There was silence in the pavilion after Legolas stormed out.  Even Aragorn, usually so skilled in the art of expression, was silent and the look in his dark eyes was troubled.  Merry and Pippin's faces were contorted with shock at the unseemly rage they had witnessed in one whose race they had thought the calmest of all on Middle Earth.  Mithmír herself stood still in the middle of the tent, not making a sound, and her eyes dim and unfocused.  She had known that she and Legolas would argue, of course, and if they were to be married and in each other's constant company it might happen often – but she had never known it would hurt as much as this to hear any harsh word from those lips she loved so much.

Tondfael was shocked, also.  The hadhodrim, the dwarves, had always claimed that Elves, once roused to anger, spoke harsh words – and maybe, in dealings with those people, it had been true.  There was no love between the two races.  But he knew as good as any other that this was half-way true only with most folk: Elves could be roused to passionate displays of anger, but it was rare, and a great embarrassment to them when they were calmer in later times.  He could not help but wonder what had made the Elven Prince so heated so quickly.  He understood that the prospect of imminent marriage was enough to make anyone, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit or Man, feel nervous; and accepted that Legolas was travel-weary, and wounded, and worried for his Lady's safety on a long trip alone over the many leagues North to the Golden Wood; but nevertheless his behavior was quite astounding.  He had done one thing right, however: leaving till his temper was abated.  Such angry words as he did so, however, were not needed.

Tondfael rose from his chair with a typical, fluid motion and looked to Mithmír and Aragorn in turn.  'I think it is best if I talk to Prince Legolas first?  I know him not as well as either of you, but maybe he shall value the words of one of his own kind highly enough to make up for that.'

Mithmír breathed deeper than usual, fighting to keep the tears that blurred her vision from falling down her cheeks.  She nodded at her cousin.  'Maybe you're right,' she said in as still a voice as she could manage.  'Aragorn – I leave today?'

'If you will, Mithmír.'  He nodded as he found his voice, shooting Tondfael a grateful smile.  'Though the Lady Galadriel especially should like to speak with you before you ride.  Perhaps you could meet her and then say farewell to anyone else.'  By "everyone else" is was clear he meant not only her companions but also Legolas, and Mithmír was wise enough to know that it was hoped Tondfael should have calmed him by the time she spoke with him.  She hoped this was what would happen: Legolas, when angry, was something she never wanted to ever have to perceive again.  Or Legolas when jealous.

She nodded.  'Where are they, Aragorn?'

'Their pavilion.'

Mithmír left, wordless, with merely a nod to the two hobbits who were still in some state of shock – and hunger.  Behind her came Tondfael, whose face was set in a stern look of duty.

One of the Elven-maids announced Mithmír's entrance in a pretty voice.  She had introduced herself as Sadrowen, a name well-suited to her post as a ladies' maid for it meant faithful woman.  She led Mithmír in with a quiet smile and a kind look.  Inside the pavilion Galadriel and Celeborn were seated on simple, wooden chairs; but the attitude and awe-inspiring qualities of the High Elves upon them made them seem more intimidating than thrones.  There was an atmosphere in the room that made Mithmír sure they had been deep in discussion before she arrived, and that it had not been a happy conversation.  Sorrow hung in the air, and it was more than the inherent sadness of the Light Elves.

Mithmír dropped to her knees, as all Elves did as a sign of respect.  'Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn,' she greeted them, still keeping her head turned downwards.

'Well met, Mithmír Rochiwen,' replied Celeborn in his stately, almost ethereal tones.  'Please, stand and speak with us.'  Mithmír did so, getting up and finally meeting her eyes with theirs.  They were not dressed as they normally were: white finery had been exchanged for simple grey traveling-gear that, for all it's plainness, was nevertheless beautiful to look upon when worn by that lovely, age-old couple.

It was Galadriel who spoke first, not rushing her words, but pronouncing each syllable with effortless beauty.  Silence held no fear for her.  Her bright eyes seemed to pierce Mithmír's soul as she spoke, and the shield-maiden was sure that, with the Ring of Adamant in her control, Galadriel could, if she wished, read every thought and memory in the Dúnedain's mind.  'You should not worry about Legolas Thranduilion.  He is merely angry and grieved at the news of your parting; and before you ride away you two shall meet again and forgive each other.'

To this Mithmír nodded, seemingly unsurprised that the Lady could foresee this, and soon Galadriel continued in her measured tones, 'we are deeply gratified to see that you shall, indeed, attend the handfasting of two of our Marchwardens.  For a long while we purposed not to tell you, believing that your time with the Prince of Mirkwood was more important, but last night we changed our minds and we are glad.'  She smiled kindly, almost maternally, and it made Mithmír's heart glow with pride.

'I'm glad to be going,' she replied truthfully.  'They are very close to me.'

'We know.'  Celeborn spoke this time.  His eyes were, perhaps, a little more cold and distanced than his wife's, but there was no trace of unkindness in them and a slight, Elven smile formed his lips.  'We also know you are to become an Aratirith for King Aragorn of Gondor, and this makes us proud and happy.  Aragorn and the Lady Galadriel share the same blood, though they are but very distantly related.'

Mithmír smiled in reply.  'Thank you,' she said quietly back, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks.  'I hope I will be as good an Aratirith as everyone seems to believe I shall be.'

'We have faith in you,' assured Galadriel.  'And it is well-grounded.  It seems we know your true worth better than you do.'  She smiled benevolently again, and her wise eyes sparkled with the light of the stars.  'It has been said that you shall have your ceremony to become an Aratirith shortly after you marry…  And that is another event we should dearly like to congratulate you on.  A better match than yourself and Legolas Thranduilion we cannot think of; except Arwen and Aragorn, or Faramir and Éowyn, who are equally well-matched, perhaps.'

Mithmír's blush became full now, and she could feel the colour rise to her cheeks.  Her anger and pain at Legolas' previous outburst had all but ebbed away, she discovered, and a blissful smile came easily to her lips.  'We are to be married,' she replied joyfully, 'as soon as I return from the Golden Wood.  I love him.'  The last sentence was pure delight to say, she found.

Celeborn and Galadriel's eyes met, and Mithmír was lucky then to catch a glimpse of the intense and undying, ageless love they shared.  When they turned back to her, Galadriel spoke once more.  'We are deeply saddened that we cannot be there on that joyous day, but hope you shall visit us afterwards…  Lord Celeborn in Mirkwood, and I myself in another place.'  She had no need to mention Valinor, for they all know of where she spoke, and pain came unbidden to Celeborn's ancient eyes.  'But for now we have a parting gift for you, and it is a wedding gift also.  Take it, and our blessing.  We shall meet again.'

And after that cryptic ending-note she passed to Mithmír a small case of leaf-green, and with baited breath the Elven Dúnedain opened it.  Inside, on a bed of white linen, lay a silver ring; wrought intricately of twisting metals, and set with a tiny mallorn-leaf-shaped piece of mithril.

Mithmír could not find the words to speak.  Carefully laying the case aside she took the ring delicately into her hand, and held it up to the light, twisting it about to observe it in all it's beauty.  Galadriel observed her doing so, and knew of her silent amazement and gratitude, and it was with a beam that she spoke.  'This ring is for you, Mithmír Rochiwen, to decorate your hand with the friendship-bracelet that you always wear – that gifted in part by Haldir and Tirathnavir, no less – and your future wedding-ring.  It is one of the magic rings of the Elven-Smiths, one of their lesser works, not a Great Ring, not one of the Elven Three, but potent in its own right.  Its magic is of creation: its wearer shall be fertile in body and mind, and all she turns her hands to shall blossom and grow fruitful.  It has been in my family for many years; many fair Ladies have worn it; and now, as I prepare to leave Middle Earth forever, I give the ring of Prosperity – Tegalu – , to you, future Elf-Lady of Ithilien.'

The thanks were many and long, and there were tears of joy in Mithmír's eyes as she left the pavilion of Galadriel and Celeborn, wearing on her finger one of the greatest gifts that had ever been given from Elf to Half-Elf – the greatest being the love Legolas gave to her.

***

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  This is the second last chapter of All Rivers Flow To The Sea.  If there's still interest in the story afterwards (I hope so), there will be a third (and most probably final) full-length story, as well as a series of short stories depicting particular events in Mithmír's life that are most important.

Now's probably a good time to thank all of you who read this story, whether you review or not, for your support and presence over the last few months.  Reviewers especially but anyone who reads and enjoys these stories deserves a thank-you, too!

I should update this story tomorrow, and with any luck Elven Dúnedain too.

Just before I go, a quick question: I'm considering writing more LOTR fanfic when these are done (or at the same time) focusing around different characters, and not on the Mithmír timeline (i.e. Mithmír does not exist).  They should be mostly short stories, especially in the beginning, and I may start another account to publish them on but I'll inform you if that happens.   I'm looking for someone to beta-read/edit these stories…  They'll all be LOTR fanfics, mostly short in the beginning, and may include slash (though all should be at the most PG-13).  If you think you could do this for me (and you will earn loads of brownie points and mentions from me *grin*), and will be able to read over the stories at a decent speed (relative to length, of course) and reply in e-mails, please e-mail me on pixiewitch6@hotmail.com.  If you do this you will always be thanked at the beginning of relevant stories.  If you just want to beta-read, that's fine, and if you have any points to make (i.e. you won't beta-read slash), tell me in the e-mail.  Thanks!

-- Annaicuru