The Homecoming

The wind blew coldly over Cerin Amroth's grassy knoll, whispering sadly to the lone elf who stood there. A single tear streaked her pale face, lost amid the chilly raindrops that were slowly falling. Her long hair fanned out behind her like a dark veil.

Arwen Undómiel wept silently as she lay down upon the cold hill, staring through teary eyes at where the stars would have shone on a clear night. She used to gaze at them often, taking comfort in their soft radiance whenever she was worried or frightened. She would smile up at her grandfather's star, Eärendil, the brightest in the heavens. But today she found no solace in that which she loved.

Aragorn was gone.

He had passed a year ago, in the White City of Gondor. His body lay in still-undimmed splendor there, his likeness carven in the marble tomb that held him. After his death, Arwen had taken leave of her dear son and daughters for the final time, and journeyed to her grandparents' home in Lothlórien.

Now she lay upon the Mound of Amroth, the rain falling gently onto her face and mingling with the tears in her eyes. She could almost feel her life draining, washed so slowly away by the icy rain that steadily drenched her. She closed her eyes, and let the blackness swallow her as the pain faded into sweet oblivion…

----

Arwen warily opened her eyes, and knew where she was in an instant. There was almost total darkness all around her, except for right in front of her. She was facing a doorway, through which white light was spilling in a dazzling flood. And in its midst was a dark silhouette, striding purposefully forward.

Mandos.

Arwen bowed low, and the Doomsman of the Valar smiled kindly upon her. He extended a pale hand, gently pulling Arwen to her feet. She gazed in quiet reverence into his dark eyes; he spoke in a low, soothing voice.

"I have been expecting you, Arwen Undómiel," he said quietly. "Elessar has been most forlorn without you. Come with me."

He gestured toward the bright doorway with his free hand. Arwen smiled, letting Mandos lead her forward. They crossed the threshold together…

----

Arwen was dazzled by color. Warmth tingled in her whole body; she had to shield her eyes from the light of her new environment. Blinking, she gazed around in wonder.

She was in a great building, its design reminiscent of the Eldar, but splendidly unique. The ceiling was lofty, and the chamber she was in was lit by bright sunlight that streamed in through the mullioned windows. The walls were lined with innumerable tapestries, depicting all the events of Time: war, celebration, hate and love, and everything besides.

She could hear many voices all talking at once, but their owners were not to be seen. Arwen guessed that they were in other rooms.

Mandos smiled at her. "Welcome to your new home."

"Thank you," she replied, her voice hushed by awe. "This place is beautiful."

"Vairë wove the tapestries," the Doomsman told her. "You should be here somewhere… yes, look."

He led her over to one of the nearest tapestries, which showed a disconsolate figure lying still upon a grassy hill in a forest glade, with rain falling around her. Arwen drew in her breath; it was a perfect likeness of her.

She looked up as a door creaked open at the end of the long hall, and a tall figure entered the room, bowing respectfully to Mandos as he did. Arwen moved slightly to see who it was, and the figure gave a cry of delight.

"Arwen!"

And suddenly she was wrapped in a tight embrace, smothered by a passionate kiss. She felt the tickle of stubble against her face. Looking up, she met a pair of steel-grey eyes.

"Aragorn!" she gasped, her heart leaping.

He smiled lovingly. "You've come."

"Yes," she nodded. "I've missed you."

"So have I, meleth nin." (my love)

They kissed again, and Arwen knew everything would be all right now, and forever. This was where she truly belonged, in the strong arms of her dear husband. She never wanted to part with him.

But she looked over his shoulder, to where three more figures were approaching. The first was a tall, dark-haired elf, much younger than her. But he looked so familiar…

She felt tears come to her eyes as she whispered, "Ada?"

The elf shook his head once, smiling, and Arwen nearly sobbed in relief. But if this was not her father, who was it?

"Who is your father?" the elf asked.

"Elrond of Imladris," she replied, stepping a little away from Aragorn so she could speak to the newcomer more easily. "But he doesn't live there anymore; he sailed to the Undying Lands years ago."

But the elf's face had lit up at the first word. "Elrond was my brother!"

Arwen smiled at the realization. "You must be my uncle, Elros!"

"Yes!" cried Elros. "And these are your great-great grandparents!" He indicated the other two figures, a man and a woman.

Arwen gasped. The man bore a striking resemblance to Aragorn, even down to the clothing he wore, which resembled the attire Aragorn had often traveled in through the wilds of Middle-earth. They even had similar smiles. And the woman looked exactly like Arwen herself!

"Lúthien!" she gasped. For there could be no doubt that this was Lúthien Tinúviel, the Princess of the lost realm of Doriath; she was famed for her beautiful, enchanting voice, which could even drive Mandos himself to pity. The man who accompanied her must have been her husband, Beren.

Lúthien nodded, and Beren smiled. "Welcome home, Arwen Undómiel."

Arwen smiled; Aragorn had obviously told them her name. "Thank you."

She turned to where Mandos had been standing, but he had departed. She held her gaze there for a moment longer, in case he returned, but he did not. She turned back to her ancestors and her lover, and they shared a loving group-embrace.

"Come with us," said Beren. "We must give you a tour."

"You'll love it here," Elros told her. "The building design changes every so often, to reflect the homes of different people when they lived in Arda."

"Doesn't that make them homesick?" Arwen wondered.

"Oh, no," Aragorn disagreed. "It's all fascinating, being able to see designs of structures from places some could never travel to in Arda. All of the realms lost in the First Age… Menegroth, Nargothrond, Hildórien…"

"Beleriand," Elros added fondly.

"And Doriath," sighed Lúthien.

Arwen smiled at the names of the ancient lands. They seemed so distant, yet now so near. It was simply wonderful, just like her new existence was going to be. She was certain of it; as certain as the love that surrounded her. Yes, she was loved… she was home.