DISCLAIMER: See Prologue.
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my latest batch of reviewers: HobbitsRFun, ArwenUndomiel89, Arwen, A.Spencer, Exiled-Knight, LOTr Rocks, Sammy, Kaz, Katherine Silverhair, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Fayth, Songbreeze Swifteye and Arwen. THANK YOU!!!!!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: *Laughs sadistically* Since I've been extermely evil for the previous few chapters, I've decided to pospone the big cliffhanger until chapter eight, giving you all some time to recover from the previous two.
R&R, please? Flames will be passed onto Ismene so she can cause more havoc - on second thoughts, bad idea. Valar only knows what she is capable of... So don't flame me, unless you want Rivendell burnt to the ground *shudders*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE WORLD OF SHADOWS
Aragorn's head lolled in Gilraen's lap as a strangled groan escaped his lips.
"What is happening?" she cried, tear-filled eyes meeting Elrond's as her voice quivered from panic. "What is happening to my son?"
Elrond dropped to his knees in silence, terror etched on his features. He grabbed Aragorn's clammy hand and bent over the young man. "Estel, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad! Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad!" {Listen to my voice, come back to the light.}
Arwen felt her heart stop. Was Aragorn going to die? Violent tears meandered down her cheeks. No - he could not die! Surely Mandos would not snatch him from her now... Not Mandos, she corrected herself, but Ismene.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Estel was choking. His arms flayed violently as he tried to push himself to the surface, his lungs screaming for air. But his limbs were ensnared in the clutches of the frozen water. He was sinking, sinking...
Then, a pale light, like liquid mithirl, surrounded him. Somewhere in the distance, through the rapidly increasing expanse of water, he could hear a frantic, domineering voice calling to him. His body was too weak from lack of air and the cold to strain his ears - all he knew was that the words were Sindarin, the language he had grown up hearing.
His eyes slipped shut as he descended into blackness.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Elrond stepped away from Aragorn's still form, Arwen saw something she had not for years beyond count - the glimmer of tears in his chestnut eyes, sorrow breaking through his indifferent mask worn in front of both friends, family and strangers alike.
"So falls the last Heir of Isildur," he choked, emotion breaking into his voice as he tried to speak over Gilraen's hysterical sobs of grief. "Not at the hand of Sauron nor any of his vilest minions, not in the service of others, but by a cruel twist of fate."
"NO!" Arwen cried, tears rolling unhindered down her perfect alabaster cheeks. "I refuse to believe it!" Pushing her father aside, leaving him to comfort the overwhelmed woman, still in so much shock over her son's sudden - and tragic - death.
Dropping to her knees, Arwen pressed a hand to Aragorn's still, lifeless heart, and laced her fingers through his. Drawing strength from the Elven magic flowing like blood through her body, she felt spirit and body slowly break away, as she melted into the Shadow World.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first thing Aragorn knew was terror.
Sinister shadows danced around him, chanting in some long-forgotten tongue. Though the words were incomprehensible, Aragorn sensed that they spoke of ill tidings and, like the very heralds of Doom. Black curls of smoke swirled around him, but no comforting fires could penetrate the thick mist that had ensnared the man in its menacing clutches.
'I am dead,' he realised numbly, sinking to the stone underfoot. 'Dead...'
"My son..." a voice called through the shadows. Aragorn turned - but he remained alone, save the dark forms that encircled him. "I know you can hear me, Aragorn."
"Who are you?" He called, his voice quivering. Their was something vaguely familiar, almost comforting, at the eerie voice that called to him through the darkness, sending prickles down his spine. "Father?" he almost whispered, wondering for the briefest moment if his father - not Elrond, not Arathorn son of Arador - was here.
The voice grew quiet, almost mournful. "I would have loved to watch you grow up, watched you blossom from that talkative little two-year-old into this young man who sits before me now. You should not be here - not now. Your time upon Middle Earth is not over."
"Father, what are saying?" Aragorn asked in amazement. "That I should not be dead?" Dead - beyond the Circles of the World. Gone from all whom he loved, and all who loved him. Never again would he chase Elladan and Elrohir around the gardens in the summer; never again would he be able to confide some secret in Elrond - never again would he feel Arwen's lips against his own...
"You will soon have a battle to fight, my son," Arathorn's voice drew Aragorn from his thoughts of Arwen. "Fight her with all your strength, all the willpower you possess, and you will depart this place."
Aragorn nodded, knowing all too well of the adversary his father spoke of.
"And when you return to Middle Earth, let all whom you love know. I did not let your mother know the depth of my love for her," he sighed, "And now it is too late. Never allow your beloved to feel the same way. Tell her at your first opportunity..." the voice faded away, until all that remained were the dark apparitions that swirled around Aragorn.
"Estel..." Hearing the deviously innocent call of Ismene, the man leapt to his feet. "Estel, mellon amin, where are you hiding?"
"Let me go!" He shouted into the mist.
"You cannot go back," she replied, her eerie intonations echoing all around him. "I could not go back when I was brought here. They just left me in the darkness. And I cried, I cried for my Amme and my Ada, and my brothers and my sister, but no-one came to get me! They abandoned me!" Then, the mists parted. Bathed in a silver glow, Ismene emerged, cloaked entirely in black. "But I am not alone anymore - you are here!"
"Estel..." He turned, his mouth dropping open in amazement. Arwen, cloaked entirely in white, the light of Iluvatar shining from within her, was walking towards him!
She held out her hand, her lovely face devoid of any expression. "Tula, Estel. [Come, Estel." He reached out, praying this was not some vision or a vain hope manifested in this dream. Like the touch of an Angel of Eru, her silken hand slid into his calloused grasp. "Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad." Her voice was like the sound of a harp being plucked by nimble fingers. It seemed wrong to refuse her request - she could only be taking him away from the sinister clutches of this devious little child.
"No! He is mine!" Ismene's agonised wail filled the air. "Leave him alone, Arwen! Do not take him from me!"
"I take Aragorn nowhere," she replied, unfazed. "He comes of his own free will."
"No!" The child shrieked, diving out from her hiding place. "Keep your hands off him!"
"Ismene," Arwen said warningly. "Let him go. The time of his death is not your choice to make."
Hearing those words, her control snapped. "You... wench!" she shouted, throwing the most vile curse word she knew at Arwen. "Amin delotha lle!" [I hate you!] The child's hand raised above her head, her finger pointed at the elf-maiden who still gripped Aragorn's hand fiercely. He watched in horrified fascination as Ismene's serene glow turned dark, black like a poison. He swallowed, pulling Arwen into his arms for comfort. What was the child going to do?
However, Arwen seemed strangely calm. "Be gone!" She commanded, lifting her hand to the sky.
A bolt of lightning crashed to earth, illuminating the darkness for but a moment before Aragron was plunged into a swirl of blinding colours. He reached for Arwen, needing to feel the comfort she offered, but she was gone - as was the child, he noted. Violent winds thrashed his body as he plummeted, muttering a prayer to Elbereth for an end to this torture as his eyes slipped shut.
Suddenly, he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. Blinking, it took a moment for him to realise that he was outdoors, lying on his back in the snow, with Arwen kneeling over him, tears meandering down her cheeks.
"Am I... dead?" He choked, his head pounding as a trickle of blood streamed down his face.
"Oh, my son!" Gilraen enfolded her arms around his shoulders, sobbing violently into his neck. "My baby! Oh, thank the Valar that you are all right!" Trembling lips kissed his hair, and she moved to clutch him feverishly to her body, once Arwen had reluctantly stepped away. Gilraen covered his brow in desperate kisses, hysterical tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, my darling!"
Even Elrond could not contain his happiness at seeing the man alive. "We thought that we had lost you, Estel!" The elf-lord joined Gilraen in a thankful embrace with his foster-son.
"What in the name of Eru happened?" Aragorn asked, feeling himself crushed as another body was pressed against his - Arwen's. She dropped a gentle kiss to his brow, a single tear dripping from her face onto his.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After carrying Aragorn to the hospital wing (with the help of Glorfindel and Erestor), Elrond bandaged his forster son's head wound and gave the man a sleeping tonic. He, Gilraen and Arwen watching intently as Aragorn slipped into the throes of slumber.
Elrond placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Arwen, there is something we must discuss," he whispered. "Gilraen, we will be in my study if you require us."
She nodded, barely acknowledging his words as she sank into an armchair. This had been a stressful evening, and while she would like nothing more than a cup of hot peppermint tea, and a bath and some sleep, her maternal instincts would not allow her to take her eyes off her son for but a second. She had almost lost him today - not for the first time, but tonight, he had actually died. It was a miracle had Lady Arwen had been able to pull his spirit from the Shadow World, when even Elrond himself was powerless to do anything.
Aragorn rolled onto his side, mouth slightly open, eyes rolling beneath closed eyelids. His lips melted into a smile. Was he dreaming? Then, he murmured a name in his sleep. "Arwen..."
Gilraen sat bolt upright. Arwen... The conversation she had held with her son earlier in the day come floating back to her. "Do not fall in love with an elf!" She sighed. It was too late now - if his dreams were anything to gauge by, Gilraen knew that her son had already lost his heart. But Arwen could never love him. She could only pray that, when the time came, the elf-maiden would not hurt Aragorn too badly when she was forced to break his heart.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I did not know that your healing skills were a adept as to pull someone from the very grasp of Mandos," Elrond commented, sinking into a chair beside the enduring fire in his study. "Havo dad, nin iell." [Sit down, my daughter.]
"Estel was not taken from us by Mandos," Arwen replied as she leaned against the mahogany table, still in a state of shock over the evening's events. "Even I am unsure as to how I managed it," she said thoughtfully. "But I sense that there is a sinister force within Imladris, and it was this that tried to take him from us."
Elrond shuddered. He too had felt that same tingles run down his spine, as though someone was watching, yet there was never anyone in the proximity. In the end, he supposed that whatever caused him to feel uneasy was most likely paranoia. "No evil has entered this city since it was built in the Second Age," he said firmly. "And no such evil ever will!"
Arwen sighed as she stood, crossing the room in slow, uneasy steps until she came to the window. A chill reverberated throughout her body - and not just from the cold. Somewhere in the dark hallways, lurking behind a statue and waiting to pounce upon her prey, was an enemy waiting to claim someone very dear to her heart, an enemy that Arwen had no idea how to fight.
A ghost.
Turning back to her father, Arwen exhaled a deep, calming breath. "'Quel undome, Ada," [Good night, Father.] she said, placing a kiss on his cheek.
"Quel esta, Arwen," [Rest well] he replied, holding the door open for her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The marble statue of Nienna gleamed with the pale radiance of the moon, as the Lady of Pity cast her loving gaze upon the snow-covered earth. Had Arwen not known the significance of the figurine, she supposed that visits to this tranquil spot where she had played as a child would be much more enjoyable. But pleasure was the farthest thing from her mind as she stepped through the bare trees, pausing for a moment to absorb her grief as she stood before the grave of her adversary.
"Why do you do this, Ismene?" she whispered, but the area remained still, enshrouded in an almost deathly. "I have borne you no ill tidings; I have not cursed you, nor spat upon the earth you buried under. I have not tarnished your memory - you seem more than capable of that yourself."
The icy breeze swirled around Arwen's body as she pulled her thick cloak tighter around her. "Since the day of your death, I have mourned you constantly. Countless tears have fallen from my eyes, and I do not know how many times I have knelt before this very statue, praying to see you alive for but a day. When I was first shown the Mirror of Galadriel centuries ago, do you know what the first image I saw was? It was you, Ismene. I saw what you would look like had you lived."
Removing her gloves, Arwen placed a kiss on two fingers, pressing them to the statue's forehead. "Namarie, tithen min," [good-bye, little one] she whispered.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His head still pounding, Aragorn sat up in his bed in the hospital wings, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. His mother lay slumped in her chair, fast asleep, one of her hands still firmly gripping his like a lifeline. Careful not to wake Gilraen, Aragorn disentangled his hand his from her grasp, before stepping out of bed to wrap a blanket around her trembling form.
The fire was dying. He threw some more coals onto the embers flickering in their last moments of life, bathing the room in a gentle glow, like the first seconds of a summer dawn.
The door swung open cautiously, and he smiled as Arwen slipped into the room, her cheeks slightly red from the cold. In silence, she joined him on the floor, resting her head on his shoulder. Aragorn encircled his arm around her back, allowing his body to feed warmth into hers. One of her hands clutched his shirt fiercely, as if afraid to let go.
"Arwen," he said softly, tilting her chin so he could meet her tear-filled eyes. "I am alive. This is not some dream - I am real."
"I know, Estel," she whispered. "Today had just been so... surreal. You died, yet you are alive again. Perhaps it was not a true death, because it was not Mandos that instigated it, but you left us nonetheless."
A single tear fell from her eye, tricking down her perfect skin. Aragorn brushed it away. Feeling impulsive, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She relaxed in his arms, loosening her grip, yet puling him closer still.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for saving me."
"You saved yourself," Arwen replied, resting a hand on his heart. "Estel, I only offered you the means. It was your own strength and your love for those you had left behind that brought you back to us. Only you have the power to fight Ismene, because it is you alone that she wants."
Aragorn lay a finger on her lips to silence her. "Let us not talk of death tonight. Let us talk of life."
Arwen raised a hand to caress his cheek. Her touch sent prickles down his spine, and he felt his heart leap as her eyes slipped shut, and she leaned closer. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, he had lowered his lips to Arwen's, kissing her gently, inhaling her floral scent, etching her forever into his memory. Arwen sighed against him, her mouth opening beneath his, giving him her permission to deepen their kiss. Her hands entangled in his dark hair, while his grip on her waist tightened.
Neither of them were aware of the glassy blue eyes that stared at them both with a white hot hatred.
From her perch in the oak tree outside the hospital wing, Ismene felt a powerful hatred surge through her like a poison. She watched Aragorn as he kissed Arwen softly, feeling her loathing towards the elf-maiden grow until it reached murderous proportions.
"He *will* be mine!" The child declared, a plan forming in her mind. "Make no mistake about that. Estel will be mine!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
P.S. A big thank you for reading my stories. If you would like to receive an email whenever I update or add a new fic, leave your address in a review or email me at princessevenstar0104@hotmail.com, telling me what story(s) you are interested in.
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my latest batch of reviewers: HobbitsRFun, ArwenUndomiel89, Arwen, A.Spencer, Exiled-Knight, LOTr Rocks, Sammy, Kaz, Katherine Silverhair, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Fayth, Songbreeze Swifteye and Arwen. THANK YOU!!!!!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: *Laughs sadistically* Since I've been extermely evil for the previous few chapters, I've decided to pospone the big cliffhanger until chapter eight, giving you all some time to recover from the previous two.
R&R, please? Flames will be passed onto Ismene so she can cause more havoc - on second thoughts, bad idea. Valar only knows what she is capable of... So don't flame me, unless you want Rivendell burnt to the ground *shudders*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE WORLD OF SHADOWS
Aragorn's head lolled in Gilraen's lap as a strangled groan escaped his lips.
"What is happening?" she cried, tear-filled eyes meeting Elrond's as her voice quivered from panic. "What is happening to my son?"
Elrond dropped to his knees in silence, terror etched on his features. He grabbed Aragorn's clammy hand and bent over the young man. "Estel, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad! Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad!" {Listen to my voice, come back to the light.}
Arwen felt her heart stop. Was Aragorn going to die? Violent tears meandered down her cheeks. No - he could not die! Surely Mandos would not snatch him from her now... Not Mandos, she corrected herself, but Ismene.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Estel was choking. His arms flayed violently as he tried to push himself to the surface, his lungs screaming for air. But his limbs were ensnared in the clutches of the frozen water. He was sinking, sinking...
Then, a pale light, like liquid mithirl, surrounded him. Somewhere in the distance, through the rapidly increasing expanse of water, he could hear a frantic, domineering voice calling to him. His body was too weak from lack of air and the cold to strain his ears - all he knew was that the words were Sindarin, the language he had grown up hearing.
His eyes slipped shut as he descended into blackness.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Elrond stepped away from Aragorn's still form, Arwen saw something she had not for years beyond count - the glimmer of tears in his chestnut eyes, sorrow breaking through his indifferent mask worn in front of both friends, family and strangers alike.
"So falls the last Heir of Isildur," he choked, emotion breaking into his voice as he tried to speak over Gilraen's hysterical sobs of grief. "Not at the hand of Sauron nor any of his vilest minions, not in the service of others, but by a cruel twist of fate."
"NO!" Arwen cried, tears rolling unhindered down her perfect alabaster cheeks. "I refuse to believe it!" Pushing her father aside, leaving him to comfort the overwhelmed woman, still in so much shock over her son's sudden - and tragic - death.
Dropping to her knees, Arwen pressed a hand to Aragorn's still, lifeless heart, and laced her fingers through his. Drawing strength from the Elven magic flowing like blood through her body, she felt spirit and body slowly break away, as she melted into the Shadow World.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first thing Aragorn knew was terror.
Sinister shadows danced around him, chanting in some long-forgotten tongue. Though the words were incomprehensible, Aragorn sensed that they spoke of ill tidings and, like the very heralds of Doom. Black curls of smoke swirled around him, but no comforting fires could penetrate the thick mist that had ensnared the man in its menacing clutches.
'I am dead,' he realised numbly, sinking to the stone underfoot. 'Dead...'
"My son..." a voice called through the shadows. Aragorn turned - but he remained alone, save the dark forms that encircled him. "I know you can hear me, Aragorn."
"Who are you?" He called, his voice quivering. Their was something vaguely familiar, almost comforting, at the eerie voice that called to him through the darkness, sending prickles down his spine. "Father?" he almost whispered, wondering for the briefest moment if his father - not Elrond, not Arathorn son of Arador - was here.
The voice grew quiet, almost mournful. "I would have loved to watch you grow up, watched you blossom from that talkative little two-year-old into this young man who sits before me now. You should not be here - not now. Your time upon Middle Earth is not over."
"Father, what are saying?" Aragorn asked in amazement. "That I should not be dead?" Dead - beyond the Circles of the World. Gone from all whom he loved, and all who loved him. Never again would he chase Elladan and Elrohir around the gardens in the summer; never again would he be able to confide some secret in Elrond - never again would he feel Arwen's lips against his own...
"You will soon have a battle to fight, my son," Arathorn's voice drew Aragorn from his thoughts of Arwen. "Fight her with all your strength, all the willpower you possess, and you will depart this place."
Aragorn nodded, knowing all too well of the adversary his father spoke of.
"And when you return to Middle Earth, let all whom you love know. I did not let your mother know the depth of my love for her," he sighed, "And now it is too late. Never allow your beloved to feel the same way. Tell her at your first opportunity..." the voice faded away, until all that remained were the dark apparitions that swirled around Aragorn.
"Estel..." Hearing the deviously innocent call of Ismene, the man leapt to his feet. "Estel, mellon amin, where are you hiding?"
"Let me go!" He shouted into the mist.
"You cannot go back," she replied, her eerie intonations echoing all around him. "I could not go back when I was brought here. They just left me in the darkness. And I cried, I cried for my Amme and my Ada, and my brothers and my sister, but no-one came to get me! They abandoned me!" Then, the mists parted. Bathed in a silver glow, Ismene emerged, cloaked entirely in black. "But I am not alone anymore - you are here!"
"Estel..." He turned, his mouth dropping open in amazement. Arwen, cloaked entirely in white, the light of Iluvatar shining from within her, was walking towards him!
She held out her hand, her lovely face devoid of any expression. "Tula, Estel. [Come, Estel." He reached out, praying this was not some vision or a vain hope manifested in this dream. Like the touch of an Angel of Eru, her silken hand slid into his calloused grasp. "Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad." Her voice was like the sound of a harp being plucked by nimble fingers. It seemed wrong to refuse her request - she could only be taking him away from the sinister clutches of this devious little child.
"No! He is mine!" Ismene's agonised wail filled the air. "Leave him alone, Arwen! Do not take him from me!"
"I take Aragorn nowhere," she replied, unfazed. "He comes of his own free will."
"No!" The child shrieked, diving out from her hiding place. "Keep your hands off him!"
"Ismene," Arwen said warningly. "Let him go. The time of his death is not your choice to make."
Hearing those words, her control snapped. "You... wench!" she shouted, throwing the most vile curse word she knew at Arwen. "Amin delotha lle!" [I hate you!] The child's hand raised above her head, her finger pointed at the elf-maiden who still gripped Aragorn's hand fiercely. He watched in horrified fascination as Ismene's serene glow turned dark, black like a poison. He swallowed, pulling Arwen into his arms for comfort. What was the child going to do?
However, Arwen seemed strangely calm. "Be gone!" She commanded, lifting her hand to the sky.
A bolt of lightning crashed to earth, illuminating the darkness for but a moment before Aragron was plunged into a swirl of blinding colours. He reached for Arwen, needing to feel the comfort she offered, but she was gone - as was the child, he noted. Violent winds thrashed his body as he plummeted, muttering a prayer to Elbereth for an end to this torture as his eyes slipped shut.
Suddenly, he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. Blinking, it took a moment for him to realise that he was outdoors, lying on his back in the snow, with Arwen kneeling over him, tears meandering down her cheeks.
"Am I... dead?" He choked, his head pounding as a trickle of blood streamed down his face.
"Oh, my son!" Gilraen enfolded her arms around his shoulders, sobbing violently into his neck. "My baby! Oh, thank the Valar that you are all right!" Trembling lips kissed his hair, and she moved to clutch him feverishly to her body, once Arwen had reluctantly stepped away. Gilraen covered his brow in desperate kisses, hysterical tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, my darling!"
Even Elrond could not contain his happiness at seeing the man alive. "We thought that we had lost you, Estel!" The elf-lord joined Gilraen in a thankful embrace with his foster-son.
"What in the name of Eru happened?" Aragorn asked, feeling himself crushed as another body was pressed against his - Arwen's. She dropped a gentle kiss to his brow, a single tear dripping from her face onto his.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After carrying Aragorn to the hospital wing (with the help of Glorfindel and Erestor), Elrond bandaged his forster son's head wound and gave the man a sleeping tonic. He, Gilraen and Arwen watching intently as Aragorn slipped into the throes of slumber.
Elrond placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Arwen, there is something we must discuss," he whispered. "Gilraen, we will be in my study if you require us."
She nodded, barely acknowledging his words as she sank into an armchair. This had been a stressful evening, and while she would like nothing more than a cup of hot peppermint tea, and a bath and some sleep, her maternal instincts would not allow her to take her eyes off her son for but a second. She had almost lost him today - not for the first time, but tonight, he had actually died. It was a miracle had Lady Arwen had been able to pull his spirit from the Shadow World, when even Elrond himself was powerless to do anything.
Aragorn rolled onto his side, mouth slightly open, eyes rolling beneath closed eyelids. His lips melted into a smile. Was he dreaming? Then, he murmured a name in his sleep. "Arwen..."
Gilraen sat bolt upright. Arwen... The conversation she had held with her son earlier in the day come floating back to her. "Do not fall in love with an elf!" She sighed. It was too late now - if his dreams were anything to gauge by, Gilraen knew that her son had already lost his heart. But Arwen could never love him. She could only pray that, when the time came, the elf-maiden would not hurt Aragorn too badly when she was forced to break his heart.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I did not know that your healing skills were a adept as to pull someone from the very grasp of Mandos," Elrond commented, sinking into a chair beside the enduring fire in his study. "Havo dad, nin iell." [Sit down, my daughter.]
"Estel was not taken from us by Mandos," Arwen replied as she leaned against the mahogany table, still in a state of shock over the evening's events. "Even I am unsure as to how I managed it," she said thoughtfully. "But I sense that there is a sinister force within Imladris, and it was this that tried to take him from us."
Elrond shuddered. He too had felt that same tingles run down his spine, as though someone was watching, yet there was never anyone in the proximity. In the end, he supposed that whatever caused him to feel uneasy was most likely paranoia. "No evil has entered this city since it was built in the Second Age," he said firmly. "And no such evil ever will!"
Arwen sighed as she stood, crossing the room in slow, uneasy steps until she came to the window. A chill reverberated throughout her body - and not just from the cold. Somewhere in the dark hallways, lurking behind a statue and waiting to pounce upon her prey, was an enemy waiting to claim someone very dear to her heart, an enemy that Arwen had no idea how to fight.
A ghost.
Turning back to her father, Arwen exhaled a deep, calming breath. "'Quel undome, Ada," [Good night, Father.] she said, placing a kiss on his cheek.
"Quel esta, Arwen," [Rest well] he replied, holding the door open for her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The marble statue of Nienna gleamed with the pale radiance of the moon, as the Lady of Pity cast her loving gaze upon the snow-covered earth. Had Arwen not known the significance of the figurine, she supposed that visits to this tranquil spot where she had played as a child would be much more enjoyable. But pleasure was the farthest thing from her mind as she stepped through the bare trees, pausing for a moment to absorb her grief as she stood before the grave of her adversary.
"Why do you do this, Ismene?" she whispered, but the area remained still, enshrouded in an almost deathly. "I have borne you no ill tidings; I have not cursed you, nor spat upon the earth you buried under. I have not tarnished your memory - you seem more than capable of that yourself."
The icy breeze swirled around Arwen's body as she pulled her thick cloak tighter around her. "Since the day of your death, I have mourned you constantly. Countless tears have fallen from my eyes, and I do not know how many times I have knelt before this very statue, praying to see you alive for but a day. When I was first shown the Mirror of Galadriel centuries ago, do you know what the first image I saw was? It was you, Ismene. I saw what you would look like had you lived."
Removing her gloves, Arwen placed a kiss on two fingers, pressing them to the statue's forehead. "Namarie, tithen min," [good-bye, little one] she whispered.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His head still pounding, Aragorn sat up in his bed in the hospital wings, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. His mother lay slumped in her chair, fast asleep, one of her hands still firmly gripping his like a lifeline. Careful not to wake Gilraen, Aragorn disentangled his hand his from her grasp, before stepping out of bed to wrap a blanket around her trembling form.
The fire was dying. He threw some more coals onto the embers flickering in their last moments of life, bathing the room in a gentle glow, like the first seconds of a summer dawn.
The door swung open cautiously, and he smiled as Arwen slipped into the room, her cheeks slightly red from the cold. In silence, she joined him on the floor, resting her head on his shoulder. Aragorn encircled his arm around her back, allowing his body to feed warmth into hers. One of her hands clutched his shirt fiercely, as if afraid to let go.
"Arwen," he said softly, tilting her chin so he could meet her tear-filled eyes. "I am alive. This is not some dream - I am real."
"I know, Estel," she whispered. "Today had just been so... surreal. You died, yet you are alive again. Perhaps it was not a true death, because it was not Mandos that instigated it, but you left us nonetheless."
A single tear fell from her eye, tricking down her perfect skin. Aragorn brushed it away. Feeling impulsive, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She relaxed in his arms, loosening her grip, yet puling him closer still.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for saving me."
"You saved yourself," Arwen replied, resting a hand on his heart. "Estel, I only offered you the means. It was your own strength and your love for those you had left behind that brought you back to us. Only you have the power to fight Ismene, because it is you alone that she wants."
Aragorn lay a finger on her lips to silence her. "Let us not talk of death tonight. Let us talk of life."
Arwen raised a hand to caress his cheek. Her touch sent prickles down his spine, and he felt his heart leap as her eyes slipped shut, and she leaned closer. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, he had lowered his lips to Arwen's, kissing her gently, inhaling her floral scent, etching her forever into his memory. Arwen sighed against him, her mouth opening beneath his, giving him her permission to deepen their kiss. Her hands entangled in his dark hair, while his grip on her waist tightened.
Neither of them were aware of the glassy blue eyes that stared at them both with a white hot hatred.
From her perch in the oak tree outside the hospital wing, Ismene felt a powerful hatred surge through her like a poison. She watched Aragorn as he kissed Arwen softly, feeling her loathing towards the elf-maiden grow until it reached murderous proportions.
"He *will* be mine!" The child declared, a plan forming in her mind. "Make no mistake about that. Estel will be mine!"
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