To everyone but herself, Arwen Undómiel was an elegant lady and a treasure to protect; An elven princess, though she had not the human perspective from outside her own culture to realize that was what she was. And that word, 'princess', carried a baggage of human inheritance law and tradition that did not apply in any respect to the elves who could live forever- and thus, reign forever.

However: she was also a very young woman: less than 3000 years old. And she'd been born in these waning ages of Middle Earth when childbirth was exceedingly rare. Most living elves had seen so many sunrises; so many moonsets; so many crisp, clear starry nights- a sense of wonder was difficult to achieve. Instead: the viewer is besieged by memory. So many memories. Of past sunrises, past days, past lives, past loves now gone- swirled away like a spring stream upon the mountainside- leaving behind only an eroded crack which then continued to crumble in the water's absence, degrading under an endless onslaught of day after day after year after year; Passion long buried under the detritus of crumbled glory.

So, to the elves around her: Arwen's youth, vitality, and just the basic novelty of her existence gained her the adoration of her entire people- she was the doted-upon niece of most of Rivendell and Lothlorien, and there was unusually lively gossip over her potential love-life in both realms: did not the king of the wood elves have a young son? Would that not be a fitting match for our Arwen?

So, Arwen was used to getting her own way. Very few people opposed her whims, for very few people had a desire to deny her anything- even Lord Celeborn was generally malleable for certain things: an event here, an adventure there, a new construction on the top of some tall tree for stargazing.

Lady Galadriel; however...

When the word 'No,' emerged from those lips- it was not simply a denial that could be reapproached or coaxed: It was the end of hope. Also: a sort of aura surrounded Lady Galadriel which dissolved the influence and favoritism people normally gave Arwen, instead focusing their attention on the Great Lady of the Wood.

Arwen tried to avoid Galadriel as much as possible.

The only other person who would deny Arwen was her father. But unlike how it was with Galadriel, Arwen could say 'No' right back to Lord Elrond, to the shocked amusement of all. All except Elrond himself, who was definitively not amused.

And while Lord Elrond found he could not directly control his daughter... he held unquestioned sway over the other elves of Rivendell. A disobedient Arwen found the services of the estate closed to her: horses were too tired to carry her; hunters had no room in their hideouts; craftspeople were much too busy; and her tutors suddenly had an enthusiasm for arduous lessons under personal supervision.

Arwen was regretting her return home. Lothlorien was a much bigger place, and Lady Galadriel was as easy to spot as a blazing star in a dim room. Thus, easy to avoid. Meanwhile, Arwen's father was much more subtle, and in the confines of the estate, he seemed to be around every corner.

It was so… limiting! The freedoms which Arwen so enjoyed were being curtailed with the same slow persistence of a glacier, the cold frown of her father grinding away all hope of fun and entertainment- only the elegant life of an elven Lady was permitted. An indoor elven lady!

But Rivendell held one advantage over Lothlorien: it was the active center of international diplomacy in Middle Earth. Peoples of all kinds came here: men, dwarves, northern elves, and even other folk of lesser-known classification. If any people wished to speak to the elves, they came to Lord Elrond- even if Lorien was much closer geographically. Just go visit Lorien? Absurd. But a conference with Lord Elrond? That could be done, and a warm welcome would be had upon arrival. Lord Elrond displayed an uncompromising commitment to the ancient traditions of hospitality.

In fact, only the most important of guests could evade the public feasts of arrival which delighted the elves of Rivendell. So when Arwen heard of the arrival of a lone wizard, and that there were no signs of a festivity being prepared, she knew a personage of utmost seniority had arrived. She also knew where father met with persons of that type, and she knew where she could be to hear everything that was said...

There was a small alcove on the second floor of the library. That alcove had a small window which overlooked the back gardens. And her father's personal balcony overlooked those same gardens. It could even be seen from the library window, if one had the fortitude to scrunch their face uncomfortably against the wall and peek out the window at extreme sideways angle. But it was not difficult to hear traveling voices, for in Rivendell there was no fear of spies- no malicious spies, at any rate. But a bored and curious daughter? Rivendell had at least one of those, and she found her way to the spot quietly and listened.

As she'd hoped, her father was in conference that very moment:

"-are in intermittent conflict," a soft, elder voice was saying, "though the dominance of King Hezad seems a foregone conclusion. And he actually IS a descendant of Khamûl. And that is a worry. A great worry."

A short silence. Then Arwen heard her father's voice. "And so Sauron may have their allegiance at the snap of his fingers, their sire long in his grip."

The other voice sighed. "Yes. Of all the claimants to the throne, Hezad is an unfortunate victor. But I'm sure he's long enjoyed the backing of Mordor, and association with the black land carries much less stigma there than it does here in the West."

Another silence before Elrond spoke: "You also went to the lands of the Harad?"

The elder voice grunted and coughed. Arwen caught the scent of pipe weed. "Yes, indeed. Divided. Chaotic. As it has always been. If Sauron should wish additional legions, he will be spoiled for choice. The only king of Harad is coin."

"And of your lost colleagues? Did you find any sign?"

A frustrated sigh. "Nothing but myth and folktale, and even those sparse and known only by a dying generation. The younger folk know not even that. It is as if those two walked into the East and dissipated like clouds over the desert. I put out signals and signs they would recognize, and from a very great distance, but they did not appear. I fear they met some disaster long, long ago."

"So we must content ourselves with the Grey, the White, and the Brown."

A raspy laugh. "Radagast? His mind has gone to seed, I fear. He only offers counsel to birds and beasts. And Saruman? Well- he rarely leaves his library. But we may at least rely on his knowledge when the crisis comes. He will know what to do, and that thought gives me comfort; Orthanc will ever be our dependable anchor… but enough of my failed expeditions: what news in the West? What have I missed?"

Elrond cleared his throat. "I might as well start with it: I told Estel who he was."

"My, my, my. Has it been twenty years already? Was he not but a babe just yesterday?"

"He is a babe now. They all are."

"You give humans too little credit, Lord Elrond."

"No," said Elrond, his voice growing terse. "I give them exactly the credit they deserve."

A long, awkward silence.

The elderly voice gave a smokey cough. "Well, anyway- when does he leave? When will Aragorn set off to rejoin his people?"

"He already left. Two days ago."

"What?!"

"It was time. I sent him north into Arnor to investigate reports of goblin activity. We have not heard from the Dúnedain in some months. And who is more ideal to send then their hereditary chieftain himself?"

Arwen's mind echoed the elder man's voice. What!? She'd known who the boy Estel was. She'd agreed to keep that secret. But she hadn't known that Aragorn was gone already! She thought father had just put him to some task to keep him away from her, but he was in fact cast out? His residency here terminated and she none the wiser! It was time, Father just said. But Arwen knew that was not the full truth. This was because of that night in the library. She'd approached Aragorn against Father's wishes and her father knew he couldn't control her. So, he'd cast Aragorn out instead. Anything else was an excuse, Arwen was sure of it!

"Are you sure that was wise, Lord Elrond?" said the elder voice, now whispery in concern. "All our hopes are in that boy, if he should come to grief in the wilds-"

"All your hopes are in that boy," said Elrond, "I continue to reserve judgement. He is no star intellect nor is he a special talent with the blade. But he is trained. He is equipped. If he cannot manage the wilds with all that I've provided him: he will never be capable of what you hope for him, Gandalf!"

A long silence followed Elrond's angry outburst. Arwen knew the tone, and she knew now who the elder voice was: she'd never met Gandalf, except one brief greeting in passing in Lorien- but she knew his reputation: the wandering Grey wizard who had his long nose in everyone's business. But after that outburst, the meeting would end. Father closed himself off when he had an outburst like that, and Gandalf seemed to recognize it and switched to a more light-hearted tone of voice.

"He truly is nothing special with a sword? I was under the impression he was quite good for one so young."

"Well- he can't beat me," said Father, a last rumble of thunder on his voice.

"Lord Elrond," laughed Gandalf, "No one has bested you in- what? 5000 years?"

"...six-thousand, six-hundred, forty-three years," murmured Elrond.

Arwen slipped away as the elder men forced their conversation to lighter topics. Social topics. But she had heard enough, anyway. Aragorn was cast out on a dangerous mission. Alone and green. It was a mistake! Her Father was old! Gandalf was old! Both too old to remember that training and preparation only went so far! The first time for real- that was an entirely different proposition. They'd forgotten what it was like to do something for the first time. They'd forgotten the fear. They'd forgotten the way the mind can seize up and forget everything it shouldn't- and to dangerous result! She knew that Aragorn had only ever known Rivendell. He was like she had been, she was sure of it: he'd only ever read about danger in books. Only ever crossed swords with people who wished him well!

Aragorn was out there alone and he needed help. Desperately. Even if he didn't know it. Arwen remembered what it was like to do things the first time. She vividly remembered her first orc hunt in Lorien (Galadriel had NOT been pleased when she'd learned of that escapade).

Arwen remembered the ice which ran in her veins as the orcs rushed at her, yelling and slobbering in their bloodlust. Arwen had only survived thanks to Captain Haldir and the other veterans around her. Aragorn, too, needed a veteran to guide him. To watch over his first venture. And lacking anyone else- well-

It would just have to be her!