He was right. Arwen knew this well before the arguments flew from her lips. With every fiber of her being, she had denied the inevitable. And alone in her room where she roosted with only her thoughts, she felt the weight of that horrible inevitability pressing down on her shoulders. Aragorn had a limited lifespan while she could endure the Ages. To see, to flourish, to experience the surrounding beauty. But a single moment bound him to this life; she had eternity. How cruel their fate had been to make one's existence so fragile and yet condemn the other to feel no such passage of time.

Despite all this, the day Aragorn called out to Arwen in the woods, his face bright as he proclaimed her Luthien reborn, she had loved him. Wholly and completely. She could never have not loved him. But tonight, she must learn to unlove him. To cut her emotions at the root and let them shrivel into dust. She decided, and she had to see it through. To leave with her brethren, to Tol Eressea. She was leaving Middle Earth behind, and with it, Aragorn.

Arwen stared heavily into her palms, the moonlight shimmering across her gown of blue and silver. A cool breeze slithered its way inside, rustling a few locks of hair in front of her eyes. The scent of spices filled the air. But so, too, was it tinged with smoke, the forests burned, the lands bled as Sauron's armies grew. She looked at her room, at her belongings strewn about her feet. She'd leave it all behind for what purpose did an elf have for such frivolity. Creations of the imagination built from stone, carved from wood, all things that would rust and splinter. Things that would vanish given time while she herself remained. Love, her father had warned, with a human man, was equally frivolous.

And yet, her hand went to one of her possessions–a plain wooden figure of a stag. She turned it over in her palm, then ran her thumb over the toy's flank. Aragorn had whittled it for her when he stayed in Rivendell. After their first meeting, she'd often found him frolicking in the wood, lying under the Mallorns, bathing in the creek. Smiling, singing. In the wood, he was no more a swordsman than she. He was Aragon, son of no one, a free man unbridled by a destiny he'd fought for years to deny. She'd been mesmerized as he'd settled himself in one of the great tree's shadows, grass batting against his legs as he began his work. With deft fingers, he transformed the familiar into the exquisite. It was then she'd mourned for his fate - that such a lovely pair of hands, gifted with the ability to create such beauty, were cursed to shed so much blood. And she, bound to a love that had seeded in her chest, that had taken root and yet would never bloom.

She laid the stag beside her as tears pressed against her eyelashes. Breathing out, she caught the wind's whispers. The pleas of the forest, the ocean and the rivers to be rescued from Sauron's evil. Arwen sighed. For even if the Fellowship destroyed the ring, brought peace to these tumultuous times, and tempered the fires in men's hearts, Middle Earth was changing. It was shifting away from the times of old, the times of magic. It was another inevitability Arwen could no longer pretend not to see.

"There's nothing but death and sadness left for you here, Nin -iel," her father had said.

At the time, she'd felt anger surge inside her like the waves of a violent tempest, but the maelstrom dissipated once cold realization washed over her. Aragorn, son of man and love of her life was meant to die. It'd been a truth she could no longer challenge. After he'd left Rivendell, she thought she could let him go. Let him become the man she'd seen all those times in the woods. Become the king Isildur had failed to be. But then he'd appeared in Lorien and her resolve wilted until there was nothing left. Nothing telling her to be afraid, nothing binding her to a solitary existence. None of father's whispers echoing in her ears. She and Aragorn could be together, unbidden, and in those moments, Arwen had found herself aching for his touch, his mouth upon hers. She devoted herself to him, and he to her. They were irrevocably bound. On Cerin Amroth, she vowed to give up her immortality, to welcome death's embrace, if only to remain by his side.

But her sacrifice would have burdened him. She knew this too, deep in her heart. That Aragorn would never wish for her to give up a part of herself on his behalf, not when he hadn't asked for it, and certainly not if he had. He would never shackle her to a dying world, to force her to witness the eventual decay of all she loved, unable to change such sorrowful fates. To witness the halls at Rivendell grow empty and covered in dust. To watch as the Mallorn trees withered into bug-riddled husks of their former brilliance. To never hear the songs of the forest nor the gentle murmurs of the wind. He would loathe such a sacrifice, made by the woman he loved, and worse, he would blame himself. And this, such guilt to weigh upon his shoulders, was too great a cruelty to inflict upon the man she loved. For him to loathe himself because of her, she would not allow it. Not when the world had already demanded so much of him, and in the coming days, would demand so much more. Arwen breathed out, the Evenstar around her neck sparkling in the moonlight. Her finger grazed one of its delicate curves, a single tear betraying her will and running down her cheek.

Im ceri- ú- iest na see cin wither like i post -o i ambar, beloved. (I cannot stand to watch you wither as the world around you does, beloved.)

"Arwen." A knock followed her father's summons before the elf lord strode into her chamber, a grim expression hardening his elegant Elfish features. He looked carved from stone, smooth and placid, despite the uncertainty that awaited them. "It's time," he said.

With a slight bow of his head, he motioned for the door, the long sleeve of his robe dangling from the milk-white skin of his forearm. Arwen's hands tightened into fists as her father's appearance gave a finality to the choice she had made. "Arwen—",

"Did you know?" she asked, her words falling from her lips like whitewater, though she'd had no intention of speaking them. Elrond's brow crinkled as he walked toward her, hands clasped in front of himself, he the picture of Elfen nobility.

"Know of what, Nin -iel?"

Arwen bit her lip as the threat of tears overwhelmed her. Her cheek already stained with the remains of one. She need not add to it. "That-" Her voice cracked. She exhaled to steady herself. "That leaving would be so hard?"

The mighty Elf lord himself squeezed his daughter's shoulder, his warmth comforting her in the way only a father's could. "Yes." He swept a lock of hair over her shoulder. "But staying would be worse." Slipping his fingers under her chin, he tilted Arwen's face until she met his gaze. "You understand this, yes?"

"Yes." She shook her head. She knew this and yet… And yet…

No regrets.

She'd promised herself she'd have no regrets. Swallowing down the burgeoning fear, flapping for its freedom inside her chest like a bird in its cage, she rose to her feet. The silk of her gown tumbled to the floor and spread out around her slippers. Through watery eyes, she gazed one last time at her room. She lingered on the stag carved by the beautiful hands of the man she loved. The man, that to her, had always just been a man. Not a ranger. Not some messiah. Not a king. A kind man, with a throaty chuckle that could charm the gods, who taught her how to mimic the birds' songs and catch fish. Who taught her the importance of love and gave her the courage to have strength.

Elrond wrapped an arm around her and guided her toward the door. Her steps, light as air, fell in line alongside him, her gown billowing around her ankles. She felt like a ghost in her room, haunting her fondest memories before her mind's eye closed the door of them for good. Though he would remain in her past, Arwen would never forget Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but she hoped, as the last shred of moonlight danced across her floor, that the gods would shower him with mercy they had not seen fit to bless her with, so that one day, Aragorn might forget her. This was her last desire as she left Rivendell bound for the world beyond, leaving behind her love and her regrets.