The last of the coffin was covered by soil. The strains of 'Amazing Grace' floated in the air. Chloe closed her eyes and remained still. For a long moment she was no longer there. She was a child. She was crying because of a scuffed knee. Chloe saw her father standing several feet away. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of her, washing her wound with bottled water and calming her down with warm words.

She opened her eyes. Beyond her haze vision she saw the lean figure standing several yards away, right under the large tree. She dried her eyes. When her vision cleared, there was no one under the tree.

Gentle hands squeezed her shoulders as one by one the guests retreated to their cars. "Chloe," Lex whispered close into her ear, "let's go."

"You can leave. I need to be alone."

"You don't have a ride back," Lex replied. When she did not answer, she heard him sigh. The bite of cold metal in her palm that she recognized as his keys raised more questions about Lex's part in this. "I'll catch a ride with someone. Take my car back into town. Hopefully in one piece."

She was then all alone, yet she felt another presence more strongly than before. Chloe was not fond of ghost stories. Instively though she knew this was no ghost.

"Show yourself!" she demanded. Her voice was blown away by the wind.

Chloe focused solely on the tree, convinced that the man hid behind the trunk. She had last seen him in that direction.

"Melethen," he said in a deep voice from behind her. Chloe held her breath and turned slowly around. She beheld the beautiful man who stood there, ill in place clothed in Clark's clothes. "Meldo mo, Chiara."

She was captivated by the intensity of his gaze as he looked at her. He spoke in a strange but familiar language, and not understanding it, she was still lulled into peace.

"I share your pain," he told her, "for you are the other half of my soul."

"Who are you?"

"How quickly you forget."

"Who are you?" she repeated.

"The other half of you soul, come to find you, waited thousands of years for you. All roads lead back to you."

~~

"Legolas and Gimli have been here for more days and nights than they have before stayed with us," Arwen said, standing on the veranda, looking down at her Elven friend in the courtyard below as Legolas honed his skills by shooting arrows at points on a wooden wall. It was night time, yet Legolas managed to hit his mark every time.

"Whatever their reasons I am grateful," Aragorn replied to his wife. He laid his hands on her waist. "I fear ill tidings. The mercenaries darken our horizon."

"Yet you do nothing," Arwen said questioningly.

Aragorn sighed. "While they do nothing, there is no justification for us to attack," he told her.

"They do nothing save strike fear in the hearts of our people."

Aragorn met his wife's pleading look with a searching one. Always when he was unsettled in his decision, he could see the answer in the quiet determination of Arwen. He laid his hand on her cheek and read what she did not say in words.

The noise of a clearing throat brought them back to reality. They turned to see Gimli.

"It seems that our stay is drawing to a close," the dwarf pronounced. "Come join me in the throne room. I have many stories to share. Too many adventures and too few days to tell them in!"

Arwen smiled and placed her arm around her husband's. "Well then we must start today."

Gimli let out deep laughter as he followed the couple back into the palace. He looked down and saw Chiara slip into the courtyard. He grinned and pulled on the side of his beard as Chiara made to surprise the Elf, yet ended up the one surprised.

Legolas dropped his bow and turned swiftly around, then caught Chiara by her waist. "I knew not my long road would lead me to you," he murmured. Chiara laid her hands on his shoulders and met his lips with hers.

Had Aragorn caught the courtyard scene, Gimli knew not what shadows would darken Gondor. As he followed Aragorn in, he thought to himself how the Elf owed him this time.

"I forgot my hammer below. I will be with you in a trice!" Gimli called out to them.

In the courtyard, the lovers were oblivious to any eyes that may be watching them. It was unthinkable for an Elf to be so unaware, yet fate favored Legolas that day, with the help of a Dwarf. Perhaps in a day or two he would find out and thank Gimli. At that moment, he was too enthralled by the woman in his arms to care about the world.

"But you regret naught that came to pass?" she asked softly, when they parted for breath.

"Naught that led me to you, Chiara."

She smiled at his words. Chiara felt his fingers tighten in her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned for another kiss. She knew not what good fortune caused him to love her. This was all that she had dreamed, outside of the reality that had been narrated to her as a child. She cared not for the Prince of Rohan, nor for a warm hall and people to oversee. Her heart craved to be overcome with passion and she wanted to see the lands that lay outside of hers. Her will was strong, and she knew that one of the Valar must have given her this strange aberration. She was Mortal but she knew she would not rest until she had done all that she would with Legolas.

"If this is not my secret to tell," came Gimli's voice, causing them to spring apart. "Then you must be more cautious. I barely drew Aragorn and Arwen away from that window before you..." Gimli shrugged. "'Til fast becoming folly, this hiding from the king."

Legolas frowned. "It is no secret that Aragorn would that I have nothing to do with his ward."

"And you can prove this, Legolas?" the dward demanded. "Or are you blinded by your own guilt of betraying your friend that you assume his stand?"

Chiara laid a staying hand on Legolas' arm. "You are right, friend Dwarf," she said. "We shall come before them and plead understanding with thought to their own shared love."

And so it was that the Prince of Mirkwood and the last princess of the Numenorean line, both without kingdoms, without families and without riches now, came together before the King and Queen of Gondor. Gimli had been telling a story about a misadventure that had Aragorn and Arwen laughing. At the sight of the approaching pair, the humor vanished from the king's visage. Aragorn's gaze was immediately drawn to Legolas' arm around his young ward's waist.

Before either spoke, Aragorn asked for audience with the Elf. Gimli jumped off his chair and patted Legolas on the back, then made his way out of the throne room. The king looked at Chiara.

"I will stay," she said firmly.

Arwen stood and took Chiara's arm. "We are not leaving," the queen whispered. "But we will be out of the way." She led her ward to a chair at the side of the room. Arwen turned to Aragorn and Legolas and spoke to them calmly in Elvish, seeking to pacify them.

Chiara watched as Legolas defended himself, though she had no real idea what words were spoken between Aragorn and her love. She knew too little of the language that flew between the two, for they seemed to choose a purer form of Elvish, still Sindarin, yet of words and phrases more ancient for her comprehension.

Finally, the king turned to her and said, "Your fate was sealed by your father long ago, that you be a ward of Gondor and bride of a true kin of its people. Chiara, your lord and husband shall claim you within the moon."

Chiara's stricken eyes went to Arwen. She shook her head. With a longing gaze at Legolas, she turned and fled. Arwen rose to follow her.

Chiara lay in bed, her golden hair fanned out on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling sightlessly. Arwen sat on the side of the bed. She closed her hand around her ward's. Her heart ached at the familiarity of their place. There was no comfort where Chiara was, her heart's daughter.

"Tell me, Arwen, of Finwe and Miriel, most beloved of the Noldor," she whispered. "'Tis but a piece I gleaned from the king's argument with Legolas."

Arwen ran her fingers through Chiara's golden hair. "It was an unfair likening, child, for the curse of the Noldor Elves and the deaths of many of the Elves who remained in Middle-earth stemmed from what had been a beautiful love between them."

"Tell me."

Arwen told Chiara the story of Finwe, host of the Elves on the way to Valinor, who loved Miriel with his undying heart. She told her ward the story of a love so true that Miriel bore the Elf whose spirit held the hottest and most vibrant fire. "Having borne such a son," Arwen said, "Miriel became weak and was taken to Lorien to be healed. And she fell into a healing sleep from which she never woke again. Finwe sat beside her sleeping form, until her spirit flew to the Halls of Mandos. Finwe never forgot her, even as he married and had sons with another."

Aragorn stopped at the doorway, drinking in the sight of his wife comforting their ward. "It is a far longer story of deceit and greed for jewels crafted by Finwe and Miriel's only son."

Chiara turned at the sound of his voice and looked directly into Aragorn's eyes. "The Silmarils. Why liken such a simple thing as my regard for Legolas to jewels that close destroyed their race?"

"You are the last of a proud line of Men, Chiara. Be not angered by my decision."

"The Silmarils," Chiara repeated firmly. "Is this what this is about?"

"No," Arwen answered when Aragorn would not. "He holds falsely to his reason. Thus he seems irrational. In truth, his heart is troubled by more than the line of Numenor. Legolas is close to his heart as a brother, and the king would spare him Finwe's grief."

Chiara asked of Arwen, though her eyes did not leave Aragorn, "Do you regret missing out on the Undying Lands?"

"I will always have place in my heart for my father and my mother, who are happily in the Undying Lands," Arwen answered. Aragorn looked at her. "Yet I will never regret my place with my husband, Chiara. Take away all my years and give me but the sickly mortal years. I will be happy."

Aragorn did not speak, but turned and left. Chiara closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. Arwen took her daughter in her arms. "You are far luckier in a father than I am," Chiara whispered.