defence of their home.  Galadriel had turned her protective instincts to ensuring that Arwen continued to live in a home among those who loved her, while they both guarded her from the despair that came close to breaking her adar and brothers. 

‘Yet I would wish to spend time with them and my adar,’ Arwen remarked.  ‘I fail to see why I cannot travel with them.  I have done so before.  Is the journey so much more dangerous now that you would not trust me to their care?’

She suspected something, Celeborn thought, a sharp pang making him catch his breath as the endless nights of bitter dispute returned to pain him.  For all his insistence and for all her care, Galadriel had not managed to conceal from his Evenstar all awareness of the choices that would be set before her. 

‘Why now?’ Galadriel asked, taking her granddaughter’s attention and giving him time to recover.  ‘There is no urgency, surely?’   She leaned forward to select another skein of silk and her gilt curtain of hair hid her face.  ‘We can plan to visit in a few seasons, when we can travel with a large enough party to be sure that the dark creatures will huddle in their dens.’

Arwen gazed at her daernaneth steadily before lowering her eyes again to her stitching.  ‘My brothers tell me that a child of the Dúnedain has come with his mother to dwell among the elves of Imladris.  Yet the boy has only an elven name.’  She glanced swiftly at Celeborn, who remained impassive.  ‘He would seem to be a blessing from the Valar, this nameless child,’ she said conversationally.  ‘My brothers seem more alive than they have been for centuries – I believe they see themselves in him as he grows.’  She paused again, but her grandparents did not respond.  ‘He calls Elrond his adar.’ 

A whisper of sound came to Arwen’s ears as her daernaneth breathed a deep sigh.  ‘You know that your adar considers the Dúnedain of the North to be his kin,’ she said sadly.  ‘It would be like him to take a fatherless child under his care.’

‘Particularly,’ Arwen observed, ‘if the father he lacks was named Arathorn.’

She could almost taste the tension in the silence that followed and a spark of curiosity stirred to a flame as she wondered what it was about the child that caused her grandparents to feel – and hide – such concern.

‘Precisely,’ Galadriel agreed pleasantly.

***

‘Any luck?’ Elrohir asked as his sister joined them on the sun-warmed rocks by the pool.

Arwen’s flounce as she wormed her way between the twins made words needless.

‘I told you that you would not get anywhere with Daernaneth,’ Elladan said easily.  ‘She will tell you only what she wants you to know.’

‘She has told me – without a word spoken – that she has no intention of making it easy for me to return to Imladris in the next few years,’ Arwen said with exasperation. ‘And Daeradar is as bad.  I cannot see why they are proving so obstinate.’

‘Perhaps she has seen something,’ Elrohir shrugged.  ‘Nothing definite – but enough to make her cautious.  She would not want to see you in any danger.  I do not think she has forgiven herself for not foreseeing Naneth’s peril.’

Elladan looked up briefly, a bleakness in his eyes that sharpened the angles of his face.  Arwen put her hand on his arm and stroked it reassuringly.  ‘Stay here, little sister,’ he said flatly.  ‘Time means nothing – you can spend a hundred years making it up to Adar.  He would rather live without you for an age than see you put yourself at risk.’

‘Do you not think he feels the same about you?’  Arwen held her brother’s gaze.

‘We are past that now,’ Elrohir intervened.  ‘Being a warrior brings dangers with it – but we take no more chances than any other.  Trust me, Arwen.’  He smiled slightly and amended his final words.  ‘Trust us.’ 

Arwen continued to stare at her brother.  ‘You seem more at ease,’ she acknowledged finally.  ‘Warmer than you have been in a long time.’

‘Blame it on the boy,’ Elrohir said ruefully.  ‘We tried to keep him out of our hearts – we do not need to lose another heir of the Dúnedain to old age and death. . .’

‘Or to an orc’s arrow,’ Elladan muttered bitterly.

Elrohir frowned. ‘But he put his faith in us – we told him we would look after him, and he is holding us to our word.’

‘I would like to see him,’ Arwen admitted.  ‘It is part of the reason I would like to travel to Imladris now.  There have been no elflings in Lothlórien these many years – and the thought of a little one to mother is very appealing.’

‘He has his naneth, little sister,’ Elladan told her.  ‘Gilraen loves him dearly – and she would not allow poaching.  She wants the boy to grow up whole-heartedly a son of the Dúnedain – not an incomplete elf.’

Arwen sighed.  ‘I have helped Adar educate many of Isildur’s heirs,’ she remarked.  ‘And I fail to see why Daernaneth intends to make it so difficult for me to know Arathorn’s son.’

‘It is no matter,’ Elrohir shrugged.  ‘He will be young for a decade or two yet.  You have time to put your stamp on him.’

‘You could always run away.’  Elladan nudged his sister.  ‘You could sneak off among the trees, and we could pick you up as we leave.’

Elrohir’s eyebrows could not have lifted any higher. ‘And you think we might get away with something like that?’ he asked incredulously.  ‘With Daeradar’s march wardens on the prowl and Daernaneth’s uncanny knowledge of just exactly what is in your mind?’

‘We could try it.’  Elladan grinned and stretched lazily.  ‘It is a long time since we have tried to get anything over on our grandparents.  They would not be expecting it – and they would enjoy the challenge.’

‘Do not be so foolish,’ Arwen scolded them.  ‘I am not going to abuse Daernaneth’s kindness by trying to deceive her – and I still would refuse, even if I thought there was any chance of success.’

‘We could have fun with it, though,’ Elrohir mused.  ‘If Arwen agreed to keep out of the way when we left – we could pick up a suspicious-looking bundle and make sure one or two people caught a glimpse of us.  When they could not find our beloved sister, someone would be bound to make the link.  We could have a patrol chasing after us before we were half a day from the borders.’

Elladan laughed.  ‘And Arwen could turn up – looking perfectly innocent – just about then.  And, as Daeradar ripped into us for irresponsibility and failing to take care of our sister, Daernaneth could inform him that the whole fuss had been over nothing.’

‘And just think,’ Elrohir added virtuously, ‘we would be relieving all sorts of grand-parental worries about our being too serious and committed to battle.  It is almost our duty to do it.’

‘They would know,’ Arwen pointed out.  ‘If they did not realise straight away, they would know by the time your scheme had finished.  And I am the one who would be left here to bear their disapproval.’

‘They would blame us,’ Elladan dismissed her concern with a flick of his fingers. 

‘Daeradar would be certain that we had led you astray,’ Elrohir agreed.  ‘No-one ever thinks that you have anything to do with our evil schemes.’  He rubbed his hands together and leered at his sister.

‘I am 2700 years old,’ Arwen announced impatiently.  ‘I think I am old enough to accept responsibility for what I choose to do – I will no longer tolerate people blaming my brothers for my sins.’   She softened as she looked at the identical features of the twin and stretched out to take a hand of each.  ‘I will stay here,’ she said with resignation.  ‘I do not yet know why it is so important to Daernaneth that I stay away from Imladris, but I will make it my business to find out.  I will miss you both.’  Her grip on their hands tightened.  ‘And I will miss Adar.  Tell him how much I long to see him – and that I will come as soon as Daeradar is prepared to permit it.’

***

‘When I was young,’ Galadriel spoke reminiscently, ‘I longed to perform great deeds – to be the subject of songs.  It never seemed fair to me that all the great lays were of heroes – ellyth only seemed to feature occasionally as people to be rescued or to be offered as rewards to those great elves who had succeeded against all odds.’  She smiled wryly.  ‘I had four older brothers, as opposed to your two,’ she added, ‘all of them teasing me and goading me into fighting them.  I was desperate to be their equal – not just Finarfin’s little golden-haired daughter.’  She glanced at her granddaughter affectionately before turning to study the play of light on the cascade of water.  ‘Man-maiden, my mother named me, and I spent long decades striving to be one who took charge of events rather than taking a more usual role.  It has taken me a long time to realise that it is not necessarily the best path to travel, pen-neth.  I find I have had more joy in loving and being loved than in battle,’ she observed sadly. 

‘If you had been a typical elleth,’ Arwen pointed out, ‘you would have turned back with your adar and never crossed the Ice.  You would not have dwelt in Doriath, nor met Daeradar, nor borne my naneth.  I would not be here.’

Galadriel’s smile twisted.  ‘It would be ironic,’ she allowed, ‘if, in the end, it turns out to be the results of my love for your daeradar that change the world, rather than my use of power – and yet, you are right.  If I were any other than I am, I would not have been east of the sea.  And, if we were any other than we were, we would not have defied convention and the disapproval of our families to wed.’

Flicking her dark hair out of her eyes, Arwen gazed in surprise at her daernaneth.  ‘I had no idea,’ she marvelled, ‘that your joining had not been welcomed.  You seem so much a part of Arda – as inevitable as – as earth and water.’ She indicated the pool at the waterfall’s base, cupped in a cradle of worn rock with small plants creeping to dip their toes in its fresh waters and willows leaning to trail their long branches in the welcoming coolness.

‘You know that there are those who respect your daeradar, but who do not care for me,’ Galadriel remarked.

‘And those who would follow you, but turn their noses up at Daeradar,’ Arwen shrugged.  ‘It is part of who we are.  There are those – even among those who bow to him and do his bidding – who look down on Adar for being part-Edain.  We note who they are, but as long as they keep their opinions to themselves, we disregard them.  No-one can be loved by all.’

The Lady of the Golden Wood mused on Arwen’s words.  ‘I am not sure it is wise to allow those whose beliefs might affect their loyalty to remain close,’ she said carefully.

‘Still less is it wise to allow them to remove themselves to foster resentment among others.  Better to have them under your eye.’  She smiled as her daernaneth’s starlit eyes met hers.  ‘And young is relative,’ she added in response to words Galadriel had not spoken.  ‘I am older than you were when you crossed the Ice.   I am older than that tree.’  She nodded at a majestic oak on the far side of the pool.  ‘I am old enough to know my own mind – and to make my own decisions.’

Galadriel closed her eyes abruptly and her face became blank briefly before she reassumed her usual expression of amused tranquillity.  ‘Perhaps,’ she acknowledged. ‘Yet that will not stop those of us who love you wishing to keep you safe.’

‘Adar has written to me,’ Arwen sighed.

Her grandmother said nothing.  The dark-haired elleth cast her a look that suggested that she knew that neither the letter not its contents were unknown to the lady.

‘He requests me to remain here in Lothlórien for the time being.  He says that Gilraen and the child were very distressed when they first arrived, but that they have come to some accommodation with their life in Imladris and he does not wish to risk upsetting them by bringing me home.  Apparently, in my absence, Gilraen feels that she is being of some use in helping with the task of running the Hidden Valley – and the child is growing by the day.’  She waited to see if her grandmother had any response to make.  ‘He is not the first distressed child to have been brought to Imladris – but he is the first for whom my presence seems to be considered unwelcome.’  She focused on the colours the sun brought to the fine spray before her.  ‘I wonder why,’ she concluded evenly.

Galadriel remained silent as the light moved across the pool and shadows turned the water to bottomless green depths where before the sun had brightened the surface to glass.  She remained silent and unmoving, but her granddaughter could sense the pain beneath her stillness.

‘I think you have seen something in your mirror,’ Arwen said finally, ‘which you would much rather not have seen.  Something which you would, if you could, deny and prevent coming to pass.’ 

The moon had risen above the trees before either of them moved.

‘You cannot change it,’ Arwen murmured, as its beams lit her pale skin and made her gleam.  ‘You cannot be sure that it will happen and you cannot change it in any event.’

She turned to look at her grandmother’s face and saw the silver tears fall.

***

‘You told her!’  Celeborn snapped the accusation and his eyes blazed his fury at his wife.

‘I said nothing.’  Galadriel defended herself.  ‘She is her naneth’s daughter – and she has enough of her adar in her that she cannot be easily placated.  She knew what she was asking – and she knew what both words and silence meant in answer.’

He paced angrily.

‘I promised I would tell her nothing,’ his wife insisted, ‘and I did not – I have told her not one word of it.  We agreed that we would let events turn out as they must – even Elrond knows that he cannot intervene.’   She endured a scorching look from her lord. ‘If we learned anything from Lúthien’s fate,’ she added softly, ‘surely it is that there are times when any action can only make things worse.  I want this no more than you do, but we cannot imprison Arwen in a tree until all risk is past.’

Celeborn stopped, looking out over the forest night.  ‘I do not wish any ill to the heirs of Elros Tar-Minyatur,’ he said, quietly and precisely, ‘but neither will I willingly hand my granddaughter over to one of them.’

Surprised to see the splashes of tears stain the skirt of her white gown, Galadriel bent her head to watch her fingers brush at the fabric.  ‘I am not sure that we have any say in the matter,’ she mourned.

He turned slowly and allowed himself to see beyond the news she had brought him.  Her gift, her mirror – both had brought her more pain than enlightenment, he thought impatiently.  What use was it, to see, clouded, one of a thousand possibilities?  To know a possible outcome without knowing how it was to be attained?  At least when he assessed the potential dangers before his warriors and considered their strengths, he was making a judgment based on fact and experience.   She never knew whether her decisions might cause the disaster she had foreseen; whether nudging the participants to take a step to the left or right would bring success or failure.  What she had seen here could be the end of their hopes or the necessary adjunct to victory – and any one of a hundred actions from a thousand people could prevent it ever happening at all.  It was possible that what they had attempted to do to protect their granddaughter had already ensured her fate – and they would never know. 

He stepped towards her and ran his fingers through her silken hair to cup his palms beneath her chin. ‘It is as Arwen said,’ he murmured.  ‘We have done all we can.  Her fate will be for her to decide.’  He dropped to one knee and looked into her eyes.  ‘Maybe she has watched Isildur’s heirs with this in mind, knowing that in the end there will be one who will mean more to her than the rest.  If it is to be, my love, then it will happen.  I will not play Elu’s role in keeping them apart – but neither will I make it easy for them to be together.  Let her remain here in the Golden Wood for now.  We are agreed – Elrond has no more wish for this than we have.’

Galadriel reached out and touched his cheek, seeking the comfort that his closeness brought, and he moved instinctively to hold her to him.  ‘Let us all make the most of what time we have.’  She gave him a rather damp smile.  ‘We are worrying about keeping her away from one who is no more than nine or ten years old.  I do not think we need to concern ourselves yet.’

***

She came to him in the morning as he finished his training session.  He was calmer – there was no doubt that proving his skill with his sword made him feel better, even if it would leave his opponent nursing bruises for some time.  Armed with a crisp white napkin filled with fresh bread and apples, his granddaughter carried him off to the place where he had taken her when her brothers’ teasing had made her cry, where she had confided her secrets into his sympathetic ear, where they had comforted each other for the emptiness in their lives that Celebrían’s loss had left behind.

‘You should have let me bathe first,’ he remarked.  ‘I am in no condition to escort a lady.’

‘Oh, I am not sure of that.’  Arwen looked him over roguishly.  ‘I am sure that there are many ladies who would be only too happy to have you beside them – Daernaneth first among them.’  He had stripped off his training armour and was wearing only a simple tunic – rather sweat-stained – and leggings.  ‘And I believe that ellon was deeply honoured to have been soundly beaten by you.  He will doubtless boast of it regularly in years to come.’

She kilted up her skirts to climb up what she thought of as their tree, stepping easily from branch to branch until she reached the nest of greenery where they liked to take their ease, turning to smile at her daeradar as he followed her.

It seemed hardly any time, he sighed, since he had first carried her into the branches, since his hand had been there to steady her as she scrambled into the heights, since he had scolded her for taking risks as she leapt gaps on the edge of her reach – and now, here she was – about to tell him that she was too old to need his cosseting and that he must allow her the freedom to make her own mistakes.

Arwen settled beside him contentedly and rested her dark head on his shoulder, where his silver tresses combined with the black.  She was humming, he realised, as if she wanted nothing more than to spend time in his company here among the trees.  Celeborn closed his eyes and told himself to enjoy the moment, to take it and store it against the pain that would doubtless come.  He put his arm round her waist and rested his cheek on her head, inhaling the fragrance of honeysuckle that seemed to cling to her, and allowed time to pass.

‘Do you think you will ever sail?’ She turned her head and her serious grey eyes met his.

He gave her the courtesy of considering her question.  ‘I do not know,’ he said finally.  ‘Most of me thinks not – but I do not believe that I could live happily without your daernaneth for ever, should she be permitted to go home.’  He smiled wryly.  ‘And the question may well prove irrelevant – Sauron’s power grows and neither Galadriel nor I will surrender to him.  It is highly likely that the Halls of Mandos will greet us west of the sea.’

She studied him intently.  ‘I think you will go,’ she said.  ‘In the end.’  She sounded satisfied, as if her conclusion had relieved a concern long felt.  ‘When you do,’ she added matter-of-factly, ‘tell Naneth that I love her and that I have missed her always.’

‘You will be there,’ Celeborn told her fiercely.  ‘You can tell her yourself.’

Arwen smiled and patted the hand at her waist.  ‘I will never sail,’ she shrugged.  ‘I have long known it – and so did Naneth.  She told me before she left that what she regretted most was that she would never see my children.’

Celeborn felt as if he had been punched.  ‘She was wrong,’ he managed.

‘Make my brothers go with you,’ Arwen requested.  ‘I would not want to think of them remaining here – lost in a world that is not theirs.’

‘What has Galadriel said to you?’ her daeradar asked sharply.

‘Nothing.’ Arwen smiled.  ‘What does she need to say?’

‘If you want to go to Imladris, I will take you,’ Celeborn offered. 

‘It matters not.’  His granddaughter turned her head to face him.  ‘I wanted to see this child, but it does not really make any difference – you are probably right to feel that I am better here.’  She sighed.  ‘There is something in the air,’ she said.  ‘I can feel it – even here in the dreaming beauty of the Golden Wood.  Daernaneth would keep it out if she could, but. . .’ she paused, ‘we are only elves – and even you two have your limits.’

Celeborn’s hold on her tightened, but he remained silent.  He had seen Lúthien in his granddaughter from the time she first began to walk.  She had danced into his heart, just as had Elu’s daughter and he had seen Tinúviel again looking from her grey eyes – but he had never expected to endure watching her accept the possibility of a similar end. ‘It is probably as well that you remain in Lothlórien,’ he said softly.  ‘There is to be a meeting of the White Council to consider the growing power emanating from Dol Guldur – your Daernaneth and I will have to go.  Someone will have to stay to take control in our absence.  You are best suited to the role, my dear one – you have been training to rule all your life.  If something were to happen to us, you would ensure the safety of the Wood.’

‘Will Adar be there?’  She smiled.  ‘Foolish question – of course he will be.  Give him my love.’

‘If I can, I will bring him back with us to spend as long as he is able with his daughter.’

‘I will wait in hope,’ she agreed.  ‘I have missed him.’

‘No more than he will have missed you, my granddaughter,’ Celeborn told her, pressing a kiss on her dark head.  ‘But I am glad to have you here, nonetheless, and I am grateful to him for sparing us his most precious Evenstar.’