This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon The Lord of the Rings trilogy. All related characters, places, and events, belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and are used without permission. This story, and all original content, belongs to the author, © 2003, revised 2005.

Parting Gift
By Orianna-2000

This story harmonizes more with the books than the films. For the Elvish language I have used the Dragon Flame Sindarin translator, which unfortunately does not include sentence structure. Any mistakes in that regard are my own. Also there is a slight difference between the book and the movie as to Arwen's jewel: the film shows a necklace with a shining white gem set in silver, while the book depicts a brooch with a pale green stone. Arbitrarily, I have chosen to use the book's description.

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Twilight fell, late in one warm spring evening, as Arwen sat at her window and stared out into the growing dimness. She heard ever-so-light footsteps passing through the inner hallway, then perceived that someone stood at her door. Without turning, she knew who it would be, and her heart felt heavy in the knowledge.

"You are not going," said her father, his voice quiet and strained. He did not ask, for he knew.

Arwen kept her eyes looking out, searching the grey woods. "Ha nín al-amarth," she answered softly. "It is not my destiny."

She could see the faint trail of golden lights moving through the forest, the pale shadows of cloaked Elves walking for the last time away from Rivendell, walking toward the sea, to the great ships which would carry them through the mists to the Grey Havens. Her father wished her to be among them. Long had he asked her to leave for Valinor with the others, to forsake her mortal lover and return to the ancient lands of her people. Soon there would be none of Elvenkind left on Middle Earth, only a vague and distant memory of the fair immortal race.

"You are determined, then, to stay with him?" Elrond stepped into the room, his expression grim as he tried not to show the pain in his heart. "You have decided to forsake everything you cherish, and everyone who loves you?"

"Not everyone!" Awen whispered. Her heart also ached, but she had chosen her path long ago. Her fate, like that of Lúthien of old, would be to give her love and her life to a mortal man. Arwen turned to her father, teardrops brimming in her eyes. "Will you be ever angry? Will our last memories together be filled with sorrow and misgivings? I would not have it so, Adar, my father."

Elrond crossed the room silently and quickly, and knelt at his daughter's feet. "Not angry! Never angry, nín melliell, my precious daughter." He took her small hands in his, soothing her trembling. Though the words did not come easily, he spoke. "Selfish, I suppose is what I am. When your mother left us, half an age ago, I found comfort in your nearness. Your beauty belongs to your ancestress Lúthien, but your grace is your mother's."

"I do not do this to displease you, surely you know this, Father," Awen said. "I would have us all together, if it were only possible."

"Elessar's destiny has been known since before his birth. He will claim his right as King, as well he should. The Age of Men dawns – the time for our people to leave this world. Though you have made your choice, your heart will ever be divided." He sighed deeply, loosening his grasp on Arwen's hand, but not letting go. He looked up into her eyes, knowing the pain she would face all too soon. The sands of time fall quickly and without forgiveness. Sooner than she realized, Arwen would be alone, the last of her kin to walk the earth. He would do anything to ease her suffering. It had taken him a long time to realize it, but finally he knew of but one way in which he could comfort her.

"It is always difficult to watch one's children make decisions you do not agree with," Elrond said, rising to his feet. He stopped Arwen's interruption by placing a finger gently to her lips. "However, there comes a time when one must concede that the children have grown into adults, and the decisions are theirs alone to make, no matter the consequences. When this time comes, the only course of action left to the parent is to offer guidance... and support."

Arwen looked into her father's eyes and saw no deceit or apprehension, only resignation, and love for her. "Then you will give us your blessing?" she asked softly.

"I will, indeed. When the sign is given, I will accompany you to Minas Tirith... where you shall be wed to Aragorn Elessar." At his words, Arwen stood and embraced her father, kissing him tenderly upon the cheek. Elrond stood speechless for a moment, then held his beloved daughter close. He felt her happiness at his acceptance, and knew unconditionally that he had done rightly in this. Soon enough she would feel sorrow, but perhaps the memories of these happier moments would lessen her loneliness. He could only hope.

When finally their embrace broke, Elrond led Arwen into his bedchamber. A chest sat in the middle of the floor, made from silver wood, and carved all over with many trees and flowers, and with symbols of moon and stars. Elvish runes in the center of the lid spelled out the name of Elrond's wife, Celebrían. "It belonged to your mother," he told her. "Open it."

Arwen touched the smoothness of the lid, feeling the engraved shapes splay out beneath her fingertips. In her distant memory she could see her mother shutting the trunk, never letting anyone see inside. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and after a brief hesitation, Arwen opened the chest.

Lingering scents of elanor and athelas filled the air, released from within. After being comforted by the familiar smells of her childhood, Arwen looked down and began to examine the chest. It seemed to hold layers of cloth, ancient yet whole, with no sign of dust or aging. With care, Arwen unfolded each, until at the center of the chest she reached a pile of velvet and silk, protected by the surrounding cloth.

"This too, was your mother's," Elrond said, and he watched Arwen remove the delicate gown and hold it up to the light.
Simplistic and graceful, ever the way of the Elves. So had the gown been fashioned, perhaps eons ago, in an ageless style worn since the beginning of memory. Many years of work went into its exquisite creation: handwoven velvet dyed the color of new spring leaves, silk in the palest ivory, delicate lace knotted by hand, embroidery in silver threads, tiny lustrous pearls and iridescent gems. This was a dress made for a queen, a thing of eternal beauty.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. Her voice held reverence and emotion. As she gazed at the gown, she perceived its significance.
Elrond confirmed her thoughts with a nod. "She wore it on our wedding day, as did her mother before her. The Lady of the Golden Wood brought it here some time ago, in the hope I would pass it on to you, along with my blessing." He wryly tilted an eyebrow wryly. "It would seem that Galadriel knows more about the affairs of my children than I do."
Arwen looked down from her father's gaze. "I gave to her a keepsake to hold in safety for the hour when Aragorn passed through the Golden Wood. She could not help but know my heart."

At once Elrond knew, and his brow darkened. The keepsake she spoke of could be none other than the clear green stone set in a silver brooch, which had passed down from Galadriel to Celebrían to Arwen. "The jewel your mother gave to you?"

"It was mine to give as I willed." Her head came up defiantly.

After a pause, Elrond nodded. "Of course. It is hard to see you grown and about to embark on your own life's path, but only you can choose which road to walk. I trust that blessings of the Valor will ever follow you, and your children to come." He cleared his throat. "Will you not try the dress on? It must fit you before we leave for Gondor."

"It will." Arwen smiled gently at her father. "And I will be sure that my children and their children and their children will always remember their grandfather, no matter the distance between us."

Without another word, Elrond disappeared from the room, leaving Arwen alone.

She unlaced the back of the gown with gentle fingers, savoring the softness of the velvet, and marveling that something of such beauty could be made so well as to last for ages. Carefully she stepped into the folds of cloth, pulling it up around her. The scent of athelas surrounded her, the silkiness of the underdress caressed her skin. She would require someone to help lace the back closed, but even without doing so, she knew the gown fit perfectly.

Across the room stood a looking glass. With slow steps she crossed over and looked at her reflection. Her reflection stood there, clothed as only an Elf-Queen could be.

The leaf-green velvet clung to her curves, then flowed to the ground about her feet and trailed behind her in a courtly train. The color reminded her of early spring, somehow the color reflected in her eyes. Her pale neck and shoulders displayed well the wide neck of silver and tiny pearls. At her upper arms, the embroidered lace glistened and sparkled, then disappeared into more velvet as the sleeves widened and fell almost to the floor, lined with sheer ivory silk.

She wondered if someday her own daughter would wear this, but the thought drifted away. Much still had to be done before they left for Minas Tirith. Their road would wind through Lothlorien before heading down to Gondor, so she would have the opportunity to see her grandmother again. Undoubtedly, it would be the last time, for soon every Elf would board the ships and head away from Middle Earth forever. In the days and years ahead, would she doubt her decision to marry a mortal and stay behind? Perhaps. But always would she carry the memories of her father's unconditional support and love in these last days of the Third Age of Middle Earth. It would be enough to carry her through, along with the love of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King.