Note: "All That is Gold" from "Strider", The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter LXXX: Revelries in Rivendell

Aragorn smiled down at Bilbo. 'I am honoured that you have come to join us,' he said earnestly.

'Oh, I couldn't very well miss this!' the hobbit said cheerfully. 'Though I do fancy my nice, quiet meals these days, I would never want to pass over the singing. Besides, Gandalf hinted there would be goings-on that might be of great interest to me. Very mysterious, he was.'

'I'm sure,' Aragorn said dryly. His eyes moved of their own accord to seek out the wizard. He had posted himself on a tall chair in the corner, the better to survey the whole hall with ease. He saw the listing of the Ranger's gaze and raised his feathery eyebrows innocently. With a knowing curl of his lip, Aragorn turned back to Bilbo.

'I hope you will favour us with a little of your own work tonight,' he said.

Bilbo flushed with pleasure. 'Well, I didn't really plan to. I mean, I'm sure the Elves all tire of indulging me so often. But if you do insist, being the guest of honour and all…'

'I do insist,' Aragorn assured him. 'But please do not forget that the deeds we mark tonight are not mine alone. It was Gandalf who led the venture, and countless others have helped along the way – yourself among them.'

He expected one of Bilbo's endearingly gratified deprecations, but instead the hobbit was looking at him thoughtfully.

'It's curious, isn't it, Dúnadan?' he said. 'All those months ago, when you couldn't find Gollum and hadn't much hope of this journey being any more successful than all the others, it was you who were 'leading the venture', wasn't it?'

Aragorn shrugged a chagrined shoulder, but said nothing. Bilbo laughed.

'Go on, then: I'll not torment you further!' he said. 'You'd best keep company with your ladylove, now. She's got her eyes on you.'

Aragorn looked up, surprised once more into action by Bilbo's frank, gleeful declaration. Arwen was in her customary seat at Elrond's side, and she did indeed have her eyes upon the Man. As his gaze found her, she smiled and tilted her head in playful apology. Aragorn took his pleasant leave of Bilbo and went to her, bowing courteously before the two stately seats. Arwen's merriment shone in her eyes, and Elrond smiled beneficently upon his fosterling.

'You ought to consider singing for the assembly tonight, Aragorn,' he said. 'I do wish to hear your voice put through its paces to be sure there is no lasting damage. There is no reason we may not take some pleasure in the test.'

Aragorn suppressed a wry grin. It seemed that everyone was conspiring to nudge him to the forefront tonight. Yet this request was encouraging also, for it meant that Elrond did not believe his voice would falter: he would never have suggested so public a trial else.

'Later in the evening I shall,' he promised. 'When the company has thinned a little, and the wine has had a chance to gentle critical dispositions and soften the sharper ears.'

Elrond laughed softly, joy dancing in his eyes. No doubt he saw this concession as a victory against the dark thoughts that still crept unbidden into the Man's mind. The Master leaned in towards Arwen. 'You should sing together, my children,' he said. 'It would be enchanting to hear you both: a delight to the ears and the heart. A song in parts, perhaps?'

Aragorn was surprised and a little taken aback at this suggestion, for the first thing that rose in his mind were the many duets woven around the legends of Beren and Lúthien. That would be thoroughly unthinkable tonight, and when he tried to call to mind another he could only remember a certain love ballad of Idril and Tuor, which was nearly as bad.

'Do you recall The Disaffection of Turgon and Aredhel?' Arwen asked sweetly, addressing herself to him.

A broad smile took Aragorn's lips and he inclined his head. 'I can refresh my memory, my Lady,' he said, moving from before the chairs to his beloved's side. She pivoted to look up at him. 'Perhaps you can aid me?'

'But of course!' she said warmly. Casting her eyes back over her shoulder she asked; 'Would that suit your tastes, Father?'

'Indeed it would,' said Elrond approvingly. 'You shall have as much time as you need to prepare it, provided it is ready before the night's revels conclude.'

'We have until the sun breaks over the mountains, then?' Arwen laughed, wafting a slender hand at the crowd. 'For it does not look as though these fair folk will soon be ready for their beds.'

Elrond laughed as well, and Aragorn found himself doing the same. It was a glorious feeling, and it warmed him to his very core. At that moment, he could not have recalled a single detail of those bitterly cold and lonely days between Gladden and the Carrock. This was all: to stand here beside his beloved and before his father, all three of them sharing a moment of untrammelled mirth.

Unexpectedly, it was Glorfindel who broke the spell as he approached and made his own courtly bow. 'Master Elrond, my Lady, Lord Aragorn,' he said, his tone deep and rich and perfectly solemn in its fondness and respect. Then he smiled at the children of the house. 'Will you pardon my interruption? I must have words with the Lord of the valley.'

'There is no cause for pardon,' said Arwen with a regal nod and a fond smile. 'We have a song to collude over, and would soon have to ask your forgiveness for our inattention in any case.'

Then she turned in her chair, and Aragorn bent to her, still smitten with her diplomacy. The song was both a judicious and creative choice: a dramatic piece with a broad range well-suited to strong voices. It was seldom sung, and so would have a measure of novelty among this discriminating audience. Being a quarrel in a fearsome minor key instead of a soft song of love or lament, it avoided any themes that might become a little too evocative. Aragorn drew nearer still, that the two of them might confer. Glorfindel was deep in conversation with Elrond now, and the first of the evening's hymns had begun.

There was an intricacy to Elven music that was unrivalled among other races. The subtleties and interwoven harmonies were at times almost beyond the distinction of the mortal ear. Yet when a gathering such as this raised their collective voice in song, even the least accomplished of Men could pick up the melody and join in. There were few outsiders in the valley tonight, and those here gathered knew one another's style and range as if they were members of a trained choir instead of a gathering of all manner of Elven folk. The music seemed almost to dance, notes and words swooping gracefully in, out and all about. Even with his attention fixed upon recalling the verses of a song he had not had occasion to think of in many years, Aragorn's heart soared at the glorious concurrence of sound.

That first hour passed in delight. Aragorn stood at Arwen's side, bowed near that they might speak without disturbing anyone else. They were as mirthful as two children, bending their joint memories upon the words. They sped swiftly through long passages between stumbles. Often they were able to correct one another at once, but it was more pleasant when they could not. Then they had to wrack their wits, trying all manner of possibilities to fit the meter and the rhyme – but not always the meaning. Some were apt and some absurd, and often they fell to quiet laughter that seemed all the more raucous for its restraint. Last would come the moment of epiphany when one or the other (or, most wonderful of all, both at once) would recall the phrase in question. Then there would be a concerted dancing of triumphant quicksilver eyes and the rapid, triumphant recitation of the pertinent stanza, and then they would move on once more.

All that had followed the estrangement of the King of Gondolin and his sister was tainted with tragedy and loss. The piece itself was wrathful and defiant despite its undertones of love and shared respect. Yet it was easy to forget both as each gloried in the other's company and the simple merriment of wordplay. Moments of mirth were rare in Aragorn's life, and for Arwen now so often dimmed by concern and loneliness for him. To share this now was a treasured thing.

Finally they came to the end of the piece, and then rehearsed its words once more in hushed voices, reciting at thrice the proper place and leaving the melody aside. They finished breathless with fleet whispers and laughter, almost nose to nose. As they fell silent and met one another's eyes with illogical surprise, Aragorn realized that they were perfectly poised for a kiss.

Arwen felt it also, for her lips parted in desire and a rosy flush dusted her cheeks. Long lived was she, and Elven-wise, but she was also a maiden possessed of longings yet unfulfilled. She too was visited in her turn by the dangerous allure of haste: of putting aside their faithful waiting and the conditions proscribed for their union in this world and beyond, and cleaving together once and for all in heart, in body, and in spirit.

Their eyes held fast for a moment, locked in entranced yearning on the very brink of turmoil. Then Aragorn reached, maintaining that contact, and found her right hand where it had been reaching across to hold the pommel of the armrest between them. He tucked his chin and kissed that hand instead, allowing them a moment of intimate touch that was both unselfish and far less perilous than the other. Arwen smiled at him, grateful and regretful at once.

Then Aragorn straightened his back, feeling a small, dull ache deep in his flank where he had been so battered in his fall before the spider in Mirkwood. It was no doubt because his nerves were rasped raw in the wake of that uncompleted moment, more than anything else, that he felt such a spark of irritation at his body's weakness. To be sore already after only an hour on his feet did not please him, vast improvement though it was. A self-pardoning reminder that not so long ago such stooping would have surely brought on a flurry of coughing mollified him a little. At least it kept the light of mirth from quenching in his eyes as his mouth tightened in annoyance.

Arwen, ever perceptive, reached to take his hand in hers as she settled straight within her chair again. They had chosen a good moment to rejoin the gathering about them, for more than one pair of eyes was turned on the high seats. Quiet was falling over a room that had a moment before been abuzz with happy voices in the wake of some merry song. Now most were turning to the hearth, some to look towards Master and Lady, but more to watch Glorfindel. It was his mighty voice that had risen to ask for attention.

Once a hush was on the room, the Elf-lord motioned graciously to Bilbo, who was sitting near him with his hands pertly in his lap.

'Thank you all for listening,' the hobbit began with a firm little nod of the head.

'You've not said anything yet!' one of the wood-elves called out. There were several good-natured chuckles.

'Thank you all for listening,' Bilbo repeated, a trifle archly. He went on with cheery pomp. 'I know it's not the way of things 'round here, but where I come from it's a custom at these sorts of gatherings to make a speech.'

Lindir, who was saucy with most folk and delighted to needle Rivendell's aging songsmith, laughed. 'These sorts of gatherings? Do you get many folk coming back out of danger and desperation in your country?'

This was met with another round of soft laughter, but it was more uneasy this time. All felt the ever-hastening incursions of the Shadow, even in this fair haven. That joy was the only means of beating back the terror that would be Sauron's first and perhaps most important victory was little comfort in moments such as this.

'Not since I did myself, no,' Bilbo allowed, grinning. Lindir lolled his eyes comically, as if to say that the hobbit could not pass up any excuse to talk of his own adventure. 'Still, when friends come home from abroad and a party's thrown in their honour, somebody ought to get up and speak. Since Master Elrond isn't inclined—' Here he gave a deep, respectful nod at his host. '—he has kindly consented to let me do the honours. I think I know both of our champions quite well; well enough, certainly, to make an honest attempt to commemorate their hard work and their success.

'Most of you know what they've been off doing, and that they've been at it now and again for sixteen years now. And if any of you haven't heard that they've gone and done it at last, then Lindir and his friends haven't been doing their duty by the gossip in the valley.'

There was general laughter at this. Few had not been on the receiving end of Lindir's stinging wit or his artistic criticism, and although he was generally liked it was in good fun to see him bested. Almost everyone rather doted upon Bilbo in any case, and would have been inclined to enjoy one of his good-natured jibes purely for its own sake. Aragorn did not join in the laughter himself, for he was still trying to recover his good humour, but he did smile his amusement without effort.

'Anyhow,' Bilbo went on; 'they've come back in triumph, and that ought to remind us just what capital fellows these two are. I've known Gandalf for more than sixty-five years now, and I can tell you that he's quite extraordinary. Once he sets his mind on something, it'll get done one way or the other no matter who he has to cajole into helping him.'

There was more chuckling, and from his seat in the corner the wizard made a mockingly sheepish gesture and an approximation of a bow.

'As for the Dúnadan,' said Bilbo, and here his warm and admiring eyes turned in their turn upon Aragorn; 'I don't need to tell any of you what a remarkable sort of person he is. He's managed to do things most folk can't even dream of, and he always manages to come back to us in the end. We've all got expectations of him, perhaps none so lofty as yours, Master Elrond—' Elrond smiled warmly at the hobbit, but the pride in his eyes was meant for his foster-son. Aragorn's throat felt briefly taut. '—and I don't doubt he'll manage to out do all of those, too. So I'd like us all to take a moment just to appreciate these two heroes of the hour, and all they've done so the rest of us can sleep in peace night after night.'

The room burst into warm applause with a smattering of voices upraised in quick words of praise. Gandalf sat graciously and Aragorn tried to stand in like benevolence, though he felt uneasy to be the centre of such attention for the deeds that lay behind. Beside him, Arwen was applauding with the rest of the room, and she was looking up at him with warm and knowing but very delighted eyes. She took pride in his accomplishment on his behalf, and that warmed Aragorn's heart more than the adulation of all of Imladris.

When the ovation died down, Bilbo nodded his approval. 'That's all I've got to say,' he announced stoutly. 'Though I doubt it's a tenth of what these two splendid chaps deserve. Still I'd like to take a moment, if you'll all indulge an old hobbit's fancy, to remind everyone just what it is we're hoping for Aragorn.'

Lindir laughed. 'Ai, I knew we wouldn't escape without one of his verses!' he announced to no one in particular. One of his close confederates prodded him in the ribs, and several on the other end of the room shushed him in throaty but very audible whispers.

Bilbo grinned at this, but offered no comment. He smoothed his waistcoat and sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat and fixing his eyes upon Aragorn. Knowing what was coming and feeling the abiding affection that always rose in his breast at such moments, the Ranger smiled a quiet and very earnest smile. Eyes sparkling, Bilbo recited:

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

There was a span of contemplative silence, not more than a few breaths long but one of the most affirming moments Aragorn had experienced among all the graces rendered him in his short days at home. All these fair folk who had known him from his babyhood held that same hallowed hope that he himself bore and tended even through the darkest toils. This silent avowal of his standing in their eyes left him almost incapable of speech.

Almost, but not quite; for clearly some word of thanks was called for. Unable to encompass the scope of his feeling, Aragorn turned affectionate eyes on Bilbo.

'Thank you, Master Baggins,' he said earnestly. 'Your kind words are a great gift, and your faith still greater. I know that in this matter I may speak also for Gandalf: you have our gratitude and our friendship always.'

'Hear, hear!' said Gandalf heartily, and everyone chuckled. Bilbo, flushed with pleasure, settled back into a more relaxed posture.

'On with your singing, now!' he said, flapping his hands generally at the assembly. 'I didn't mean to interrupt it quite so thoroughly!'

Someone thrummed upon a harp, and a trio of voices took up a song of lost Eregion. It was plaintive and beautiful, and it filled the room with the memory of things beloved and at once regretted. So many of these folk had made their home there long ago, and they listened raptly. Others began to move about the room again, respectfully quiet but not transfixed.

A maiden whom Aragorn knew only slightly approached with a tray of goblets. She curtseyed smoothly and offered one to Elrond, who took it with quiet words of thanks. Arwen did the same, and Aragorn in his turn. The deep sunshine scent of fine wine rose to his nostrils, and he took a taste as he surveyed the room.

It was a sedate gathering when measured against the spirited dancing and gleeful choruses of Thranduil's hall, but it brought a quietude to his spirit that the other could not. There was a sense of warmth and safety here, as if times of peace had always been and ever would be. It was an illusion, of course: held as firmly by the steady hand of Elrond Peredhil as the wards that safeguarded the valley walls. Yet it was meant to comfort, not deceive, and to bear up all who must face the encroaching darkness. Aragorn knew that he would carry the memory of this evening with him when he went again into his daily labours, and that it would help to uphold him when the road once again grew cruel and weary.

A wave of lightheadedness took him unawares, and his grip upon the stem of the silver cup tightened. For a moment he thought he would sway or even falter, but he closed his eyes and rode the steady swell of dizziness until it dipped again into the calm waters of inert weariness that seemed these days his natural state. From the corner of his eye he caught but did not register Arwen's subtle gesture. Not until two of her maidens appeared at his side with a cross-framed chair between them did Aragorn understand his beloved's intent.

Gratefully he sat, murmuring his thanks to the ladies, and he leaned heavily upon his right elbow as he breathed shallowly and tried to suppress a flare of shame at his infirmity. It was a hard thing for one so accustomed to great endurance, to be unable even to stand for ninety short minutes without risking a swoon. Now he was not angry, but only pitifully frustrated like a toddling babe who falls once too many times and finds himself unable to muster the heart to rise again.

Arwen's hand closed warm upon his arm, holding him tenderly and caressing him with the side of her slender thumb. He met her eyes and found them warm with love and compassionate understanding. There was also a pledge there that his weakness was not only nothing to her, but that she was absolutely and unequivocally certain that it was transient. Those eyes promised a return to vigour, certain and far swifter than he now dared hope. For this confidence even more than her faith in his larger destiny, Aragorn was thankful.

The celebrations went on, and Aragorn settled into a pleasantly indolent frame of mind. It was warm and welcoming near the fire, and his fine clothing had proved more comfortable than he had hoped. Now and then Arwen leaned in to speak, remarking upon the music or the company or some shared memory renewed by the evening's happenings. Many folk drew nigh in their turn to offer quiet words of friendship, but none overburdened Aragorn with lengthy conversation. He was glad. He was content to sip at his wine and allow himself to rest in a quietude of spirit that was so very welcome amid all the turmoil of recent weeks. The presence of his friends, the nearness of his beloved, and the occasional gentle glance from his father all helped to craft a delicious air of peace.

It was a long while before Aragorn felt moved to join in the singing, but he found he could not sit silent when voices were raised in praise of Yavanna Kementári. He remembered well the grace she had granted him in his dire need, and now he sang. The rich syllables of the High Elven tongue rose upon his lips to join the exultant harmonies. Beside him, Arwen too was singing in sweet mellifluous joy. Beyond her, Elrond sat silently with his eyes closed in reverence. A faint, sad smile played upon his lips.

When the notes of that holy melody died away, there was a halt in the music. Attendants came bearing platters of sweetmeats, and others moved around to refresh the cups. Gandalf had left his strategic post in the corner to sit near Bilbo. The elderly hobbit had been looking rather drowsy. Now he was bright-eyed and animated again, talking to the wizard with much eager gesticulation.

A familiar chord sounded upon a mellow and well-aged lute, and Aragorn looked around for the source. When he saw Faeliel, who did indeed have a very fine contralto voice, seated upon a stool with her darkly burnished instrument in her lap, he knew that he was not mistaken. A few more notes were plucked in a heroic crescendo, and the healer began to sing:

Down in dawn from Anduin,

Slender ships were sailing.

Night swept on through Tolfalas

as the day was fading…

Bilbo, forewarned of something by Gandalf's oblique hints, was the first to catch on. When his eyes, shining with proud excitement, found Aragorn, the Man had settled into a posture of pleased self-effacement. It was not easy to maintain such an appearance, especially as it took Elrond little longer to recognize the drift of the song. Sable Guard seemed to be his deciding clue. Arwen followed the motion of her father's head, and was soon looking up at Aragorn with awed delight.

A few others, Glorfindel foremost among them, understood very quickly. It was the phrase about Tall Thorongil, Captain bold, which brought a ripple of recognition through the whole of the room. Although Thorongil's rightful identity was a secret in the world beyond, in Imladris many knew the name under which the Heir of Isildur had fought for Gondor. Those among the company who had not known, or did not at once recall, were swiftly brought apace by their friends. Soon the entire room was listening with the rapt courtesy and admiration that was always displayed when the object of a song of glory sat before its singer.

It was Aragorn's role to sit and listen, justly proud of his deeds and gratified by the efforts put forward to memorialize them. He executed this as best he could, and found that it was easier to hear the song a second time. Perhaps it was only that he had not been caught off-guard. Perhaps his mood was such that now he was more favourably disposed to think of his successes instead of his failures. Perhaps it was merely that the listening crowd was filled with folk he knew and trusted and indeed loved. Whatever the case, he found himself settling comfortably into the pitch and cadence of the song and relishing the richness of Faeliel's voice.

Beside him, Arwen was fairly alight with pleasure and elation as she listened to the verses memorializing the strategic approach upon the Havens of Umbar. Her hand slipped into his when the singer came to Aragorn's chief part in the battle. And when the notes of triumph rang, her eyes glittered as if with wonder. Seeing what a pride this was to her, to sit and listen to the deeds of her betrothed thus commemorated, Aragorn found himself thinking favourably of the well-meaning minstrel who had laid out the piece. Certainly he had to concede that Gandalf had been right to arrange its presentation tonight, though he conceded nothing about the display in Mirkwood.

When the last plaintive words died away and the final chords thrummed to silence, the room broke into plentiful applause. It was meant in part for the singer, who flushed prettily and bowed over her lute, but it was just as much directed at the subject of the piece. One of the wood-elves who had been a frequent rider on patrol when Aragorn had yet been Estel, roaming out under the close supervision of the sons of Elrond, clapped him on the shoulder. Bilbo looked ready to spring up and come running to congratulate him. Elrond, pleased but also comprehending his ward's discomfort, merely sat back in his grand chair with a knowing smile.

Aragorn accepted the adulations, and voiced his gracious thanks of Faeliel's artful rendition of the song. Then, happily, someone called for a song of the victory of the hosts of Beleriand in the twilight of the First Age. This allowed Aragorn to relax out of the uncomfortable, however gratifying, position of being the centre of attention. While many joined in this familiar tune, he was able to focus instead upon Arwen and her jubilant eyes.

'Your people remember you with love, though by the measure of their lives many long years have passed,' she breathed, her hold upon his hand tightening proudly. 'They remember, and they sing of your deeds.'

'Quietly, so I am told,' Aragorn demurred. His own eyes twinkled in play as he said; 'To hear Gandalf tell it, what we just heard is a back-room ballad of the less reputable taverns in Minas Tirith.'

Arwen shook her head. 'I heard the chords, Dúnadan. It is a song fit for a hero, wherever it is sung. And all that I have learned of this fey Captain leads me to suspect that he would far more lief be recalled in the alleyways and forgotten on the heights than remembered in palaces and in humble places forgot.'

Aragorn inclined his head at that insight. 'To be beloved of those who cannot spare the leisure to bow to fashion is to be beloved forever,' he said, his twain meanings clear. 'And though I am the only one thus memorialized by name, my men will live on in song with me. They were valiant and true to the last, and rewarded for their constancy by little loss of life. Poetry cannot express the smallness of the hope with which our light ships sailed upon a fortified harbour.'

'Nor can it express the courage needed to hold any men, however loyal, to such a course,' Arwen murmured, leaning near so that her cheek brushed his shoulder ever so briefly. 'Small wonder they love you. Have you considered it might well have been one of your men who wrote it?'

She did not understand the limit to which a mortal Man could indulge in diverse arts. Most lived long enough to master a few: three or four, perhaps, if they applied themselves. But fewer had the leisure to do so, being obliged to hone their chief craft and to put it to use in the support of their children. To be both soldier and songwright was common among the Firstborn, but not among the ordinary men of Gondor. Still Aragorn smiled.

'I suppose I did not. It is more likely that they told the tale in plainer words, that others might make music of it.' Aragorn lifted her hand and brushed his lips across the second knuckles. 'Forgive me, beloved, but I would slip away for a time. When I return we can offer our own contribution to the evening's revelries, and see if those gathered deem my efforts worthy of your own.'

'Perhaps it is I who ought to fear for my reputation for fair song,' laughed Arwen. 'Of the might of my partner great tales have been told!'

Aragorn chuckled softly, wishing to caress her cheek but knowing it would be more difficult then to slip away even for a few minutes. He got to his feet almost smoothly and passed without difficulty or undue disturbance through the crowd to the door.

lar

He was on his way back to the Hall of Fire, his faculties much refreshed by a few breaths of quiet and the laving of his face with cool water, when he passed a elegantly carved pillar to find Glorfindel leaning in its shadow with his arms across and one foot up on the wall behind.

'A merry evening, is it not?' the Elf-lord asked, grinning brightly.

'Verily,' said Aragorn, drawing near and leaning his shoulder upon the column in imitation of the other's stance. It had the additional benefit of shifting his weight off of his right foot, which was beginning to pain him after a long day of using it almost normally. 'The assembly is light of heart despite the darkness to come.'

'Not despite: to spite,' said Glorfindel. 'While we yet ply our joy, the Shadow can never triumph absolutely. And perhaps it shall not triumph at all, if things promised in the seedling-beds of history blossom into their fullness in time. We have seen promising shoots sung of this evening.'

Aragorn felt himself flushing and feared that, with his health somewhat restored, it must show. 'It was not my wish to have that piece presented. Gandalf insisted.'

'Then you were wrong to make him insist,' said Glorfindel. 'You shall have to become accustomed to hearing your deeds praised in song and story, if you intend to keep on performing them as you have been. I know it is no comfortable thing, particularly at first!' he laughed, seeing the unease in Aragorn's eyes. 'But you will have to work at it. You do not squirm too much when justly praised by private words: merely extend that good grace to verses and arias.'

Aragorn curled his lip sardonically. 'You make it sound so simple,' he said.

'It is simple,' said Glorfindel. 'Not easy, perhaps, but simple.' He reached to grip Aragorn's shoulder companionably. 'How do you think I felt when first I had to sit through a rendition of The Fall at Cirith Thoronath after I came into myself? Even for one in the flower of youthful conceit it was an uncomfortable experience. Somehow the songs always seem much more… ennobling than the deeds themselves.'

'Yet if you had not done such deeds, this very house would not stand today,' mused Aragorn.

'And if you had not done yours?' asked Glorfindel.

'I do not know,' Aragorn said honestly. 'It was my fear then that Gondor would be overrun: caught between East and South in a hopeless siege. At the least my fleet spared her coasts much plunder and anguish.'

Glorfindel nodded, as though he had expected such a modulated answer. 'Let us say then that you know not now what houses may be erected long years hence because of your choice made in service to the moment's need.' He broke the grave foretelling note of these words with a merry smile and a wrinkle of his fine nose. 'We must go back and rejoin the celebrations!' he said. 'I have not forgotten that you and the Lady have agreed to sing for us, and I have been hoping to coax the throng into dancing by and by. The night is new, and my heart is glad.'

'Your heart is ever glad,' said Aragorn. 'Into the coldest darkness you would bring warmth and light.'

Glorfindel smiled at this, but said nothing. Instead he pushed himself lithely up from the wall and gestured sweepingly up the corridor.

They returned to the Hall of Fire shoulder to shoulder, Aragorn's heart more light within him than he could remember it being in many, many months. They came in upon a chorus from one of Bilbo's songs, this one being sung by the crowd as a final tribute to see the hobbit off to his bed for the night. Aragorn leaned against the doorpost and joined in the rollicking refrain, clapping his hands in time with the rest.

When it was over, Bilbo got up and bowed. 'Well, I thank you!' he said briskly. 'But the hour is late and old hobbits must off to bed! I'll leave you all to your pleasures, but if you wake up with sore heads and hoarse throats you'll have only yourselves to blame.' He wagged a finger comically, grinning with delight when many laughed. Then he stepped forward to bid a gracious goodnight to Elrond, and turned to leave the room. Behind him, a soft hymn rose from the flutes and lyres.

'Why, Dúnadan!' Bilbo exclaimed happily, stopping at the door to look up at his friend. 'I thought perhaps you'd gone off to bed yourself. You're looking a little peaked. But I did want to congratulate you on that capital song. Gandalf has promised to give me a copy of it. Such a rousing story – and just as you told it, too!'

'I don't know about that,' said Aragorn with a genuine smile. 'I think there is a certain minstrel of Gondor who imbued the night with rather too much poetic reverence.'

'Say what you will!' Bilbo scoffed. 'But I think that a little poetic reverence is what this life could use from time to time. We certainly spend enough of it in the dull and the dusty, don't we? I'll save the debate for another time, regardless: I've got to get along to bed before I yawn so wide my mouth sticks that way!' He looked back over his shoulder and said with a little note of regret; 'I suppose they'll keep at it until first light. It's been years and years since I've lasted so long.'

'Ah, well, they shall outlast me also,' Aragorn said in playful commiseration. 'I have but one more obligation to discharge, and then I too shall be thinking of bed.'

Bilbo's brows knit together. 'You don't mean you've been asked to sing?' he said. 'And agreed to it, too? Oh, I hate to miss that most of all! Perhaps I ought to stay after all…'

'Don't trouble yourself,' said Aragorn with reassuring dismissal. 'It's more an exercise to test the soundness of my voicebox than any real entertainment. Besides, we'll come out to the garden tomorrow and reprise it if you wish.'

'"We"?' said Bilbo shrewdly. 'Not you and Glorfindel…'

Aragorn shook his head, knowing that now his smile was rather too abashed for one of his age and dignity. 'One more guess,' he said.

Bilbo clapped his hands delightedly. 'Ooh, you must come by and sing it for me! Promise you shall! I'm not sure I've ever heard you and the Lady sing together. Is it Beren and Lúthien?'

'How impudent do you think me?' Aragorn laughed. 'Nay, not that. Off to bed now, little Master. We shall come to you tomorrow and put the mystery to rest.'

Bilbo went, feigning reluctance but obviously weary beyond any attempt to tarry. Over the course of another song and a sharp recitation of a puzzle-poem, Aragorn found his way towards the edge of the ring left in courtesy before Elrond's chair. When he reached comfortable footing he saw that the Lord of the valley sat alone. Arwen had risen and was gone.

Just then the crowd across the lazy ellipse parted, and she stepped through with her little zither in her arms. She settled it into position and raised her eyebrows in a wordless query. Aragorn nodded his assent and took one step forward, away from the general crowd and into the informally empty performance space.

Arwen plucked a series of strong and stirring notes, leading into the sounding chord. The piece was commonly accompanied by accenting notes, but no underlying melody. Aragorn drew in a steady breath, filling his lungs and feeling only the deepest crackles within them. Then the full, throaty thrum of the low minor chord filled the room, and he sang:

Why standst thou, Ar-Feiniel,
thy feet thus clad to fly?

And Arwen replied in the same key, but higher as befit both her voice and the role:

I yearn to ride the free woods now,
As once rode you and I!

The song went on, weaving through paces that captured perfectly the mounting tension of a sibling squabble. The rich, resounding melody and the dramatic passion required of the singers wrought a spellbinding spectacle that was at once exhilarating and frightening. Aragorn could feel Turgon's dread and frustration, and in Arwen's voice he heard Aredhel's pride and courage and yearning for the liberties she had possessed of old. Across the bare swath of floor they faced one another, divided in space but not in purpose as they mounted into this argument of legend as if they were themselves caught up in its furies.

Although the rehearsing had been mirthful the performance was not. All the grave stakes woven into this quarrel of love and anger, of pride and condescendence, of reluctant yielding and triumphant resolve rang clear upon the air. When at last Aredhel's farewell words echoed to the rafters and Aragorn was left to draw that rapid upsurge of glory down to his last low warning of dire things to come, the room was left in utter silence. Even among these folk whose daily songs were more intricate and beautiful than any conceived by Men, the apposition of Arwen's melodious and almost ethereal voice with Aragorn's strong and somewhat coarsened one gave cause for a moment's wordless wonderment.

Then came the first adulation, even as the two singers relaxed out of their theatrical stances and exchanged breathless smiles of mingled triumph and relief. Perhaps after one score centuries and more one ought to be beyond stage fright, but in her eyes now soft with surprised satisfaction Aragorn could see that Arwen was not – not quite. He stepped forward to go to her, and then realized that there was another hand outstretched to him with its mate outheld to his Lady.

They went to Elrond together, Aragorn taking his right hand and Arwen his left. He had risen from his chair as the sounds of admiration and appreciation began, and now he looked from one to the other in a father's pure, merry pride.

'A delight to ears and heart, as I foretold,' he said warmly to both of them. Then turning only to Aragorn he said; 'And there can be no damage to your vocal cords, if you can sustain such vibrato.'

'Your children are in fine voice, Half-Elven,' Gandalf said, drawing up smoothly to close a tight circle between the four and reaching to relieve Arwen of the instrument now balanced in the crook of one arm. 'Permit me, dear Lady. Such an interesting choice of song, too. It is not often presented, which is a shame. Clearly it makes for invigorating listening.'

He nodded with his chin at the room, throughout which a new energy was flowing. The time for quiet hymns was past, it seemed. It would come again, but the revellers had found their fresh wind. Glorfindel was calling out for dancing, and many hands hastened to draw chairs and benches out to the perimeter of the room. Elrond gave Aragorn's hand another loving squeeze, doing the same for Arwen before touching each of their shoulders as he withdrew his hold.

'Thank you for indulging my wishes, my dear ones,' he said warmly. He beckoned for wine, and an attendant brought a salver bearing four full goblets. As Elrond gave one to his daughter, he said; 'Perhaps my Undómiel will spare a dance for me?'

'The first, surely,' said Aragorn, accepting his own cup and resisting the urge to quaff greedily of it. 'I shall not be fit for dancing tonight.'

'I believe that ankle would be equal to the rigours of a stately pavane,' Elrond murmured, seeing much and saying only a little. 'I shall request one once you have had a chance to sit awhile. One exertion at a time, at least while you recover your strength.'

Aragorn ceded the sense of this with a nod. It would have been a hard thing to sit out the night while others danced, with Arwen so near and his heart so light for the first time after long and lonely toils. If he had Elrond's own leave to join in, though only once and in the least taxing of dances, neither Arwen nor Gandalf could worry themselves overmuch for his welfare. He was glad of that, too: for it was this lack of fear for his welfare that would be the surest sign he was healed at last.