Hello all! I am very sorry that it has been so long since I updated! (I hit myself on the head) I have a hard time writing over breaks. But now that I am back into my regular schedule, the updates should be more frequent. I hope that you enjoy this chapter and please remember to review! Reviews make the world go 'round! Enjoy! It's longer to make up for the late update!

Odilyn

Chapter Four

The orc screeched as she whirled around and sliced across its neck with her long-neglected sword. She glanced frantically around the clearing, trying to quickly assess the situation. The orcs were in retreat. Elrohir was fighting four at once, but as she moved to help, three of her elven companions stepped in. She sighed and wiped at her blood-streaked cheek. The orcs had caught them unawares just outside the borders of Imladris. If they had managed to get across the Bruinen the orcs wouldn't have been able to follow, but there had been too many. They had been too outnumbered. The small party had been concentrating solely on making it out alive. None had escaped unscathed, except perhaps Elrohir. It was hard to tell if the blood he was covered in was his or not. Anariel had acquitted herself fairly well, considering her lack of practice during the last fifteen years. But she had a long scratch on her cheek, a gash on the forearm of her shield arm, and she thought her ankle was broken. But she had come off easy. Looking around and counting the remaining elves, her heart leapt into her throat as she realized that two were no longer standing, the life-light forever quenched from their eyes. Tears sprang to Anariel's eyes. It wasn't their time. Though yesterday she would have given a lot to have Galdor leave her alone, now she would give almost anything to hear his most boring hunting story from his own, living lips.

There was no time for those thoughts now. After the living were cared for, then the time would come for grieving. She limped heavily over to the survivors of the party. Elrohir quickly organized the group. They had to make it across the Fords before stopping to care for the wounded. If they remained stationary, more orcs could possibly fall upon them. There would be no hope if that happened.

Anariel refused Elrohir's offer to be carried. She could hobble along fine, though it was painful. But Lindor was in much worse shape than she was. He had sustained a heavy blow to the chest and was losing blood rapidly. As soon as they were across the borders, she would be able to help. But now, she just concentrated on each step at a time, each painful step at a time. By the time the Bruinen was forded, her breathing was ragged and the pain in her ankle was agonizing.

Why didn't you just accept Elrohir's offer? You are too stubborn for your own good sometimes!

But deep down she knew that it wasn't selflessness that led her to reject her cousin's offer, but hesitance to be held by him in such a fashion. It was her own fault that she was struggling along right now. She would deal with it. Now, there was work to be done.

"Anariel, you can't do this! You must rest first!" Elrohir exhorted urgently as she knelt next to a pale, clammy Lindor.

His breathing was laboured and becoming shallower by the second. He was weakening rapidly. There was no time.

"Elrohir, I will live without rest. But if I rest now, Lindor will die. Now go away and shut up," she snapped, turning her attention to Lindor and ignoring Elrohir's stunned expression. She placed her hands over the rough bandages covering Lindor's wound. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A golden glow began to emanate from her hands. Her hair was brightening till it looked like red-gold flame and her breathing grew more frantic. A searing, white-hot pain ripped through her chest. She cried out and her eyes flew open to reveal her glowing gold-blue eyes. It lasted about a minute and then she slumped forward, the golden light leaving her suddenly and completely, her hair lifeless and muted, her skin pale and drawn. She was unconscious. Elrohir shook her shoulder slightly. The movement caused Lindor to groan.

"Lindor? Lindor are you alright?" Elrohir was amazed to see Lindor open his eyes sleepily and look at him with sobriety.

"I am well, Elrohir. But what of the girl? Was she wounded?" He looked awkwardly at the woman lying unconscious across his stomach.

"She healed you Lindor. I know not how badly she is injured. We will see when she wakes."

Elrohir gently and carefully, since he didn't know how badly she was hurt, lifted Anariel off Lindor. He was amazed, but not surprised, so see that Lindor's injury was completely healed. He carried Anariel to a blanket and proceeded to bandage her arm – the only obvious wound that he could see. Suddenly she sat straight up.

"What are you doing?!" She yanked her arm away and glared at Elrohir.

"Anariel! I am bandaging your arm! What did you think I was doing?" Elrohir spoke defensively. It surprised him how Anariel was the only one to really get a rise out of his otherwise stoic demeanor. She was more like his brother Elladan than he liked to think.

"Oh," her shoulders slumped slightly. She held her arm back out and Elrohir proceeded to continue bandaging it.

"You know," Anariel said suddenly "sometimes I wish I didn't have power at all. In story books the people with healing power never have to pay for it. They go around, healing people right and left, flowers seeming to blossom at their feet. They never pay for it. But that's not how reality is. Everything comes with a price."

Elrohir stared at her. She had never opened up like this to him before. It surprised him.

Anariel sighed, feeling very, very tired and mortal at the moment. A huge wave of loneliness threatened to engulf her and for a split second she considered wrapping her arms around Elrohir. At least she could be held by somebody. But she quelled that impulse quickly. It would not do to encourage that sort of thing.

"Anariel," Elrohir said softly "what is the price?" He had wondered that for some time now. What did she sacrifice every time she chose to help someone?

There was a pause as she dropped her dull, blue eyes to her lap and twisted her hands in the blanket.

"Pain," she finally whispered "pain, strength, energy. Every time I heal something, I have to relive the pain of whatever caused the hurt in the first place. I cannot heal illnesses with my gift, though I have studied the art of healing by more natural means under the best teachers. Healing myself takes much, much more energy than healing others. This ankle for example," she gestured helplessly at the swollen, purple appendage "if someone else had broken an ankle, I could heal it without losing too much energy. If I healed my own however, I would most likely be unconscious for a while." She met his eyes finally and smiled grimly with no mirth or joy. "How do you decide who should live and who should die?" she whispered. "How do you choose to whom to grant healing and from whom to withhold it?" The tears stood in her eyes. If there had been another of her friends with a desperate need for healing, she would have had to choose between them and Lindor. She didn't have enough energy for two. It was a choice she had never had to make and she desperately wished that she would never have to in the future.

Elrohir just sat in thoughtful silence. He had never given much thought to the consequences and responsibilities that came with a gift like Anariel's. He looked at her closely. He had never seen her looking less elven than she did at the moment. Even Estel looked more like an elf than did this battle-worn, lonely, half-elven, mortal woman. He smiled slightly. He had just lost two of his beloved companions, ones whose lives should have lasted for many centuries more, ones who would never again wander the greenwood, or lift their voices in the songs of the Eldar. And yet, he smiled. He smiled because Anariel didn't know of the half-concocted scheme he had in his mind. A scheme involving a grey-eyed, noble-minded Ranger and this wilting, but strong-willed, maiden. He couldn't wait till they reached Imladris. These were dark times. One look at the still bodies of his fallen friends confirmed that. But that was all the more reason to conjure as much joy for himself and others as he could. He would try.

Anariel was completely unaware of her cousin's friendly intentions. She had wrapped a shawl around herself and was gritting her teeth together to keep from crying out as Elrohir set her ankle. It was one of the most painful things she had experienced, but she didn't make a sound. When he had finished, she let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding and relaxed. One good thing had come from this whole thing – now that she had faced a few orcs, the thought of facing her uncle no longer frightened her.

She snuggled down and attempted to relax. Now that the pain in her foot had somewhat subsided, the pain in her heart returned. She couldn't explain it. It felt empty and yet filled with a longing so strong that it hurt. She had been alone for fifteen long years and now she was returning to her family. But the longing she felt wasn't for them, no matter how glad she would be to see them. It was a longing for strong arms to hold her, a broad chest to lean against, loving ears to listen to her, a noble mind to give her strength. Her fantasies of a dream husband were no longer satisfying. They seemed remote and impossible in the light of the complete loneliness she felt and made the ache grow stronger instead of easing it. She was alone and there was nothing she could do about it.

He took a deep breath of the sweet breeze that rustled through the trees of Imladris. This was his heart's home. All the weariness and fear of the past weeks washed away as he strolled the wooded paths of this hidden valley, sanctuary of the elves. Here, he truly felt as though his time would come. Doubts would plague him outside this haven, fears and worries that he would not be strong enough. But here, here he felt more keenly the blood of Numenor flowing through his veins, here he stood more proudly, and here he felt stronger. Here he was a king.

His thought fell on the curious group that had entered Imladris that morning. His adopted brother, Elrohir, had returned from an errand in the North. Apparently they had been waylaid by orcs just outside the borders. Estel's heart constricted tightly at the memory of the two still bodies lying over the saddle horns – bodies belonging to beloved elves who would never walk these paths again.

Even stranger was the woman they carried. She was unconscious and injured so he had only had a brief glimpse of flaming hair before she was whisked away for healing by Lord Elrond. He didn't know who she was, but . . .

All thoughts of the strange woman fled his mind as he saw the angel walking towards him. She was even more beautiful that he remembered – her midnight hair falling in soft waves down her back, her starry eyes full of wisdom and knowledge, her graceful, statuesque form clad in dazzling white and silver. He felt as though he should kneel at her feet and worship her, for surely the Valar themselves didn't appear more glorious.

"Arwen," he breathed almost reverently, as he took a step nearer. She raised one slim, white hand to stop him. He paused.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," she said slowly in her deep, melodious voice "I know what it is you would have of me." Her eyes grew sadder and she looked older and wiser, more like her father. "I cannot give you what you would ask," she whispered.

He though his heart would break. He thought he would hear it tearing in twain. He thought that a pain would come, so deep it would be past healing. He thought it would be so. He waited. A sorrow over swept him. A sorrow that the marvelous creature in front of him would not be his queen. But the pain that entered his heart was not that of its breaking. It was emptiness. The spot in his heart that he had filled with her was now empty.

"Estel," she said and he raised his eyes to hers "you will be a great king, a king surpassing the glory of the kings of old, your forefathers. You shall be great in wisdom and glory and strength. The road to this end is dark, filled with hardship and peril. But it will come to pass. You need a queen Estel, but even more you need a lover – one who will not hesitate to give herself to you mind, body, and soul. My mind is with the Sea, my soul is in the West, my body shall sail to Valinor. I love you, my brother, but not in the way you would wish and not enough to give up what my soul craves."

As she spoke, the sorrow left him. He saw it now. Even were she to decide to stay, she would fade from the sorrow of giving up the Undying Lands, that which was the longed-for fate of her kind. He understood. He accepted it. But even as he did so, the loneliness grew inside of him, till it seemed like a living thing sucking the hope and life from his soul.

"Arwen," he spoke, his clear voice sounding almost elven, though a little rougher "my sister, I should be asking you for your forgiveness. I let my admiration for your strength and beauty blind me to the heavy price you would be forced to pay for me. It was not my place to ask such of you. My road is dark right now and the end is hidden from me." He straightened his shoulders and stood taller. "I will ask no woman to wait for me, when I do not know if I shall prevail over the darkness that is sure to assail me. No woman should be tied to that despair or share the burden that is mine alone to bear. That must wait for better times." He grew more decided as he spoke and his determination to not fall in love until he had come into his own quelled the squirming and snarling of the lonely parasite inside of him . . . at least minimally.

Arwen smiled slightly at his determination. She knew how hard it was to control the workings of the heart, no matter the amount of predetermination to avoid it.

"Estel, love is a gift, no matter the timing," she shook her head at his stony countenance and obvious disagreement with her statement. She walked forward and placed a pale hand on either side of his face. Looking him in the eye, she whispered "Do not ignore it when it comes, despite when it might. Do not shut your heart away until it seems right to you. If you do, the thing you long for might just slip out of your fingers. Namarie."

She left then, in a rustle of leaves. He stood, slightly amazed at her last words. How could he fall in love now? He knew not what the future would bring, but the Council would be held after Frodo awoke and then he would leave. One way or the other he would be leaving this sanctuary and again become Strider, the Ranger.

It was no time to fall in love.

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