Chapter 3

Myria sat with the halfling at the centre of the table, in the place normally occupied by Arwen, that evening as they dined. The halfling was good company; he was entertaining yet light of heart. He had commented on something which had greatly amused Myria, when a cloaked figure entered the hall and approached them. The figure swept the hood back to reveal himself to be Elessar.

"Dúnaden!" cried Bilbo. Myria turned to him in astonishment. Elessar read her look of surprise, and smiled gently.

"Yes, that is also my name, Myria," he spoke softly "My true name is Aragorn, but I seem to be the only one to know of it!" he laughed. "Certainly, I am known to others by a variety of names, all of them belong to me. To this venerable hobbit, I am Dúnaden." Myria instantly liked this lonely wanderer. There was something instantly likeable behind the rough exterior, yet she sensed a sadness also. The tired, lined face was befitting of one with such a solitary, dangerous life, however when he smiled, the weary expression disappeared and was replaced with a kind smile. Elessar joined the companions at table, and Myria began to feel affectionate towards the lonely man.

The meal passed in happiness and laughter. As the first pure notes of elven voices spread through the room, Aragorn and Bilbo took their leave of Myria, leaving her sitting with Glorfindel, as they departed to smoke hobbit-weed and compose poetry and verse.

Back in her chamber, Myria thought with wonder of her table companions. She was growing very fond of Mister Bilbo Baggins, and also of Elessar, or Aragorn, or Dúnaden, whatever his true name may be. Yet some hidden thought or memory stirred in her brain, trying to make itself heard. As her thought turned to her beloved cousin, Myria recalled what had troubled her. This human was one and the same as the man Arwen had pledged her immortality for. Myria could remember her cousin's happiness as she spoke of her beloved, who had mistaken her for Lúthien herself! However, Elessar was surely the name given to the  adopted son of Elrond. Myria gasped. She felt for a moment the heart-rending anguish that Arwen must have endured when she too discovered the true identity of her Ranger. Elrond was only concerned for his children, adopted or otherwise, yet Myria knew the elven lord could never condone this relationship, for it would mean losing his daughter.

  Aragorn paced his chamber restlessly. He now knew why Arwen was grieving when they met upon the bridge. He felt distraught, for the thought of losing his Evenstar brought him much distress. He was also worried for the safety of Arwen, for he knew the time was drawing near when he would be called upon to mend the shards of Narsil, and restore the throne of Gondor. He distrusted himself to even assist in this momentous task, bearing the burden of guilt, for it was his ancestor, Isildur who had been unable to destroy the One Ring many years ago. As he was Isildur's heir, Aragorn was afraid the same flaw would be present in him, and if this was so then all of Middle Earth would fall under the power of the Dark Lord Sauron.

Arwen stood watching the heavens that evening. They were journeying along the course of the River Bruinen, and the party had stopped to rest for the evening. As she studied the stars, her thoughts turned to Aragorn, who would be abiding in Rivendell. She also thought of her cousin Myria, for the child had seemed withdrawn recently. Arwen mediated whether Myria knew anything of the unrest that was slowly settling over the land. Had she but known it, Myria shared the same vision as Arwen and indeed Aragorn. All had foreseen one possible future of Middle Earth, and how the slumbering land was caught in a delicate balance between light and dark. For once the dark had settled fully over the fair land, evil was sure to prevail.

            As the three individuals spent a restless night, sleeping with eyes wide open as was the way of the elves, another was watching them. She gazed with an amused half-smile on her lips, as she saw the destiny of each figure, she also saw what might happen if the Dark lord was not thwarted. The waters in the fountain swirled, and soon Galadriel was looking upon another, quite different face. The eyes were closed, and the face was peaceful in sleep, one lock of dark wavy hair curling over the forehead. Had the creature's eyes been open, they would have shone a deep, innocent blue. For the hobbit was Frodo Baggins, upon whose shoulders the fate of Middle Earth rested.