"When you're out on your own/Feeling lonely and so cold/All you have to do is call my name/And I'll be there on the next train..."

--Carole King, Where You Lead

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Author's note: This piece goes with 'Home Is' (chapter thirteen) but can be read alone.

*****

"Estel! Estel, wait!" Arwen laughed as she hurried to catch him. She slipped her hand into his and kissed his cheek. "Why do you run from me, Estel?"

"Arwen, please..." he took a step back, drawing his hand away. Her smile faded. "I need some time alone."

With a look of apology Aragorn strode away from his Evenstar, through the darkened gardens of Imladris. The night air bit at his cheeks as the thorns of roses and snow crunched beneath his boots. Aragorn reveled in this, the freedom to leave footprints without worry of someone following his tracks. Save, of course, the Evenstar, who would not allow him to be free of her yet.

"Let me be with you," she said, matching her stride to his. "Tell me why you worry so."

Aragorn turned to face her. Arwen stood, drawn up to her full height, her face impassive yet defiant. In the moon's silver light her skin seemed to glow, giving her an ethereal quality. She looked to him intently, awaiting his decision. I will fight for you, she mouthed.

"But you should not have to," he answered quietly. "I realized that in binding yourself to me you would become mortal, but I never realized that you would be so reduced to scrubbing floors on your knees. Arwen, this is not that future I want for you."

"Nor is it the future you would give me," she answered. "Let me down off this pedestal ere I fall! I am not a child, nor am I a doll, Estel. I am a woman. I can clean, cook, sew, and knit. I can also play chess and fire a bow. A sword is not foreign to me. I once broke my brother's arm in two places. If I want to kneel on the floor and help you gather shards of broken glass I will kneel on the floor."

He moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and Arwen bit back a shudder at the contact with the sensitive tip of her ear. It embarrassed her something awful, but when Aragorn touched the tips of her ears she always felt...affectionate towards him. "I do not want you to scrub floors."

She kissed him to occupy his mouth for a moment. "There was no scrubbing involved. Estel, I am not loath to serve, nor would I leave you so alone."

"Nevertheless," he answered, "I would not have you cut your hands at such chores."

Arwen laughter and turned his palms upwards, gently tracing her fingers along the greater area of his hands. "I see many incisions here, Estel, but none on my hands. Do not seek to enchain a star."

"Arwen, I am sorry!" He truly was. "You are your own person. Still it grieves me that you should be forced to choose between me and your father."

She sighed. There was more to it than he understood: though Aragorn knew the tale of Lady Celebrían, she posed less of a reality to him than the heroes of old, for he had not known her. "Immortality...I love you, Aragorn. I love everything you are. Let that be enough for you." When he looked away from her and his answer was clear, she gently kissed the tops of his ears. "It is enough for me."

"I am sorry for having forced you to choose--"

"Apology accepted. Now come inside, out of the cold. You will catch your death by pneumonia!"

He smiled. "You sound like your father."

Arwen laughed. "After only three thousand summers!"

A nightbird flying overhead called out. The two raised their eyes to watch. "Will you walk with me?" Aragorn asked. "I am unready to retire quite yet."

They left footprints in the freshly fallen snow, a moonlit trail, as much a mark as the Elfstone and his Evenstar ever left upon the world.

*****

The End

Author's note: Arwen is not quite three thousand, but she is well on her way there.