Aragorn turned his eyes to Legolas suddenly, jerking his head around.  He loved Mithmír Rochiwen, that could not be denied, but he had to make sure Legolas knew the whole truth, all that he was letting himself in for.  It would not be fair for Mithmír to withhold anything – though he doubted she would.  She was undeceiving, and preferred laid the truth out to be judged by all, risking hurt on her part, rather than hide it away to be found later on someone else's terms.  'Listen carefully, Legolas Thranduilion [son of Thranduil],' he warned to his dear, wise friend.  'And speak your mind.  Do not agree with something only for her sake.'

Legolas expected Mithmír to glare daggers at her uncle, but to his surprise she only nodded softly.  'It's true,' she said a little grimly.  'Say what you think, Legolas, and if you wish to deny this to me, then by all means do.  Please do.'

'Alright,' he replied in his usual calm tones, though his heart was racing in his chest.  'I shall speak my mind, and though I am loath to do so, I shall…'  He paused, eyes searching hers for any flicker of emotion that was not expected, 'tell you if I disagree with your decision.'

Mithmír willed her hands not to shake, and they obeyed her will.  She was glad her hands, at least, obeyed the "mind over matter" laws: her stomach was wrenching itself into excruciating knots of worry.  Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before she managed, by pure willpower alone, to begin to speak….  Legolas stood perfectly still, listening intently and as silent as a cat, for all of her long, halting, apologetic explanations.  His quietness worried Aragorn, but the King did not say anything.  He realized that Mithmír found it hard enough to say these things without any interruptions.  Only a few times did the Elf's eyes meet with his friend's, and then the blue lights that sparkled therein were full of questions and wonder in equal proportion.

Legolas himself was struggling to link his love, his only Mithmír Rochiwen Silfëa, with the great Aratirith of old.  He did not doubt she had courage enough, but in his eyes Mithmír was young, and to be linked with such an ancient tale, ongoing from nigh the Waking of the Firstborn, that was nearly unimaginable…  Much of the news interested him, a great deal more made him incredibly proud of his wife-to-be, but much of it scared him also.  He barely noticed that she had finished when her flow of words ended, so soft had her voice become.

Mithmír noticed the ending of her tale all to sharply.  It was as if the words were her shield, and she could hide behind them while their unstoppable flow let no others speak; but that now they were stopped anyone could hold the silence and twist it to their will…  She looked up at the stars to avoid meeting either of the men's eyes, but whenever she looked at the heavenly lights, the elenath, she could only think of them as reflected in her love's expressive eyes…

These eyes were firmly fixed on her, however.  Elves were, perhaps, the most mystical of the three dominant races on Middle Earth.  They were of the same kind as the Valar and the Maiar, though nowhere near so great; for as the other two kindred's their lives, too, were sung out in the Songs of the Ainur, and though their lives were long they could truly change little.  Men are of a different stock altogether, and this was the reason they were not so close to the names of the Valar, and were so dissimilar to the Elves.  Their lives, though short, were not foretold, and they could change the whole course of the world.  Though the Fair Folk, the High Elves of the Light, had greater gifts than all other lines of Elves; all of that race had great blessings of incredible intuitions, an ability to glimpse – if only for a second – what the future might bring.  None could see as clear as Galadriel, but all could at least sense emotions.  Legolas was counted among the highest of the Grey Elves and the Wood Elves, and now he was struck with a sudden foreboding…  If I allow you to become an Aratirith, and take your place by Aragorn's side, you shall face great pain, and nearly be torn in two…  But if you find a way to stay true to yourself, our love shall be stronger than ever…

He knew his answer then, in his deepest heart, and silently he begged Elbereth Gilthoniel that his decision should be true.  'If you find the calling of an Aratirith does not… mesh with the rest of your life, then you may give up your post to another, may you not?'  He asked in a flowing voice, flicking his eyes to Aragorn momentarily.

Mithmír nodded.  'Yes,' she replied as surely as she could.  'Lómwing Melkalwen, my mother, gave up her position to Tondfael.  I could do that, though I admit I should hate to do so.'

I am so proud of you, my butterfly-child, thought Aragorn, his heart aching with love and the pain which was woven so deep with it he could not tell the two apart.  You have made so much of your life.  And now you still cling to the right path, fighting away all adversaries fearlessly…  You shall make the right decision in this matter.  He was so sure of the last statement it shocked even himself.

'And you shall mention in your vows that you shall stay at home for most of the time – if you will, of course,' he added with his usual grace and thoughtfulness, '– and that you shall always keep your loved ones by you?'  He silently begged her to stay by his side, always, to never leave or stray, to always keep her pillar of strength near him…  But he knew it was too much to ask.  Nothing can be perfect, he reminded himself in a dream-like way.  Remember how she told you once ago she was not perfect?  It is true.  Neither can your love know only good times and bountiful harvests.  The Elves had to cross the Sea to reach Valinor…  The bad most come for there to be good.

'I love Aragorn,' she replied truthfully.  'But yes, Legolas.'  She looked at Aragorn apologetically, and he wished that she could understand there was nothing at all to be sorry for in what she said so beautifully.  'I shall always put you and our family,' she smiled at being able to say the words so freely now, 'above my duties as a High Guard.  Always.'  She got up nimbly, and took a step forward so she and Legolas were nearly touching, her head angled up to view his.  It seemed then that there were only her and Legolas in existence, and they were together, spinning in the starry Void in some timeless dance of harmony and trust and love…  'There is nothing in the world that will ever take me away from you,' she said, her word as good as her promise – or so, at the time, she believed.  Promises are most true when they have been tested, and tests there should be in abundance.  'You are all I have ever dreamed of.  But I must also protect Aragorn.  It is in my blood, I want to do it, and I can see no more fitting end than to die on a sword-tip.'  She silenced his fearful retort by laying a rough finger over his lips.  'I am a warrior, Legolas,' she said, no longer sorry for the fact, but proud of it.  'To die as I lived is no shame.  And now I am an Elf we shall meet in Mandos' Halls again, even if we are separated so.  Nothing shall part us.  Do you not see?  I shall always wander, I shall always risk my life for his; and I shall always love Faramir my brother with a sacrificing emotion, and be ready to lay my body to waste for his.  But my soul, Legolas…' she withdrew her finger, and her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, caused by her desperation to speak her mind to him, 'my soul is only in your keeping, and it shall always return to you.'

He knew that it was true instantly, the conviction in her words was touching, and drew silent tears to his beautiful eyes.  He drew her into a timeless embrace, holding her to him so strongly that he never wanted to let go.  He kissed her forehead tenderly just as her first tear wet the skin of his smooth neck.

'You shall be an Aratirith, Mithmír,' he said gently, his voice full of pride and unabashed, limitless love.  'You shall follow your calling, and live with your loved ones while you serve another whom you love also.  For, as you say, there is nothing in all of Arda that could sunder our two souls which are bound together by such a love as this.'  And then their lips met, and regardless of Aragorn, they kissed with a feirce desperation of two who have come to terms with the fact that life shall be hard, and are resolved to face it together, and not bow to the sorrow and pain.