Um, the title is take from Celine Dion's Miles to Go (Before I Sleep) but has no connection to the song. I've been using song titles since the beginning, so I saw no reason to stop now even if I can't find a song I like to fit the story.
So many reviews....
Steph-h: You jinxed it. *smiles slowly* Just kidding, I actually can't tell you whether you jinxed it or not. It would ruin the surprise.
QueenElessar: Thank you. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.
Gionareth: lol. He's got the idea now. Honest.
Mirax: I'm so glad you loved the flashback. Hm, yes, Arwen does know what she wants, and Aragorn knows what he wants, and neither is particularly sure what the other wants. *g* My, how confusing. I have this chapter and the next one written, but am now stuck for the one after that. Lol. But so long as I keep getting lovely reviews *smiles meaningfully* I will definitely finish this story.
Taraisilwen: Wow. I'm glad you liked Elrond's letter and that you thought the flashback was romantic. I've always felt I was rather bad at romance. On that thought, I don't know why I started this. Lol. Oh, that's right. I didn't. My reviewers did. I started the angst. Lol.
Grumpy: He could actually likely stand to stop a little more often for longer, as this chapter will show, but you're right about Arwen not waiting forever! *g*
Daniela: Hi! It was good to hear from you, and I'm glad you're enjoying both stories. *looks sheepish* I'm really bad about checking my yahoo account, but I wasn't ignoring you. Aragorn and Arwen will....finally be meeting again soon. We'll see what happens then. *g*
Okay, okay! *jumps up and down excitedly* Review fast so I can post the next chapter. I won't post it until I get reviews, but it's written so I can post it at any time. So review, and find out what happens next. *bites bottom lip nervously* I think you'll like it.
So come on. Read. Review. Please?
Miles to Go
The days turned weeks of hard riding had not been kind to Aragorn. They stopped seldom for rest and even less for food, traveling as far and as fast as the horses could stand, halting only so long as need dictated. At Rohan they had gained fresh steeds to allow theirs rest and been gone before the hour passed. None had questioned and none had hindered, perhaps in awe, perhaps in fear.
Indeed, any who looked upon the trio was sure to fear for the riders, for neither had the elves escaped the cruelty of the ride. Dirt and dust covered all three, hair matted and tangled, clothing as filthy as beggars. Dark circles hovered under their eyes from deprived sleep, though none was so dark as those around the king's eyes; sleep had eluded him long before their journey west. None were sure what kept him going, kept him riding as strength had to be failing, yet his pace never flagged and his step never faltered.
His mouth was set in a grim line, his face as pale as death, covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes focused straight ahead. They burned with a fire that could not be named hope, could not be named happiness, fueled by a desire to complete his task that knew no reason and no limits, no bounds, and left no room for failure. Not even on the Paths of the Dead had so little touched him, so few necessities slowed his step.
No human had tread a harder road than Aragorn, no one borne such burdens as he placed on his shoulders; no other could have made the same journey with the same speed, yet Elladan and Elrohir feared for him. They feared this journey would prove too much for the strength of man and he would fall, would fail in this quest where he had obviously decided failure was intolerable. Still, they did not try to dissuade him, knowing it would be futile. The only thing they could do was stand near and be ready to catch him when strength failed.
They prayed all they could do was enough.
*~*~*~*~*
The troupe of elves traveling to the Gray Havens halted at the edge of the last forest for the night and made camp. It was to be a feast, and the elves went about their tasks, gathering and preparing what was needed.
Arwen, not really aware of her surroundings, was the last among the mounted company to dismount, and she slid of the back of the noble while steed as if she were in a dream, then wandered over to one of the trees at the edge of camp and sank to the floor, her gaze focused unseeing on the expanse before her. Her eyes were of the deepest blue and touched with the silver of the moon, overlarge in her pale, drawn face, her full lips, usually so quick to smile, lacked a hint of curve that would proclaim she still knew how.
Not a twitch disturbed her still form where it sat.
The world kept moving around Arwen while she stayed still. Dinner was made and the feast joined and not a soul disturbed her. She was grateful for the solitude, the chance to not think. Her mind had finally grown silent, too weary from all the pain to run in circles any longer, and had left her to drift, unfocused on anything that happened around her, the actions seen but unmarked, words spoken yet unacknowledged.
Had a man or orc walked up to her with a blade, intent on killing her, she would not have noticed. Had news of grave importance touched her ears, she would not recall it. She existed, but was not a part of the world. That was how she wanted it. That was where she felt no pain.
*~*~*~*~*
The only sound that reached his ears was the same sound that had touched him for days uncounted: the thunder of hooves over hard ground. It rose and fell as they rode but never left. It disappeared when they stopped, sometimes at night, sometimes during day, and he found no sleep.
Thought had left him, driven away by a fatigue he had never known, held at bay by a fire he had never felt. He rode by instinct, his body intimately aware of the path he tread across lands he had called home in the absence of leading thought.
Only one thing consumed him, one thought that allowed him to chase away all weariness and allowed him to continue on. He had to reach Arwen before she crossed the sea. He had to reach her.
The necessity of the task drove him, echoing through his mind, controlling all functions that had any use. There was nothing and no one outside that task.
Aragorn had not the strength for more.
*~*~*~*~*
The fire burned cheerily as the elves continued their feast, and the stars shone brightly in the night sky. Apart from the festivities, Elrond stood with Galadriel, quietly contemplating the unmoving figure by the tree, their thoughts passing behind closed minds and sorrow visible only through the pain in their eyes. It was difficult to watch someone usually so full of life degenerate to an empty husk. It was worse for Elrond as he knew the culprit to be his own hand.
Well did he remember Celebrian's pain, the withering of her spirit after her torture at the hands of orcs and the pain the poison had caused her soul. He remembered how listless she had become, how her eyes had dulled, how she had found no solace even in the comfort of his arms. He remembered the pain in his heart when he realized there was nothing more he could do for her but let her go.
That was what he saw now, this time in his daughter, and the pain was unbearable. He was responsible and had nearly realized it too late: In trying to protect her from pain, had had caused her worse torment.
"We near the end," he murmured finally. "My heart misgives me that they may yet arrive too late."
"There is yet time," Galadriel countered softly. "It grows short but the days are not yet gone."
He nodded, though the elf-maiden was not watching. He knew that, knew the truth of the words, yet it eased his heart to hear them from someone wiser than himself. He looked back at his daughter, too pale even without the moonlight, her eyes empty of all emotion. "Do you think it will work?" The elder elf looked at him. "Do you think he can call back her spirit?"
"Do you think he can?" Galadriel countered, placing a faint emphasis on "you."
His blue eyes were dark as he stared past his daughter towards Gondor, hoping against hope to see three figures approaching. He had often looked thus when he was not busy watching his Evenstar, lamenting her pain. When he spoke, his voice was soft, "I fear it is already too late."
"Yet you ever watch for his arrival."
"I hope it is not."
Galadriel's eyes were grave when he turned back to look at her. "Arwen is stronger than you think, Elrond, gifted with her mother's spirit . . . and her father's will."
The silence that followed was incomplete, waiting, and it took him a moment to recognize the words for what they were: a jibe. Long years had it been, but he could still recall the conversation he had overheard so many centuries before, ages earlier when he had been young, between Celeborn and Celebrian--about him. . . .
"I do not want you to marry him, my daughter," the elf lord said.
"It is my heart," Celebrian replied, "not yours, and I may give it to whomever I will."
The dark look that passed from father to daughter was evident in the heavy silence that followed, then, "But only I can give your hand."
"Father--"
"Enough. His will is too strong, to unbendable. I will not have you fall victim to his whims, be smothered and broken."
"By any other than yourself, you mean," Celebrian retorted, ice in her voice that he had never heard before. Her light footsteps sounded across the ground and she continued before Celeborn, too surprised by the chill of her voice to quickly register the words, could retort. Fury burned in her words. "You cannot control me, Father. My heart is my own, as is my life. You would break my heart for power?"
"This isn't about power," Celeborn retorted hotly, his voice barely under control. "This is about your protection. I love you too much to let just any man have you."
"And I love Elrond. Don't you trust my judgment, Father? Don't you trust me?"
"I do not trust him."
"That is not what you said before you knew our intentions," she said, the hint of a smile evident in her voice.
A sigh drifted on the wind, and the elf lord's voice softened. "I don't want to see you hurt."
"Elrond will not hurt me, Ada. And I will still be here. You will not lose me."
There was more silence and Elrond did not dare to breath. Then Celeborn spoke. "I will consider it," he said. "But Elrond will have to prove himself worthy."
Galadriel's laugh drifted out to him, surprising him as he had not known she was there. "Oh, I'm sure he will, my love. He is very strong-will, you know."
A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled that conversation, and what had happened after, amusement and old pain curling though him, oddly welcome as he sought to find solace. He remembered being terrified at the prospect of meeting Celebrian's parent (never mind that he had already known Celeborn), and now wondered if Aragorn had felt the same fear when he had spoken of his love for Arwen to him. He would have to remember to ask him before he left. If he arrived. . . .
"Aragorn was certainly not left out, either."
He glanced, surprised, at the Lady of the Golden Woods, and she answered the unspoken question while staring off towards the fire. "His forefathers would certainly be proud. Namely, one from long ago that I seem to remember looking disturbingly like you."
With that, and a quick smile back in his direction, she glided away in the direction of the fire, Celeborn just finishing up a conversation with an old friend, and left Elrond once more alone with his troubled thoughts.
*~*~*~*~*
A few days later, too few by some reckoning, the soft lap of water on the shore could be heard, carried on the gentle breeze that cooled their faces and brought hints of the sea. Peace welled up inside the elf lord, but peace could not overwhelm nor displace the despair that engulfed him in the wake of the hope he had held onto as he realized time was truly up and Aragorn had not come.
He closed his eyes against the pain, and resisted the urge to simply stop. It had been a gamble in the first place, a desperate act in waning days with little hope of success, and there had never been a guarantee that Aragorn would come. Why, then, did it feel as if the world had shattered around him and broken him with it?
Because he had wanted to see Arwen smile again. Because he had wanted Arwen to not leave Middle-earth behind as a memory of pain. Because he had not wanted to leave with silence between him and his foster son, possibly leaving the boy thinking Elrond had been angry with him until the end of his days. Because he had wanted all to be well when he left Middle-earth, and that could not happen with Gondor's king withering from heartbreak.
He opened his eyes, hearing delighted cries as the other elves with them realized their destination was near and picked up their pace slightly to reach it faster. He let them, and did not alter his pace to keep up with them, though he did slow down when he did not see his daughter. Her sad form slowly passed him as she rode forward, her head lowered in sorrow, salt tears dripping slowly down her cheeks. No matter how much she had been wishing for this day, her heart did not want to leave.
Elrond's heart broke afresh.
She continued on towards the last stand of trees that guarded the pass to the Havens and he followed reluctantly, feeling as if he had failed everyone. With a heavy heart, he resigned himself to returning to Celebrian with sad news, and dropped his head in pain and shame.
That was when he heard it, the rapid tattoo of quickly closing horse hooves, and stopped, looking back. He scanned the area behind him quickly, searching for the source of the sounds, and was startled by how close the riders were when he did find them, a phenomenon easily explained when he realized Aragorn was still riding headlong, weaving through the scattered trees that blocked his path, heedless of danger.
He glanced back towards the Havens in time to see Arwen reach the trees as the human cried out.
"Arwen!"