Enjoy, review, more will be up tomorrow or tonight.

***

They had been talking to Galadriel for barely a few minutes; but it seemed she shared their penchant for little pointless chatter, and the conversation was flowing quickly.  They were in a room which, though once yet another armory, was now used as a living-room; for talking and gathering.

'Of course, that can be arranged if Aragorn and yourself will it so,' smiled Galadriel elegantly, continuing in the same infinitely powerful – but slightly sorrowful – voice.  'As long as your Aratirith Lord agrees, your Aratirith vows can be tailored in most ways.  It is… unconventional, but has been done before; and recently it is done more and more again, for the Elves are leaving…'  She sighed, and turned her eyes to Mithmír.  'I begin to wonder, now: the Elves are going off to the West, and the line of Gwainferedir and the Aratirith will too return to Valinor.  So shall the house of Finwë, taking their High Guards with them.  A very few shall remain, their Aratirith staying also; and they shall dwindle in might.  And they shall bear no children to continue the line, or so the waters tell me.'  Her bright eyes pierced Mithmír's very soul, making her shiver.  'But the line of Aragorn and Arwen, Rulers of Gondor, shall remain on Middle Earth as mortals.  They shall need Aratirith guards.  That means some Aratirith must have children who are willing to stay on Middle Earth and guard the Kings of Gondor…'  She stopped, and said no more, but the implication was clear.

'My thanks, Lady Galadriel,' said Mithmír with a polite and grateful nod.  'I have something else to ask you also, however…'

'Please do,' said Galadriel calmly.  She looked fleetingly at her husband, who smiled at her lovingly.  Celeborn and his Lady were close indeed, and their parting – which should occur all too soon – weighed heavily on them.  It was well-known that Galadriel was to sail over the Sea, and so return to her birthplace; while Lord Celeborn was to stay in Middle Earth and rule over the small band of Silvan Elves – those who had previously dwelled in Lothlorien – who also intended to stay.  It was speculated that he should, eventually, go over the Sea also, but he had refrained from saying whether it was true or no.

'What happened to the other Aratirith?  I am only descended from one of Gwainferedir's three children.  What of those other families?'

'Thindheneb, the younger brother of your ancestor Cuilantwen, remained in the West with the Lady he guarded.  The older, Lhindtirn, came to Middle Earth, however.  His kin still live now.  Where, you shall find out later; along with who they guard.  It is a different strain of Finwë's kin.  And that strain, along with their Aratirith guards, are failing…  Only the kin of Cuilantwen shall remain in Middle Earth, and even then not all of that family.'  Again, Galadriel looked at Mithmír in a way she was unable to understand.  'You shall meet them, later, or so I deem.'

Mithmír sensed that that was all the answer that was forthcoming.  She decided to leave it at that, and be grateful for what she did have – permission to become an Aratirith.

'My thanks for you, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, are boundless,' she said with a smile.  'You shall tell Aragorn?'

'Yes,' replied Celeborn in his stately, unhurried voice.  'It would be better for you to use this time to talk to Galadriel's Aratirith, Tondfael.  There is much he must teach you, if you will be made High Guard to Aragorn any time soon.  He is outside, in the Main Courtyard.'

Mithmír bowed, thanked them again, and then left in a rush.

She found Tondfael in the Main Courtyard, as she had been told she was.  It was the largest open space in all of the inner fortress of Helm's deep, hewn deep into the rock but open to the day sky; which was being traversed by fleets of hasty rain-clouds, of the kind which threatened to drop their cargos and yet never did.  The male elf was standing, facing the sun, the wind twisting his dark hair like a river behind his head.  He was not wearing full armor, but the sword was by his side as usual.  Again, she felt the temptation to ask to touch it, but was too shy to do so.  Instead she made her way to him, quietly, toying with the idea of seeing if she could give him a surprise…

If she could have seen his face, she would have perceived the all-too-aware grin on his elegant features.  She was about to call out when the male elf spun around on one foot, stopping exactly before her, the wondrous sword drawn and pointing, lethally, at her throat.  She gulped, and stood still.

'It is not so easy to creep up upon an Aratirith,' murmured Tondfael with a good deal of self-satisfaction.  'We are more aware than normal fighters.'

Mithmír made her breathing harder; and tried to show the whites of her eyes as if terrified, while allowing them to scan the scene.  Her hands made slowly towards her sword-hilt, barely perceptible in their slowness…

As she had anticipated, Tondfael whipped his sword down from her neck to her hand, trying to halt it's course or knock the sword from her grasp.  While he was so preoccupied she took a roll to the side, standing up quickly a metre away.  She smirked at him triumphantly.

'There are some things they could be taught by the Dúnedain, obviously,' she said proudly.

To her surprise Tondfael resumed a neutral pose, sheathing his weapon – which she had not thought to examine closely while having the chance – with a clanging of metal.  He laughed boldly.  'You have all the spirit of your mother Lómwing!  And no doubt, there are things each kin might teach the other.'  He smiled at her then, and it was a kindly expression.  Mithmír couldn't help but smile back – he had her hair, she noticed, or at least the two shades were very similar.  Here was one who looked like her, a cousin of herself…  She finally had a family, a true family, an extended family.

'I will teach you, then,' he continued.  'You fight well, but you must learn to defend more – using your sword, since you can't use a shield with a two-handed weapon.  Your expertise with that sword makes up for that handicap, however, and you should pick up the new techniques easily.'

Despite herself, Mithmír blushed.  He was surprisingly complimentary, this cousin.

'After that,' he went on, 'there's only your vows to learn, and the finer points of being an Aratirith to go over.  You'll do it easily, and in time for next spring.'  He smiled again, and took a step closer to her.  He was tall, she noticed, and walked in the graceful gait of all good gymnasts and fighters.

'Your first lesson under Tondfael of the Lady Galadriel,' he said with a smile, drawing his sword again, 'is a duel to test your skill…'

Mithmír smiled and took Celebdîn from its sheath.  This was the kind of lesson she liked: hands-on and definitely active.  'If I impress you, cousin Tondfael,' she cried as they began to circle each other, 'may I have the honour of seeing your sword from close up?  It looks well-crafted indeed.'  They began to circle each other warily, looking for a gap in the other's guard.  Tondfael was impressed, though Mithmír couldn't tell, by her agility: it seemed to be little hampered by the exceptionally hefty weapon.  The sword did seem uncommonly well-balanced, however.

'Of course,' he said with a smile, feinting once or twice on nimble feet.  'If I may see yours, cousin Mithmír.'

She smiled at being called "cousin".  She only nodded however before swooping down suddenly upon him to jam their blades together, the impact sending shocks down both their arms.  In a second she was away again, dancing around him, eyes sparkling with adrenaline.  'If you beat me,' she said with a grin, cleaving Celebdîn through the air – not meaning to harm, merely to hit his shin-blades and throw him to the ground.  He dodged it, however.

'If I beat you,' he agreed.  'But you obviously revel in the fighting arts, even as I do, and this contest may last for a long while.  I was told by Lady Galadriel that we are evenly matched.'

'May it last all day!'  She said with a laugh, spinning around again to meet his blade with hers.  'I am a shield-maiden, a Dúnedain, a soon-to-be Aratirith, and I have the stamina to fight so long!'

'Good, for so do I,' he replied with a grin.  His cheeks were slightly flushed, as were hers, but they were in no way weary.  'But now let the battle-talk be over, Lady, and may our actions tell our meanings, and the clash of metal be the only voices!'

And then they began to fight with great spirit and strength.  To all who watched they appeared as but one being, one dancer, moving to one beautiful and deadly beat.  Silver blades brushed past dark hair, pale swords flashed in the sun.  But the outcome of the fight was greater than merely who was the winner: a great friendship was formed; and Mithmír was reunited with her Elven family whom she had so long been sundered from.

***

Please review!