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Partings

as roleplayed by
Elendil and Morgana

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Disclaimer: If you can't tell yet what I spend most of my time doing, you need to look closer. :> The majority of my stories to be posted here on FFN are roleplays, and co-written. In this case, by Elendil, and you can check out his work (some of which is also co-written by moi) by searching that name here on Fanfic. Neither Aragorn nor Arwen belong to us, though we wish they did, and we promise, Mistah Tolkien, that we're being good and playing nice with them.

Rivendell, the evening prior to the departure of the Fellowship, in a garden.

Child of the Stars, indeed. The stars gleam down upon the balcony where the daughter of Erond and Celebrian stands, her pale hands free of the mossy green gown she wears and resting lightly upon an elegantly carved stone railing. Somewhere, within the borders of her father's domain, her beloved roamed the shadows.

He had taken to keeping watch over the fair, autumnal city during the night. For all she knew, he could be watching where she stood from a perch somewhere across the Pass. The thought made her smile. Turning her back to the twilight forest beyond, she regards the warmly-lit hall of her father. Various members of the fated Fellowship sat, the evening meal passed around the table, her kindred singing merry songs.

Fond is the gaze that reflects from her deep blue eyes as it settles upon the stately figure at the head of the table. She sometimes thought on how the events of the world pained her father. Perhaps the Firstborn of Lorien concerned themselves not with the matters of the world, but Elrond still did. She could see a deep sorrow in his timeless features.

The barest flash of red. The wafting on the pungent smoke. The only two clues that gave away the Ranger's location in the pitch-black forest. Rangers could easily disappear if they so chose to, but this Ranger wanted to be found by two persons in particular - namely the two sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. He had bade them scout out the route the Fellowship was to follow on its trek to the fires of Mount Doom.

But she could do nothing but watch. Wait. The fate of all rested in the hands of the little Hobbit sitting quietly beside the empty seat where Aragorn should have sat, were he not off indulging his nature by tramping the underbrush with a step nearly as sure and silent as that of Legolas, who was padding into the hall as she watched.

The drone of the crickets continued unabated, no sound was made. "You're slipping, Elladan." A mild pause while the two Elven Rangers stepped forward to greet Isildur's Heir. "What lies ahead?" The two brothers launched into a detailed report on what obstacles lie ahead - a troll had taken up an abode in Eregion, while some bands of orcs had been reported just southwest of Isengard......

Arwen passes along the balconies and stairways that lead down to the gardens below, stopping by one and taking the stairs down into a leaf-strewn arboretum. The ivy and ferns and gleaming roses which seemed to never fade with the passing of seasons greet her, lit lightly by delicately wrought lamps. In the silence, she thinks, staring at the water of a nearby stream.

Her mind wanders over the paths that lay ahead for the Nine, where their journies would take them and what would befall the ring in the end. Casting her gazeback up to the hall, she wonders at the fact that the group was light-hearted despite their impending departure. That was heartening. At least they would have an evening of peace.

There were three figures that left the forest and strode back into the warm and welcoming halls of Elrond. Elrond's sons, along with the currently swordless Aragorn, whose blade was being reforged even then. Aragorn greeted Frodo, Gandalf, the other hobbits who looked on him strangely even still, and the rest in the Company. He had longed to see Arwen before he left, quietly, without others about, but he could not see she stood out on the balconies.

Arwen, listening to the voices above, picks out the greeting of the returned Rangers easily and stands, her delicate gown making more noise on the stone paths than her own footsteps. Stepping back up the path, and ascending to the balcony, she remains outside the hall, bathed in the flickering shadows of a lit candelabra, smiling to herself.

Hardly doubting the sharpness of Aragorn's gaze, steps into the golden light on the balcony for a mere moment, a gesture not unlike the small light he had earlier signalled her brothers with.

Being a Ranger meant living in solitude most of the time, so he had hung back from the tale telling and song-listening, preferring to keep to himself. But he had not missed seeing the Elven maiden step out onto the balcony, and only seconds later, he joined her, simply basking in her presence for several quiet moments.

Arwen finally speaks, turning her gaze away from the night-blanketed gardens to regard her beloved, gazing so intently, it seemed as if she were peering into his very soul, though she posesses no ability akin to her grandmother's. "My father says you are to depart on the morrow. That is far too soon for my liking, but I have no say."

He nods in an almost grave fashion. "Too soon indeed. But the Ring has to go South as soon as possible." He pauses, finally loosing a weak and humorless chuckle. "But I suppose the one bright side is that the sooner we leave is the sooner the entire ordeal comes to a resolution, for good or bad."

"Yes," she smiles, a sly glint crossing the expression for the barest moment. "Let us rush in headlong to war." She merely
teases, though. She was well aware of the preparations that had gone into this journey they would depart upon scant hours from
now. "For good or bad, there will be a resolution. And changes. Though some things will remain unchanged." She cast him a meaningful glance.

She spoke of her her vow to bind herself to his own fate, to die as one of the secondborn. Her father had never been overly enthusiastic that his daughter had, after over two and a half millenia of life, become taken with the Heir of Isildur. "Unchanged, but still a source of hope and strength as they always have been." The spark in his eye is wistful, much like the Grey Istari, a soul who had been doomed to wander and doomed with a destiny before he had been born.

Arwen smiles quietly, her pale hand dropping down to find his. A step is taken then to wander the gardens with him in tow. She'd glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of two Hobbits, and her sharp hearing told her they were looking for the Ranger. But she was going to be selfish tonight. If she couldn't ride out with the party, at least she could have a last evening with him, alone. "What did you find, then, along the paths?"

A slow smile finally creases the face worn by years of care and weather. "Your brothers, as a matter of fact." Yet another thing Elrond was not happy with him for, allowing his vengeful sons to join the ranks of the Dunedain. "I had them scout the path ahead, and they brought tidings. It seems most of the first leg of our journey is clear, it is in the wastes of Eregion where we will encounter more difficulty."

She chuckles, having been the mountain howled upon by the wind many times in her father's frequent gumblings about her
brother's choices of occupation. The drama had long-ceased being a solemn thing to her. "You seem as if that surprises you," Arwen comments as they walk. "The wastes would be difficult to tackle for anyone, but it is just 'more difficult' to you." She smiled fondly.

The Ranger inclines his head slightly. "Well, yes and no. The treachery of Isengard stunned us all, but perhaps I should have seen it coming. Saruman had been sending agents to Bree, Archet, and even the Shire for a few years now. They carted off pipeweed, amusingly enough, seeing as Saruman berated Gandalf for using it. "The Nazgul forced Saruman's hand. He had to begin with his sorceries and machinations when the Nine swept down upon the Shire. I just wonder if we will be able to cross the Gap of Rohan unassailed."

Arwen's nose wrinkles briefly at the mention of pipeweed, a bone of amused, fond contention with her. The quickly forgets that, though, as the Nazgul, whom even she had recently encountered, were commented upon. "I would doubt that. Saruman will be watching all roads perhaps even more vigilantly than the Eye. I cannot see him letting the Ring slip by him unnoticed."

He nods in an agreement. "I have to agree. But Gandalf refuses to go any other way. I think he wants to rely on stealth, speed, and our small number to pass the Uruk-Hai. He is afraid to go through Moria, and I can not blame him for it. I told him plainly, there is death lurking behind the doors, and that he should beware should he enter."

She pauses to lift a flower from it's vine. "Gandalf is set in what ways he believes he should take. I do not think that even with your warning and another possible path would he turn away from entering Moria simply because there is a danger to himself. There is a great deal that none of us know about Gandalf, and it maybe that he expects whatever danger you would ward him away from."

Aragorn chuckles lightly. The two hobbits had tailed them a bit, but had given up and gone to bed. Even so, he would have to get back at Merry and Pippin. "Master Gimli believes we have a hero's welcome awaiting us in the halls of Moria. I am not sure Gandalf has the heart to tell him what we have heard."

Arwen looks amused, smiling at the ground that passes beneath them. "And what have you heard, Master Ranger?"

He would have launched into a detailed analysis on the rumors from Khazad-dum, but now was not the time. "Nothing
substantial. We might be able to verify the accounts should we pass that way." Tonight was not a night to mope around over dark tidings with Arwen, he did not need to leave her heavy of heart with the worries of the world as well as for the fate of the Ring.

She knew the answer had been glazed over, because he would never settle for an answer that vague himself. "And your sword?" It was being reforged as they spoke, and it occured to her that it would be a rather tremendous thing for him. The sword would be used again for the first time in ages, in his hands. She slowed, and the halted, stopping to look up at him attentively.

Aragorn gains a thoughtful look. "This is the third time the sword will be forged anew. I think it should take on a new moniker as
well." He chuckles in amusement at himself and his dramaticism. "West against East again. The sword shines like a fire, so perhaps Flame of the West, Anduril."

Arwen beams quietly, obviously approving of the choice. "And who could resist the thought to rally under such a brave sword and it's brave bearer" Arwen answers. And rally under that sword and it's bearer, people would. Her gaze darkens slightly, as she adds, "For a long while we will be apart. But you are always in my thoughts and in my heart."

A gentle arm encircles Arwen, holding her loosely. "My path has led me far from these lands, to Fornost Erain, to Umbar, and to Rhun, but my heart has always brought me back here. It is only for a little while, Arwen."

What was 'a little while' in the lives of the immortal Elves. Five minutes... a week. A month. Perhaps, but Arwen held mortal time in her mind, and made the span of separation seem more gaping. Her own arms went around his waist, and she placed her head on his shoulder, soaking up these moments to remember through that little while. "I shall feel very alone here, even amidst company."

A year was still long, even to a mortal from the race of Numenor. He repeats what little encouragement he can, for times indeed will be dark. "It is not for long. We could have no true joy in a life together with Sauron ruling from Mordor. When he is gone, we can live out the rest of our days in peace. Our *mortal* days."

Arwen feels comforted by that to be sure, and where no words would suffice, she leans up to place a gentle kiss upon his lips. A mortal life. In the back of her mind lingered a sadness that her father, brothers, grandmother, they would all pass to the West. That sadness was buried, though, by her joy at the prospect of spending her days, numbered as they may be, with Aragorn.

A last morsle of peace and joy before leaving behind everything he held dear and knew well. He had trod the lands between the Havens and Minas Tirith many times over, but now it was all new. The little hobbit carried the hope for a regular life, a free life, for every last man, woman, and child of Middle-Earth hung round his neck. Aragorn would do anything he could to ensure the hope was fulfilled. Through the darkness of Moria and through the depths of the Golden Wood would he travel, to the White City and finally to the Black Gate itself. He would go because it was his destiny and his responsibility, being the Heir of Isildur, but he would do this also to make a life he could live and enjoy with the ageless woman standing in his arms.

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Awe. :)
~Morgana