Hi there, everyone! So we made it to 400 reviews! Thank you all so much for the support! It makes me so happy to hear all of your kind words and they just give me the happy tingles whenever my phone lights up. Truly, you all are amazing!

So! Since we made it to 400, I have my one-shot to give! Congratulations to LilianRose17 for being that lucky number 400! I have already written the one-shot and it has been posted. For anyone who is interested, it is called "An Orphan's Book." It features Arathell and Kara as a youngster growing up with Arathell. Very cute and happy, I must say. A definite pleasure to write!

And at last we are going to be out of the woods! Literally haha excuse the pun, my lovelies! Had to say it. Let's get to 500 reviews!

Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. Just Arathell and characters that do not appear in this chapter.


Part Three – We Barely Make It

Seether - Save Today

"A tortured soul have I become
It keep's me safe and leaves me numb, right?
'Cause in this dream I'm wide awake
The one I love I did forsake, right?
I wish that I was wrong, that you'll come home again
All this time I've lost, I'll never find again"


February 16, 3019 – River Anduin, Lothlórien

Arathell stared, hypnotized by the steady pulse of the river. If she stared hard enough, her gaze could pierce through the bubbling current straight to the deep bottom where once shiny sand was brown like mud. Rocks dotted the bottom and occasionally, she could see the glimmer of a fish.

At the moment of her wakening, she dreaded the coming day. Or rather, she dreaded the coming journey. It was always a dark figment in her mind and she had never been hopeful about it, but there was something on the horizon that frightened her. She could sense something in the air that her world was about to change, and she did not like it. All she could feel was fear gripping her heart and pushing the worst of possibilities into her head. Each member of the Fellowship she could see bloody and dead whenever she closed her eyes. She was afraid.

She reached up to the circlet on her head, a much simpler one than the one she wore during her stay in these woods. It was a delicate band of a rich grey, a shadow even. But the point that drooped onto her forehead held a bright, silvery diamond. It was small by the standards of other crowns, but she felt stronger and more determined by its presence. It was fit snugly to her head – a vital attribute needed for their journey ahead.

Her grandmother pulled her aside, drawing her attention away from the river in front of her. "Haldir and his men are taking care of your boats," she told her, grasping her arm and walking with her back into the safety of the trees. For some reason, that only made Arathell's stomach tighten all the more. There were eyes in trees. "I have instructed them to give you enough lembas to carry you until you find another place to restock your supplies." Arathell hummed dryly in response and swept her eyes over her Company, seeing them clothed in the garbs of the city. "There is another for you," Galadriel murmured quietly and took one of the cloaks from one of the guards standing near. It was a dark green and looked relatively plain, but for the brooch that clasped the ends together. Arathell let Galadriel place it over her shoulders and place the pin on.

"They do not know how honored they should feel," Arathell commented, gesturing to the Fellowship who did not look terribly impressed.

"I am sure that their appreciation will come to pass eventually," the woman replied nonchalantly. "Celeborn has agreed to let me give you all other tokens as well." Arathell arched an eyebrow. "The Man of Gondor has been given a golden belt – something to possibly help remind him of the poverty he left in Gondor and to bring his mind back to the true quest. It is not much, but I hope that it will help."

Arathell smiled. "It was a kind gesture; thank you."

"The youngest – Meriadoc and Pippin – to them have come silver belts as well as the daggers of the Noldorin. Perhaps it will show them the greatness they are capable of, especially with the heritage they possess. Each are related to Bilbo and Bullroarer, albeit distantly. Legolas has received a bow of the Galadhrim." Her eyes widened at such news. "He has been pushed away by our people for long enough, Arathell. His father may not be pure of heart or mind, but he has shown great promise and continues to grow in a way that impresses me and your grandfather. You must push aside your differences if you are to succeed, Arathell. You must be more than simply cordial – you are trusting him with your life, as he is trusting you with his."

"What did you give Gimli then, if we are to push aside our differences?" Arathell retorted.

Galadriel smiled faintly. "I admit I did not know what would satisfy his heart that we here possess. But, his request was simple enough, and I have given it to him. I will speak no further about it. Frodo was given my Phial – the Light of Eärandil – with the intent to lighten his ways when there seems to be no other path. The way he goes is dark and treacherous and he needs to be reminded of the good there is in this world if he wishes to prevail. Sam has been given some our rope; I recalled him saying he did not have any. I also gave him the last seed of the Mallorn tree from my orchards. It is the last of its kind here in Middle Earth."

"Why would you give him such a priceless thing?" Arathell asked her, surprised at the generosity Galadriel was showing to them.

"He is a gardener and he will look after it once I depart from these lands. The Shire would be a proper place for it; it will live in peace and plenty there. You also care for Sam greatly, and I know that your judgment of character could never be false. If he is as pure as you believe he is, then he should be rewarded as much as he can be. I fear that his stout heart has yet to be truly tested and any consolation will be due to him."

She smiled and then looked over to Aragorn who was speaking with her grandfather. "What have you given him?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Galadriel gave her a knowing smile. "You shall have to ask him for yourself." She paused, leaving Arathell's cheeks to darken a little in the quiet before she continued. "I have come to realize that you are also in need of something."

Arathell shook her head and backed away. "Grandmother, your company has been enough for me. I hate to imagine how my Company would have handled Gandalf's… it would have been difficult if you had not been there to catch us when we stumbled."

"It is our privilege to assist in such a quest, my darling," Galadriel purred, reaching to tuck a strand of Arathell's hair behind her ear. "It curls a little now," she said offhandedly. "At the end, it twists as it never did before."

She blushed again and cast her eyes away. "He twirls it in his fingers when he touches it," she murmured. "It seems that the curl he leaves never goes away."

Her kin chuckled lightly at the words. "Healing hands of the King, indeed," she remarked.

Arathell fought the blush that tried to creep into her cheeks and blinked the thought away. "You said you had something for me, Grandmother?" she asked quietly.

She could practically feel Galadriel smile and watched as she reached behind her to one of the other guards and took a small box from him. When she removed the lid, Arathell's eyes filled with tears and she gasped at what she saw. Arwen had one – a symbol of the everlasting love the Valar gave the Firstborn. She had the Evenstar necklace that showed an even higher rank amongst their race – the command for respect and for the acknowledgment of pure beauty. Arathell, herself, had never been given such a token. She had never been deemed truly worthy, but when she looked into the box, she knew that her time had come at last. "It is a late gift; I know," Galadriel sighed. "You have long been a champion of this undeserving land, and the sacrifices you have made and the love you have lost prove that. You are different from your sister; I daresay you always will be. Her pendant was born out of hope and gentleness. Yours is born out of determination and logic. Please try to remember that it is no less special than hers. It has a beauty to it that merely glimmers when a different light hits it. But you can be assured that when that light does touch it, it shines brighter than any star in our sky."

Tears slipped from her eyes when she ran her finger over the smooth jewel. It was a fantastic blue that glittered with a mesmerizing grass green in its heart, full of life and wisdom. Around it was what she would describe as a silver cocoon that held the stone in the very center, sharped with jutting edges that befit a warrior. "It is beautiful," she sighed.

"It was a gift that I was given, long ago. It was after I had pledged myself to your grandfather that I met him – Celebrimbor – the maker of the Rings of Power. He made two of these, you see. The first was carried to Valinor, saved from the devastation of our world. It was only after that I asked it of him that he fashioned another – this one. He gave it to me in the hope that I would fall in love with him. Unfortunately, he never could win my heart and he died not long after, tortured by Sauron for not revealing the location of the three Elven Rings. This one may not have the power of its oldest kin, but it is strong and it may help in your desire to control your second gift."

"This is the Elfstone? Elessar?" she murmured, surprised and very much afraid now of the gravity of what it was that her grandmother offered her.

"No, rather Elessar's younger kin," she disagreed.

"Shouldn't this go to Aragorn? He is meant to be called Elessar once he assumes the throne, as you told me many moons ago! It was your prophecy that you would not carry the Elfstone for long as soon he would need it!" she whispered harshly.

"And as I have said, this is not the stone, Elessar. And further, I have already said that there were two."

Arathell briefly looked to Aragorn and saw a chain around his neck, disappearing underneath his tunic. "You had them both," she realized. "How could you have both? The first went to Valinor."

"And Mithrandir brought it back for me when he first arrived in Arda," she replied smoothly.

Arathell sighed and looked again at the pendant, feeling her heart reach to cradle it to her breast. It was as if her soul knew this ancient relic belonged to her. It called out to her, asking to go to its Queen and the call was loud enough for her ears to nearly ring with its joyful song. How long it must have waited for her. "Does it have a name?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid that this new piece of her would also rely on its older brother for fame.

Galadriel grinned and wrapped the chain around her neck, fastening it into place. Instantly, her heart swelled and she felt at peace with this pendant shielding her. "I have known this day would come since the moment I asked Celebrimbor to make it. I have never given it a name because it was never truly mine. It is yours and as such, it is your duty to give it whatever name you wish." Arathell's eyes widened and she reached to grasp the pendant in her fist, hoping for its name to be whispered into her ear like a song.

"Rhetar," she answered at last. "The Savior," she said proudly with a smile and even a laugh.

Galadriel laughed as well and touched her hair, leaning to press a sweet kiss on her forehead. "I pray that it will help you in any endeavor."

"Do you really think it can help me control my gift? You said that nothing could," Arathell asked after a moment, realizing at last that her time with her kin was growing shorter and shorter, and there were still far too many questions that she did not have answers to.

"I do not know. I think that it may help channel your desires to heal easier. The only thing that could triumph against Rhetar would be Elessar, and I doubt that it will ever go against you," she answered and then looked behind her with a sad smile. "Your Fellowship is ready to leave these shores, my darling girl. I do not know if we shall ever meet again."

Arathell's eyes burst with tears and she furiously latched onto the woman in front of her, afraid to let her go, just as she had been afraid to let her own mother go. "I need you still," she whimpered.

Galadriel pet her hair tenderly. "I believe you have all the healing hands you could ever desire," she said. "And you must know that the ones we love never truly leave us."

"My mother did," she pointed out, still holding the woman tightly.

"No, I do not believe that," Galadriel sighed, pulling herself away and reaching to wipe at stray tears that were leaking out of Arathell's eyes. "I see a likeness of her in your eyes. I see the motherhood and the love and protection that was so bright in her."

"I would never leave Kara as she left me," Arathell retorted.

Galadriel sighed once more and kissed her forehead. "Maybe his healing hands can heal your broken heart," she told her before turning away and walking to the boats.

Arathell huffed and hid her face for a moment, pushing away her fear and her tears. When she had finally regained her composure, she walked to the boats, finding that Boromir would row with Merry and Pippin and Aragorn would row with Frodo and Sam. That left her to sit with Legolas and Gimli in their own boat.

She paused before climbing in, seeing Haldir standing beside her with a sad smile. Her hand affectionately fell on his shoulder, his hand reaching to hold it there as they stared at one another. "I've never been good at goodbyes, mellon nin," she murmured. She didn't need to elaborate – both knew that there was a definite chance that they would not see one another alive again.

"We do not have to say one then, Arathell," Haldir replied quietly.

"Do you think?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, though tears were clogging in her throat yet again. "I thought that since this may be the last… wouldn't you want to close the book? Be able to move on, knowing that you finished this chapter of your life?" she asked.

"I've always enjoyed a well-written cliff-hanger," he answered.

"But then we may never know how this ends, Haldir."

He chuckled a little. "Our friendship doesn't end, regardless of the story's conclusion."

Her lip quivered and she reached for him, hugging him tightly. Neither touched the other's hair, but the deep-seated bond between the two couldn't have tied them closer.

When they pulled away, she wiped at her eyes. "A cliff hanger, then? For one of my oldest friends?" she asked.

"A cliff hanger," he affirmed.

Arathell climbed into her boat and pushed herself in front of Legolas and Gimli. They did not say a word to her as they left the shores and Arathell found herself reaching for Rhetar, stroking the stone tenderly. It glittered at her touch and made her smile.

She did not look at her grandparents until the river was just about to bend. She met her grandfather's eyes and felt anguish that she had never said a proper goodbye to him, especially after her farewell for her grandmother and her makeshift goodbye for Haldir. After the disagreement with Celeborn, they had not said much at all, and she felt sick in her stomach that such a grudge may be carried with her to her grave. She rapidly stood in the boat and went to the back, extending the hand gesture of farewell to her stoic grandfather and was gladdened a little that he returned it without hesitation.

"He loves you dearly, Arathell," Legolas said softly. "You must never doubt that."

She looked down at the other Elf with a sad look. "I could never doubt his love. I doubt that he knows the depths of my own and that I could forgive him of any hurt he could ever inflict upon me. Do you believe that he knows this?" she asked.

"Lady Galadriel will soothe any worry of his, certainly," Gimli muttered with a depressed face.

She scoffed and looked back to where her grandfather was, only to see that he had departed already back into the shelter of the woods. "Do you think he knows it, Legolas?" she asked again with her throat tight again from tears unshed. There had been too many tears today… how much more waited for her in her future?

Legolas never paused from his steady rowing. "I believe that when a woman such as you loves someone, the whole world is able to see it." She stared at him thoughtfully and he looked up with a smile. "A love like yours is hard to earn but ever so magnificent once attained. Your grandfather knows very well that you love him."

She smiled then and looked back at the trees, reaching to rest one hand on the pommel of Ristor and the other around Rhetar – the Ripper and the Savior.

Arathell reclaimed her seat at the front of the boat and looked ahead to the leader of their small fleet. She could tell easily that it was Aragorn, with his nimble strokes against the water, entirely at ease. With her sight, she could see the muscles of his back working in perfect tandem, shoulders blending and jutting into and out of his back as he switched back and forth from each side of the boat. She could see his arms flex as he fought against the continuity of the water and knowing the strength of those arms well made her shiver, remembering being safely tucked away inside of them as well as being trapped against the forest floor with such arms on either side of her. Either one of those memories gave her a beautiful rush.

A thought occurred to her then and she felt her face drain of blood. "Do you really believe the whole world can see when I love someone?" she asked aloud. If everyone supposedly could see the love she bore, then they could also no doubt see that she cared for Aragorn. She would not deem it love – she would never call it that. To call it that would only give her more pain once his relationship with Arwen was more public. She would not be the type of woman who would waste away her life pining and loving someone else – it was not in her to do that. But she could not deny that she cared a great deal for Aragorn. Their thoughts were in sync with one another and he comforted her and made the hurt go away. He made her laugh and he made her warm.

Legolas chuckled from behind her, and she wondered if he knew what exactly it was that she was referring to. "I believe so," he replied. "Save perhaps a small number who are truly ignorant and painfully oblivious."

Arathell did not know how to respond to that so she remained silent and watched Aragorn continue to power through the small waves that crashed against his boat.

"I have taken the worst wound of this parting," Gimli said darkly from behind her and she found herself smiling despite her newfound worries. "For I looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me," he claimed quickly.

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked curiously.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," Gimli admitted. "She gave me three."

Arathell's eyes widened. "Her hair?" she asked. "That is a sacred gift, Gimli."

"Aye," he agreed sadly. "The braid is small but it gives me more strength than even my own axe. It shines brighter than any jewel or crystal I have ever seen, and I will treasure it always."

Arathell nodded – content with his answer. The giving of hair was almost even more sacred than allowing one to even touch it. Not only where they sharing a piece of their soul, but they were giving it away, entrusting it. She could not think of a greater privilege and it was something that would surely be recorded in the books that would come from this tale, should they all succeed.


February 19, 3019 – The Great River Anduin

The fear had resided in her stomach since the moment they left Lothlórien, and she was slightly distressed to even acknowledge that it had been growing. They had been on the river for three days, making camp on the west side of the river, always. She agreed with the reasoning up to a point, knowing that there were spies that lurked with sharpened swords on the east side, especially at night. However the majority of her fear felt like it was stemming from the western shore.

When they made camp that night, Arathell found she could not be bothered with sleep, feeling the fear grow every time she closed her eyelids. It was not her turn to take watch – Aragorn always took the shift just before hers – but she couldn't stop herself from standing from her bedroll and sitting down beside him without a word.

She hated feeling the things she did around him. Sometimes, she thought that if she spent enough time with him, she would no longer want to be beside him. Unfortunately, it seemed that those actions had the exact opposite effect she desired. Now, all she craved was to be next to him as often as she could. And he told her once that she was allowed to be selfish in some parts of her life. If she was going to die on this venture, then she would die as close to happiness as someone like her could possibly be. And if that meant hurting her heart more in the process, then so be it. She would not die with regrets. True, thoughts of Arwen often festered in her mind and she knew that she could never have him, but he made her feel more alive than anyone ever had. She would take the pain with the pleasure. That was simply her way.

"It is not yet your turn," he murmured, staring into the darkness.

She gave a half shrug. "Sleep eludes me," she explained simply. "It has ever since we left them – rather since Gandalf… In any case, I am more anxious amongst these trees. There is an evil here, waiting for us. Something unpleasant is coming, and I fear that we are not able to stop it."

"Then you should sleep while you can," he replied calmly.

Arathell shook her head. "I cannot relax and accept whatever is about to happen. I hate feeling helpless. There must be something that I can do to stop whatever this evil is."

He sighed beside her and rested his hand on top of hers. Her hand rotated instantly to grasp it and she squeezed. "You need hope, Arathell," he told her.

"We have exhausted that topic already," she excused.

"I am afraid of what having no hope will do to you," he carried on. "I cannot bear the thought that one day you will be swallowed by this darkness completely. Hope is pure and strong and it can make everything hurt just a little less. We need hope for this quest. We need to believe that there is even a possibility that the world can be safe again. The thought of clear water and shining skies and… clear trumpets… it keeps you warm and it protects your mind. It leads you away from despair, and you have already had enough of that in your life. If you continue on the path you are on, there may come a day where you will be like Boromir and no one will be able to reach you and bring you back to safety – bring you back to warmth."

Arathell stared at him with a sad smile and retrieved her hand from his to touch his face. His skin was warm against her slightly chilled hands and when her fingers buried themselves in his raven hair, she felt the silkiness of it, despite sweat clumping little tresses together. "Do you suppose that is why my skin is cold, mellon?" she whispered. "Your hand and face are warm, even with the winter not having fully passed. Do you believe that it is because of my lack of hope that I am cold?"

Aragorn sighed once more and grabbed her wrist, stopping its movements. "You are not cold," he said. His fingers on her pulse, ever-so-slightly stroking made her breath catch in the back of her throat. "You simply need someone to keep you warm."

She swallowed thickly and met his gaze. "And who might that be? Boromir and I can never be one and no one would want me anyways." She then looked away from him and pulled her wrist from his grasp and looked down to the dirt under her. "Who would want an impure woman in their nuptial bed?"

From beside her, it almost sounded as if he had had the air yanked from his lungs. He snatched her arm, swiveling her torso around to face him. His eyes shone with something that only her stolen gift would have been able to identify, but she knew that he was filled with questions. Her heart ached in her chest to say the words to him, but she knew that she needed someone to know. Her grandmother knew, but Galadriel loved her and could never find a fault in her. She needed to hear anger and displeasure from her actions. She just prayed to the Valar that he would not leave her when he learned this.

"Who?" he demanded, his voice sounding rough, "Who has done this to you?"

She smirked mirthlessly and tucked her hair behind her ear, reaching for the circlet that gave her surety and strength. "Rather, who have I done it to?" she replied. "It happened long ago. I was weak and afraid of my world falling in around me. He never meant anything to me – not in that way, and we both knew it. It was after my encounter with Angmar. I felt… lost and alone. No one had faced death as I had done against such a terrible foe, no less. I left the battlefield for five hundred years, terrified of what I might see should I have left Imladris. So I fell. I fell on whatever could comfort me and make the hurt go away. It lasted for only a couple of centuries and then he left me. He had found his One, or at least that was what he had told me. It wasn't until just recently that I learned that his feelings which were said to have been nonexistent have dwelt in him ever since and now he fancies himself in love with me."

"Arathell, who?" he demanded.

Arathell looked at him and scrunched her nose. "You hate me enough now. I do not wish to say his name. It will only anger you further."

Aragorn shook his head and reached to grab her face, holding it steadily between his now sweaty palms. He stared deeply into her eyes and she could see the hurt that lingered inside of them. "You thought you were alone. You had faced death and survived. How could that not leave its mark? It would be absurd for you to walk away without a scar on your mind. I am… surprised, to be sure. But I am not angry, not with you. Your family should have been there to catch you, and it is clear they did not."

Arathell chuckled mirthlessly. "You always put much blame on my family and all of their shortcomings. Do you not remember that it was my father who raised you as his own? He loves you still, as do my brothers. And Arwen! How could you say these things about them all of the time? Is it to soothe me? Do you speak treacherously about me to them so as to comfort them? Do you provide my shortcomings to them when they present you with hurt and pain?"

"I love them all, Arathell, and you know that. They are my family as much as Gilraen is. They gave me a chance at life that I would not have had otherwise. But you are different from them. The… friendship… we share is much greater than any I share with them. Is it not the duty of a friend to guard the other's insecurities and show that they are no such things at all? How long have you carried this guilt about your impurity, Arathell?"

She pursed her lips and glanced into the forest. "We should be keeping watch, Aragorn."

"Do not ignore me," he growled and her eyes swiveled to meet his gaze with surprise. "You always do this," he complained and she finally turned completely to stare at him, waiting for him to continue with his rant. "You are so afraid that there could be something that is possibly good in your life and then you have to run away from it. I offer you comfort and the opportunity to speak about how you really feel about what your actions have been and you flee from it. It is almost as if you actually want to be miserable and you want to feel guilty." She swallowed, knowing that he was absolutely right. She wanted him to be angry with her, but not so angry that he would be gone from her for forever. "I promised you that I was never going to leave you. I promised you that I was going to be there for you whenever you needed me." She stared at him, fighting her surprise at how well it was that he knew her thoughts. "You need to talk about this; I know you do. You would not have brought it up otherwise. I swear that I am not angry with you."

"You are angry with my family though, and I do not want that either. I'd rather you be angry with me than be angry with them," she retorted hastily, hushing the stirrings in her heart.

"Why?"

"Because I have been angry with them for millennia!" she snapped. "They have all felt my scorn and rejection more times than I can count. They have seen me angry and hurt by them and they still do not do anything to help me. My own brothers waited until my departure to apologize for their cruel words – words that had been said decades ago! I have not spoken truly with Arwen since the day you first met her. My own mother could never reach through my emotional barriers and she left before I could even try to bond with her. My father, as you claim, sees me as a pawn and allows me into his secret meetings not because he wants to please me but because he wants to exploit my skill wherever he can. This is my family. I have been angry with them for far too long, and despite all of the things they have done to hurt me, they do not need more anger to be felt toward them. They do not need the one good product of their labors to hate them because of one sour woman."

She realized she was lightly crying and she furiously wiped at the tears and looked away, hiccoughing on her choked sobs. "Who was it, Arathell?" he asked quietly.

She blinked hard and looked back at the others, seeing that they were all still asleep, the sounds of Gimli's snores likely muffling the conversation she was having with Aragorn. "It was Lindir," she admitted.

He was silent for a time before she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders and pull her to him. He kissed her temple with care and reached with his other hand to hold hers. "I have told you before," he whispered into her hair. "Your grievances with your family should not be discarded always. Perhaps now, however, you would do well to try to forgive them of what you feel they have done against you. This mission we are on may not be successful. We could die tomorrow. So we should not die with anger inside of us. Let it go." Her lip trembled and her heart suddenly hurt in her chest more than it had ever done before.

"You are truly not upset with me about my indiscretion with Lindir?" she murmured, afraid to break his serenity with her voice.

His eyes flashed and he looked back into hers fiercely. "No, I could fillet him alive for taking advantage of your hurt the way that he did. You did not deserve to have him love you first. The love you deserve is greater than any one man could give you."

"Do you think such a man exists for me, Aragorn?" she asked softly. "With all of this war and death… it knocks at our doors like it is selling buttons. How could I ever find someone you believe I am worthy of?"

He grinned gently and reached to play with her hair. "Wait for the person who pursues you," he began. "The one who will make an ordinary moment seem magical. The kind of person who brings out the best in you and makes you want to be a better person. Wait for the person who will be your best friend, the only person who will abandon everything to be with you at any time, no matter what the circumstances. He will do it because he knows that you need him. And further, he will do it because he wants to be there for you in your need. And he will need you just as deeply."

She smiled and inhaled deeply against him, taking in his musky scent, mixed with the athelas he always carried with him. The freshness of it combated the days they had gone without proper baths and made her calm. "And they exist?" she remarked. Even Aragorn could not be used to describe his words. Aragorn did not pursue her.

"I have never been surer of anything," he replied, taking another strand of her hair from around her shoulders to twirl the ends of it. She wished that she could have stayed that way for the rest of her days. Having his fingers in her hair and twirling with such care and affection made her warm. It still hurt though, to know that he probably did this with Arwen as well. The thought alone made her stomach feel uneasy and she reluctantly pulled away from him. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Do you treat Arwen in the way that you treat me?" she blurted and wished the instant it left her lips that she could reel the words back inside of her mind.

"We have already established that I do not," he mentioned carefully, as if he was still unsure of what she was trying to say.

"No, that's not it," she disagreed. "Do you play with her hair like you play with mine? Do you hold her close when she cries and hush all of her worries away with your sweet words?" With her grave already dug, she found herself saying more and more, unable to stop the torrential flood of her insecurities from pouring out of her. "Do you promise her that you will never leave her? Do you promise to be there for her whenever she should call upon you? Do you comfort her when she complains about my stubbornness?"

"Arathell, stop it!" Aragorn snapped and moved to kneel in front of her. "Foolish woman," he growled. She looked away from him and firmly at the trees. "You truly have no idea, do you?" he demanded and she still remained steadfast in her glare at the trees. She heard him sigh and steadied herself, waiting for the rejection that was sure to come. She had not been so terribly blunt about her feelings and was therefore lucky – she could deny them if he asked her of them. But the pain she would feel would be left with her nevertheless. "Arathell, I –"

"Is it my turn to take watch yet?" she heard a sleepy Gimli grumble, somehow awakening from his sleep. Knowing that it was more than likely her own turn to take watch now, she still nodded and left her spot to go back to her bedroll, leaving Aragorn and Gimli to their own devices. She heard a thwack and then a muffled curse. "Sorry, laddie," she heard Gimli mumble.

Thankfully, she had put her bedroll far from Aragorn's the night before, so she was not bothered by him for the rest of the evening.


(FOR THE CURIOUS): Just so that you all know, the story behind the Elfstone is indeed real. Although when last I researched, it had not been concluded as to which stone was given to Aragorn – the one that Gandalf brought back or the remake that Galadriel is giving to Arathell here in this chapter. Obviously, I went with a hybrid for the purpose of the story and hope to the Valar that you all will forgive me for taking the creative license. (I think you will). Both stones are present in Middle Earth, one of them (the REAL one) being given to Aragorn and the replacement being given to Arathell.

On that note: Elessar is what Aragorn is called when he is the King of Gondor. If you recall, Boromir mentioned in one of the earlier chapters that all of the Kings and Queens are named in Quenya, which is where "Elessar" derives from. The translation of it means "Elfstone" and is in reference to THIS stone that Galadriel gives him. It is meant to show his hand at healing which is talked about later by a healer named Ioreth from the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. "Rhetar" does mean "Savior" in Sindarin (if I recall correctly – it was a long time ago that I made this name for it) and that name was taken from realelvish . net as practically all of my names in this story are.

What was Aragorn about to say? What IS the deal with the Elfstone being given to Aragorn? (Hint: what else should be around his neck… was it mentioned?) Hmm. Let me know your thoughts as well as what you think about Arathell spilling the situation to Aragorn about her affair with Lindir. And her bad vibes anyone? Any takers on that whole thing? Quite curious!

Check out the one-shot! And check out the music!

Love you all lots!

LM