The river to the ocean goes,
a fortune for the undertow.
None of this is going my way.

There is nothing left to throw
of ginger, lemon, indigo,
coriander stem and rose of hay...

Strength and courage overrides
the privileged and weary eyes
of river poet search naiveté.

Pick up here and chase the ride.
The river empties to the tide.
All of this is coming your way.

-R.E.M.

The air was cool and refreshing as the lone dunadan sauntered through the flourishing gardens of Rivendell. The sun had crept below the horizon, yet its light still lingered on the clouds overhead, which streaked the sky in pale pinks and yellows. Aragorn inhaled deeply in the growing darkness, taking in the crisp autumn air which smelt of firewood, mingled with the scent of the surrounding flowers and trees. He lit his pipe and brought it to rest upon his lip, closing his eyes contentedly.

It felt wonderful to be alone. He couldn't help it; the smell of the earth, the gentle breeze in his hair, the dim light of the stars overhead--these were all home to him. Perhaps it wasn't so horrible to not really have a home, he mused. Anywhere the stars could be seen at night was home, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all. He had looked forward so to finally coming home, only to realize that, for him, home would never stay in one place for long. He had barely spent a day with the elves, yet already he was beginning to plan his next journey. Although, he had to admit, perhaps that was not entirely out of wanderlust.

"It's getting dark," came a quiet voice behind him. "You should come inside and take some rest. You could certainly use some."

"I slept for a bit earlier," he replied without turning to see who it was. He knew that voice anywhere.

The elf came to stand beside him silently, following the ranger's gaze, out into the wild. Their shadows stretched across the grass behind them. The tension hung between them, and Aragorn was grateful to the veil of darkness that hid him, and the owls and crickets hooting and chirping quietly all around, lifting some of the heavy silence. He didn't know why Lord Elrond insisted on speaking to him again, but he could not very well tell him to leave.

"How long will you be staying?" came the voice from beside him, after several minutes had passed.

Aragorn slowly released a puff of smoke, hesitating. "I do not know. Not long."

Elrond nodded, then turned to face him. "Estel, I came here to apologize."

Aragorn's head turned sharply at these words and he lowered his pipe. "Apologize?"

Elrond nodded again, then paused, wondering how to go on. "The things I said to you earlier... I didn't mean them. I was extremely angry, Aragorn, you must understand. Arwen is very dear to me. I cannot bear the thought of living forever with the knowledge that I have left my only daughter to grow old and die in grief, in this cruel, changeful world." Aragorn nodded, watching his father intently and sorrowfully. He felt his anger fading, replaced once more with a deep, consuming guilt. "And... I can't bear the thought... that this is what she wants. That she would rather die here with you, than live forever with me. What did I do to drive her away from her father?" This last thing was said very quietly, more to himself than the man at his side.

Aragorn's mouth opened in surprise at this revelation. His father--the wise, ancient, powerful, renown Lord Elrond--was jealous? He blinked in disbelief. Elrond was so calm, so controlled. How could he have said things he had not meant in a fit of jealousy? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found it comforting to know his father was human, in a sense, after all, capable of every emotion and of making mistakes. Elrond's head was hung low and his eyes were squeezed shut, and Aragorn looked on him with deep empathy.

"It's not like that, Fath-," he paused for a moment, biting his lip at the slip. "...my lord. You did nothing to drive her away. She had no desire to hurt you. I know she thought long and hard over this decision and struggled with warring emotions for weeks, and more than a few tears were spent in the process, I promise you. She wanted to go with you very much. It was just that-" He tried to think of something to explain it, but could find no good reason for Arwen to stay. "In truth, sir, I do not understand her choice any more than you do. But do not think for a moment that it was an easy decision for her, or that she decided out of a desire to be away from you. She loves you very much, my lord."

Elrond smiled. "I am comforted to hear that," he said honestly. "I had feared that I was a factor in her desire to remain in Middle-Earth, but I see now that the only factor in this was you."

He glanced at Aragorn and chuckled at his face which had turned ashen. "Fear not, my son," he said, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "I am finished with the earlier assault. As I was saying, I was quite distraught this afternoon. Now that I have given the matter some constructive thought, rather than merely brooding bitterly, I have realized that I was placing all of my anger on you, when in truth, it was Arwen I was actually angry with. No, don't interrupt; there's no need to defend her. I have sorted out those feelings too and I am no longer angry with her. She is no longer my little girl, and I cannot hold her back any longer. She is a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions, and I must respect that. It was inevitable that this would come. But there is one thing that comforts me in this situation."

He met Aragorn's eyes with an intense gaze and said, slowly and seriously, "Estel, my son, if it had to be someone, I am glad that it is you. I can think of no one I could better trust to love and cherish my daughter and give her the life she deserves. I know she will be happy and safe with you."

Aragorn's eyes widened in shock and he merely stared for a moment, not believing what he had just heard. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and asked tentatively, "Do you mean that?"

Elrond smiled sadly and pulled him into an embrace that, in truth, he felt he needed as much as his edain son did. "Of course I mean it," he whispered over the man's shoulder. "And I did not mean what I said before. Please forgive me, my son... for everything. I think I have been distancing myself from you since the day you arrived in my home, afraid of the pain that would come when you inevitably passed away. But it seems I have failed miserably, for never have I loved you any less than my own children. I know I was not the most affectionate father, Estel. I know I have made you feel worthless and ashamed in the past, but please believe me when I tell you now, that you have always been, and will always be, my son. You are a great man, Estel, and I am so proud of you... so very proud of you."

Aragorn listeneds to these words with growing elation; a great wound within him had suddenly begun to heal, and the sensation was nearly more than he could bear. Elrond did not hate him. His father forgave him, accepted him, loved him, and was proud of him. These thoughts echoed through his mind repeatedly and he felt his chest might burst with joy. He pulled back from the embrace and looked at his father with a tearful smile, saying with his eyes what words could never express. Elrond returned the smile, wiping away his own tears, breathing in the cool night air deeply.

Aragorn drew a hand over his face with a contented sigh. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he commented, "I don't think I've cried as much in years as I have this day."

Elrond laughed, gently draping an arm around the man's shoulders, gesturing toward the house. The sun had finally set, and father and son made their way back through the gardens in darkness.

"Does this mean that Arwen and I have your blessing?" asked Aragorn.

Elrond did not reply for a moment, walking silently along the pathway, contemplating his answer. "No," he said slowly and thoughtfully.

Aragorn nearly stopped in his tracks. Confusion etched itself plainly across his features as he raised an eyebrow at his father, a hint of panic visible.

Elrond tried not to laugh at the humorous expression on his fosterling's face. But his smile faded quickly as he explained darkly, "You must understand, Estel. Arda is hovering on the brink of war, and you my son, shall be in the midst of it, for this was the path placed before you even before you were born. Times have been dark, as of late, and it is only the beginning. Long days of turmoil and hardship await you yet. However, I am not sorry that you were born to such an age as this, for a great king such as we have not seen since Elendil is needed now. Estel I named you when I first beheld you, and not without reason. Though I do not doubt your strength, Aragorn, not even the wisest can see for certain what your fate will be. What if you are killed?"

Aragorn frowned. He had heard similar foresight from many elves over the years, but never had he truly pondered that question and its consequences. Even in the heart of battle, racing on horseback, spear held high in Rohan, or leading his troops in Gondor, brandishing his blood-stained sword, he had never seriously considered it. He found this strange in retrospect and wondered at himself. He would be the first to admit that he was far from undefeatable, yet he threw himself into combat without a thought, willing to surrender his life to a cause he believed in. When it was his life alone, he had nothing to hold him back. But now...

"What would Arwen do if you were killed?" asked Elrond, voicing Aragorn's own thoughts. "She would be left, bound to your fate, without even enjoying the few fleeting years of joy that you could offer her. She would be left to grow old in her husband's absence, sacrificing her immortality, and parting from all whom she held dear in the world... for naught."

Aragorn stared at his feet with unseeing eyes. He felt a dull, numbing despair wash over him as he heard the truth in his father's words. He could not become Arwen's husband only to leave again. He was too unstable an anchor to bind anyone to him. Suddenly he realized that he had already been told this by the very man now standing beside him, watching him with pity as he finally grasped what this meant. He wondered now whether Elrond's wrath was so terrible--at least then, he could dismiss these commands as unjust and irrational. Realizing the truth--that he could never lay down his sword and call Arwen his wife--was far worse. It was a dream, he realized, a lovely dream, but nothing more. He felt too exhausted to feel the anguished grips of grief clutch him at this point; all he could do was stand by in defeat, staring numbly at the ground.

"You're right," he said dully. "I do need sleep."

The elf's graceful yet strong hands reached under his bearded chin and lifted his weary face to look at him. Elrond's dark blue eyes looked deep into his son's and they spoke of hope.

"Only time can tell what events will come. If the world endures the days to come, and a new age is born, and you are made King of both Gondor and Arnor... and if you and Arwen are still bent on this choice... you will have my blessing."

A faint spark rekindled in the young dunadan's eyes and he searched his father's face for reassurance. Slowly, a broad smile spread across his face. He may yet live to see the day that he and Arwen would be build a new life together. Nay, he would live to see it. He would fight with ten times the strength he had had before, for he would see the new day come if he had to march straight to Sauron's door and fight him single-handedly as Fingolfin had fought Morgoth. He would be king--an idea he had always regarded with a sense of ambivalence. And he would do it all for Arwen.

"Thank you, father," he said quietly, his face aglow with newly-found hope.

"We will speak no more of this now." Elrond smiled at the joy in his son's voice, but it did not quite reach his eyes. In his heart he felt a sense of dread and bitterness. For the Lord of Imladris, pain was inevitable, regardless of whatever outcome met them. He would lose either way. To lose Estel, the last of his brothers' line, to the forces of darkness, would be a stab to the heart, and it would cause him unbearable pain for years to see Arwen's grief, if such a thing should indeed befall them... And yet, if all that they dreamed for came true, still he would lose them.

"Thank you," Aragorn repeated Aragorn, sensing Elrond's sorrow. "For everything." He laid a comforting and grateful hand on his shoulder for a moment, then smiled once more. And with that, he stepped into the house, leaving Elrond to stand on the porch for a while longer, looking up at the stars.

The world would turn as it always had, and many hard years would come and Elrond was comforted with the knowledge that, though he could not have all that he would wish for, everything was as it should be. Aragorn would fight with doubled vigor, and Arwen would wait, and someday, they would be king and queen. Gondor and Arnor, the brother nations that had been divided for so long, would be united once more to form a grand and beautiful kingdom, balancing power and wisdom. And Arwen and Aragorn, with their union, would join the lines of Eldar and Edain that had lived side by side for so many years, and from them would come a new line that would lead the world into the new day.