CB: *Cowers behind her muses, hiding from the angry readers with pitchforks* I'm REALLY sorry guys! I haven't been able to update because I've had a thousand and one things to do! But I'm updating now, so please don't kill me!

Quick Note: my apologies if I get some things wrong in this chapter. It's only because I haven't written in this fic for a good six months. (I'm so very, very sorry!) Also, there is some slight discontinuity in this chapter leading on from the previous, and this will happen again in the next chapter. Apologies. Also note that THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE FIC, because I know that some people will ask. ^_^

Dedication: Still dedicated to Makiko of course!

Arwen hurried down the corridor, her long, pale skirts and dark hair flying behind her as she broke into a light footed run, her expression grim. In her head, the same words pounded over and over. 'He cannot go, he cannot go, he cannot go." Too much effort had been put into everything…too many precious feeling hurt and too many noble sacrifices had been given.

As she flew up one of the wide stone staircases that wound around and up towards the large and airy room that Legolas inhabited, Arwen's mind paused briefly to wonder how she knew these things. But the thought was immediately dismissed out of hand; it was not as important as reaching the prince of Mirkwood before he did something both very stupid and very noble.

"Reth hennanan…" She cursed under her breath as she tripped and nearly fell, before steadying herself just in time. Elves very rarely stumbled, and, indeed, it seemed oddly appropriate that she was so distracted that even her innate sense of balance had deserted her. "Imith ca ólun!" She spat, tugging off her dainty slippers and dropping them, unheeding on the floor behind her as she ran the last few corridors to her friend's room.

Bursting through the doors, and not waiting to knock, her gaze immediately fell on the blond elf, standing by the window.

His hair illuminated and glowing thanks to the weak sunlight that was pushing its way through the clouds, Legolas appeared to be bathed in a glowing radiance – something that Arwen knew only too well was completely false. Even without any ability to read minds or search auras, she could feel the waves of despair rolling off of him like the black clouds that had dogged the sky only hours before.

"Legolas, ad noan?" (Legolas, where are you going?) She demanded angrily, stamping her bare foot on the smooth stone floor. "Ithin gah ilan?" (Are you mad?) Realising he was paying little or no attention to her, Arwen flew across the room in an uncharacteristic fit of rage and grabbed the taller elf's arm. Spinning him around roughly, she gripped his chin hard and forced him to look at her, fury flaming in her eyes.

"What do you think you are doing?" She demanded, anger dripping from every carefully pronounced syllable of the common tongue.

"Leaving." Even though his face was turned towards her, his eyes were not. Indeed, they appeared dull, lifeless as they scanned the room to her left.

"Leaving?" Arwen's voice neared a shriek as she shook him. "Why are you leaving? You have won his heart, you have beaten me, indeed, you deserve him, and yet you are leaving?" Inside of her, the rational part of her mind was quietly struggling to maintain some semblance of sanity as she fought with the unbridled rage that was now washing over her. "I have spoken to him, Legolas." She snapped suddenly, her voice hard as steel. "He has confessed his love for you, and yet you have rejected him, rejected what could be happiness and, indeed, have given orders to your company that you are to return home within the day!"

Snarling as he still refused to look at her, she dropped his arm and, instead, gripped his shoulders. "Look at me!" She all but screamed, her hair starting to fall loose as she shook him roughly again. "Look at me, by Valar! I have given him up for you! I have allowed my heart to be broken so that you two could have what is clearly so precious! I will not say that I do not want him back, but I want you to be happy even more! And you, you have rejected him! Is my sacrifice in vain? Why do you refuse to answer?" Disgusted as he simply looked the other way, she released her hold on him and stepped back a couple of paces.

"You really have no idea, do you?" She said suddenly, softly, all traces of anger gone from her voice. "I have given up the one thing that would have made me happy." Stumbling slightly, she sank down on the edge of his bed, hands still shaking with the traces of anger that had burned so fiercely in her only seconds before. "I gave it up because you… you two…meant more than anything to me in the world, save for my own kin." Her blue eyes turned towards him, tears starting to sparkle in their corners. "Is my sacrifice in vain, dear one? Will you not stay?"

"I cannot." Even his voice was lifeless as he allowed his gaze to truly fall upon her for the first time. "I will not go to him, Arwen. I have seen the future, and it is bleak. He will end up despising me, and that I cannot allow." His chin lifted slightly, and Arwen saw the first hints of the elf she had known. "I would rather bear my love for him away, and remember it fondly, than to sit by him, day after day, month after month, year after year, and feel his anger and hatred towards me growing. I cannot bear him children, so he will have no heirs. The people of Gondor will not accept us when he eventually claims his throne. He will always feel the guilt of having refused you and your love, and knowing what it will have done to you.

"No," and now he looked at her fully. "That I cannot bear. And so I must go."

"Fool." Said softly, but with the intensity and hard ringing of a blade. "You are giving up something far more precious than I."

He stared at her for a moment, face showing a small yet bitter struggle as emotions flickered across his proud, somehow cold features. "Perhaps. But it is better this way." Stooping, he picked up a small pack that had rested hitherto unseen by the end of his bed and shouldered it, stalking past her to the door.

"You are wrong, you know." Again, her voice lashed out across the intervening space as his hand reached for the door handle.

Pausing, he turned to regard her once more. So cold and distant from the elf she remembered from not more than a few days ago.

"Perhaps. Goodbye, Arwen."

********

Elrohir clasped his twin gently to him, rocking him slowly back and forth as he murmured soothing words. His hands were gently rubbing Elladan's back and his cheek was resting on the dark hair of his brother's head.

Elladan's furious screaming had given way to a sudden outpouring of tears and Elaría, ever the patient soul, had immediately sensed that Elrohir would be far more competent at comforting his twin's anguish than she ever would. She'd tactfully withdrawn and left the two of them alone, even when Elladan's tears had slowly faded to the occasional vague hiccup and stifled sob, and then, eventually, nothing.

Stirring slightly in his twin's arms, Elladan craned his neck to peer up into the sober face of his twin as Elrohir watched him, green eyes mildly curious, hands still making soothing motions down his back.

"Feeling slightly better?" His twin whispered, pausing to brush some dark strands of hair away from the now quiet elf's face.

"I…yes." Elladan's voice was husky, clearly telling the tale of the tears he had just wept. "Thank you…" He murmured, pillowing his head on his brother's chest once more, and turning slightly so he could nuzzle his flushed face against the coolness of Elrohir's tunic.

"Whatever for?"

"For…looking after me when I'm like this."

Soft laughter made Elrohir's chest vibrate slightly, and a small giggle managed to worm its way past his lips. "El, there's absolutely nothing to thank me for. I know you would do precisely the same for me." A light kiss was dropped on Elladan's hair, and he felt his twin moving them down the bed slightly, so he could lean with his back against the pillows, rather than the headboard. "So stop worrying about it."

Elladan nodded slightly and remained silent, enjoying the peaceful moment with his twin, as he was lulled into an almost dreamlike state by the calm beating of Elrohir's heart.

"What…what did get you so worked up though?" Elrohir asked eventually, clearly hesitant to ask  - but obviously wanting to know nonetheless. "You were screaming so loudly it's a wonder grandmother didn't hear you in Lorien."

"It…was…it was nothing." Elladan muttered, burying his face still further into the folds of Elrohir's tunic, his fingers gripping the soft material.

"'Nothing' doesn't make a person scream like that, El." His twin murmured, neither accusing nor judging. "Something's wrong."

Elladan shook his head, both unwilling and scared to tell his brother. "It was nothing," He repeated, more firmly this time. "A bad dream, that is all."

Elrohir pursed his lips, but made no more comments, choosing instead to wrap his arms around his twin. Gently humming, he began to rock him back and forth once more, until finally, he began to sing softly, using an old lullaby their mother had sung to them. The soft elvish tongue soothing him, Elladan began to drift into an almost trance like state, neither sleeping nor waking.

"Iliná, cose inimé,

Noa de hanenn illar,

Gerent an no hera,

Emgil so noa time…"

At one point, he thought he heard Elaría come in, indeed, he was almost certain she had bent over and pressed a cool hand to his forehead her voice murmuring quietly to Elrohir, who neither moved, nor broke off his quiet singing. And then her presence was gone again, and only the gentle sensation of the soft brush of her hair against his face lingered in his memory for a moment.

"'Rohir?" Elladan's voice was thick with sleep, but his eyes were still open.

"Hmm?" His twin murmured, pausing for a moment in his song.

"Keep singing, won't you? It keeps the bad dreams away."

"Alright, if you like." Elrohir waited for a moment, until he was almost certain Elladan was asleep, before gently tilting his twin's head back so he could see the pale, still face. Allowing his lullaby to finish for the moment, the unusually sober elf bent his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his brother's brow. "I'll protect you, El." He murmured, before leaning back once more.

********

Aragorn stood by the large window that looked out over the graceful gardens that surrounded the house of Elrond. From outside, he could hear quiet elvish singing as the occupants of the realm went about their daily business, a song nearly permanently on their lips. Inside the room, however, there was silence.

"Quick! There's still time! You can stop him!" Arwen's voice, breathless with both anxiety and anger as she stared up at him. "Go after him! He hasn't left yet! He's probably still at the stables!"

"And what purpose would it serve?" His own voice, bitter with the sting of rejection, "He has made it quite clear that he wishes to have nothing to do with me, Arwen."

"Aragorn, you love him! Surely that is something worth fighting for!"

"No, it's not, because the flame of my love has been blown out before it ever had a chance to kindle into something more."

"Please! I'm begging you! Stop him! If not for yourself, then for me! He is my dearest friend and I would not have him leaving here with only bitter memories."

"No." Hard refusal, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

"It is not too late! I am begging you Aragorn! Save both him and you!"

"…It is already too late, Arwen."

Aragorn's hand, which had been resting peacefully on the windowsill, clenched suddenly as a wave of anger broke over him. "It is not my fault that all this has come to pass." He hissed to the silent room, his defiant gaze sweeping the room until it eventually rested on his cloak and sword, both of which were resting neatly on a chair near the door. "It is not!" He stated again as both items appeared to mock him with their very stillness.

In Aragorn's mind, the sword and cloak laughed silently. Coward…oath breaker…you do not even try to stop him…what do you care?

"That's NOT it! It's not! I just know it's pointless!" The man snapped, in very much the same way as he had done earlier to Arwen, when she had come hurtling into his room, half crazed as she screamed of how she had just spoken with Legolas and that he was leaving.

"Coward…" The sword murmured again.

Pursing his lips, the man stared at them for a moment, his eyes flashing grey fire. "It is inevitable now that he must leave and I…I will not stop him. As I said; it is over." Turning once more, he gazed out over the gardens, hands clenched into fists once more before he turned and stalked from the room.

********

Galadriel, White Lady of the Woods, as some called her, bent and carefully dipped a huge silver chalice into a small pool of water. Murmuring softly to herself in elvish, she passed a hand over the top of the cup, then allowed a small smile to creep across her face as she felt the gentle energy of the stream flowing up through her fingertips and on towards the top of her arm.

Carefully setting the cup aside for a moment, she turned to look across the clearing at the small basin set so inconspicuously into the small tower of stone that had been carved from the raw material of the forest.

The mirror.

As always, it called to her, it's silvery surface beckoning her to look upon it and beyond – to see the fate of mortal kings and queens, of elves and dwarves and most importantly, of her beloved grandchildren.

Sighing, the Lady of the Woods hesitated for a moment, before walking swiftly across the clearing towards her mirror, her feet barely crushing the grass as she passed. Stopping, she gazed down at the mirror for a long moment, neither seeing nor rejecting sight – merely contemplating. Then, with a swift movement, she passed her hand over the surface in a movement very similar to that she had demonstrated only moments ago on the cup.

"Filrath hemon!" (Reveal yourself!) She commanded, lightly tapping the water and causing ripples to spread out, distorting her own image, but revealing another.

Arwen was standing by Aragorn's side, dressed in fine, elvish robes. Both man and maid appeared happy as they surveyed the room of bowing people. Her expression was serene, his warm as he took her hand in a gentle grip, before bidding his subject's to rise.

As they did so, a third, cloaked figure stepped up on the King's right, a hood obscuring his face.

The King turned towards this hooded figure and smiled, his expression betraying nothing other than gratitude as he raised his hand, palm up, in an expression of thanks. Arwen, on his other side, also bowed her head, before taking the hooded warrior's hand and curtseying, her face mirroring Aragorn's in its gratitude. The couple smiled at the warrior, who nodded his head, gracefully accepting the thanks without any words.

"How might we thank you, noble saviour?" The king asked, a smile on his face. "For it is not oft that a King is saved by a humble traveller, and for that I would give you some mark of my respect and gratitude."

"I need nothing, my lord." Came the soft reply from within the depths of the cloak, and a pale hand reached out to pull a strand of dark hair back within the shadows of its hood. "A humble ranger, such as I, cares nothing for material wealth."

Aragorn frowned, but said no more on the matter. "You will, at least, stay for our feast this evening then, most noble warrior?"

Another bow of the head. "A pleasure, my lord."

The mirror rippled briefly, and Galadriel shook her head, her eyes burning as she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the dull ache that indicated she had been staring without blinking for too long.

The mirror rippled again, and another scene was revealed.

Elrohir was standing in his room at Rivendell, his back to the mirror's view. His long, dark hair fell in a sleek waterfall down his back, and the sun picked the faint copper highlights out, illuminating him softly. His arms folded across his chest, he stood absolutely still, not moving a muscle until another elf, identical in appearance, walked into view.

Elladan gently touched his twin's shoulder, his expression radiating concern and Elrohir spun, his expression flickering between disbelief and joy.

Silently, the slightly shorter twin held out his arms, and Elrohir tumbled into them, still unable to take his eyes off his brother as he ran long, clever fingers over Elladan's face, his expression now filled with something bordering on relief and more than a little wonder.

Elladan murmured something as his twin buried his face in the crook of his neck, and Elrohir gave a small, slightly muffled chuckle, his fingers clenching convulsively in the thick material of Elladan's robe.

"Missed you, missed you so much…" One twin breathed.

Galadriel could not tell which.

"My brother…my precious elf star…" Murmured the other, and suddenly they were crashing and melding, like twin candle flames, combined into a flaming torch, so powerful, bright and beautiful.

Gasping, Galadriel wrenched herself away from the mirror a second time, her whole form trembling at the memory of what she had just seen. Her grandsons, her two precious grandsons, embracing, like that…in that way. She bit her lip, daring to wonder whether she was mistaken – if the mirror had lied.

//It did not lie, White Lady. // Came an amused voice in her head, its tone gently mocking. //This is what will happen if you do not heed the mirror's warning. Bring one of the twins to Lorien and avert this affair. //

Galadriel started, and stared around her, face even paler than usual. "Who are you?" She breathed. "Show yourself!"

A soft peal of laughter rang around the clearing, and a woman stepped out from the shadow of one of the trees. It was the same one who had spoken with Elladan and Elrohir, but this time, her hair was flowing loose, and her cloak was merely draped over her shoulders, not wrapped securely around her. "Hello, little one," She murmured, a small smile gracing her lips.

Galadriel stared at her. "Lúthien…" She murmured, taking a cautious step forward, one hand outstretched. "How…?"

The woman darted backwards, a sudden expression of pure terror on her lovely face. "Do not touch me, Galadriel!" She warned, "For if you do, as the Valar have told me, I shall be sent back to the Halls of Mandos and no longer able to help."

"So it's true then? That you returned to stop past mistakes being repeated?"

"Indeed. And I tell you this: the darkness you have feared for so long is spreading, and history is already repeating itself once more."

"How? How is that possible?"

Lúthien smiled gently. "The Prince of Mirkwood is leaving these shores." She murmured, "And with him goes the love of one who is incomplete without him."

"Aragorn?"

The spirit smiled, but said nothing.

"Tell me!" Galadriel took another step forwards, but as she did, Lúthien vanished, leaving only a faint echo of sound behind her.

"Estel…"

********

The elf stared silently out across the sea, his blond hair blowing in the wind.

It was finished then, everything had at last come to this. A final journey, but one that was not started with fond farewells or people to come and bid him goodbye. Rather, he was alone, isolated, and that was something he would always be now. Bereft and cold.

To a casual observer, he appeared like an ice statue; pale, perfect, but cold and still, no real life left within him, and somehow almost indescribably dead.

He had not wanted his father to grieve before he had left, and he knew that by the time the messenger he had sent reached Mirkwood, it would be far to late for anything to stop him. Indeed, that was why he had planned it this way. Better by far that his father simply remember him as he was before he had entered Rivendell and met with the one known only to him as Estel, then, eventually, the stranger Aragorn.

Waves lapped gently at the shingle as blue eyes turned to stare at the small boat that would carry him across the sea. Taking a deep breath, the elf began to move towards the boat, his expression sad.

Carefully, he walked up the small gangplank and felt the boat immediately put out to sea, driven by the magic with which it had been created. Turning, he took one last glance at the lonely shore, before it faded into obscurity.

'White shores are calling,

You and I will meet again…'

ROTK Soundtrack.

TO BE CONTINUED…