Disclaimer: Everything bar the plot itself - which is my own - belongs to Professor Tolkien.

Chapter VI: Farewell to Imladris

"Aragorn!"

"Estel!"

"Where are you?"

Aragorn smiled at Arwen. "It seems even the combined powers of your father and Gandalf cannot find us here."

Arwen grinned. "That may be useful knowledge someday, but for now . . ." She paused, glanced at the floor, and then continued. "You must depart, my love. The fate of the world rests upon your shoulders – again."

Aragorn laughed softly, and kissed the beautiful Elven maiden upon the forehead. "I will return soon enough, and with the Kingship of Gondor behind me, your father will finally let us be wed."

Arwen smiled again. "I look forward to that day. But for now, go! I hear footsteps coming near."

The Dúnadan kissed his beloved one more time, and then slipped away. A moment later, back on the paths of Rivendell, he encountered Elrond.

"Estel!" cried the irate Lord of Imladris. "Gandalf has been ready to depart for several minutes, and yet I find you still wandering the gardens as though you are not leaving today at all!"

Aragorn smiled, bowed slightly to his foster-father, and walked briskly towards the front porch. "You will find, my Lord, that what few supplies I require are sitting on your porch. I merely took the time while Gandalf was packing to bid farewell to your beautiful gardens."

Elrond stared at the Heir of Isildur for a moment, and then laughed. "Yes, and no doubt to my beautiful daughter also. No, do not look embarrassed, Estel. Now come, for despite your preparations, the journey is still long, and you must move quickly."

As Elrond overtook him, Aragorn grinned wryly. He should have learnt by now that to hide anything from Elrond – especially anything concerning his daughter – was almost impossible.

"Come along, Estel, cease your daydreaming," came the stern voice from in front of him. Aragorn quickened his pace, arriving at the porch side by side with Elrond. Gandalf stood there, staff in hand, Glamdring at his side. He seemed about to speak, but before he could do so, another voice cut into the silence.

"Estel! We were wondering when you would turn up. And how is our dear sister?"

Aragorn grimaced. Another thing he had to remember – Elladan and Elrohir were even worse at noticing things concerning Arwen than their father. "She is fine, Elladan. Did you come here for any reason other than to torment me?"

"Why, Estel," replied Elladan, stepping down from the porch, "you wound me. Why must you always assume the worst?" At Aragorn's glare, the half-elf grinned, and continued. "But if you must know, yes, I do have another reason to be here. Or were you planning to go into the wild unarmed?"

Aragorn gasped, and reached down to his waist. His scabbard was gone, and with it his primary offensive weapon. He carried a bow and dagger for hunting, of course, but in a close fight a sword was far more useful. "So what do you have for me, Elladan? I see no sword in your hand."

Elladan nodded agreeably. "Very observant of you, Estel. However, if my brother would hurry up and get here . . . and here he is now." Over the lawn, from the direction of the stables, Elrohir came running. Aragorn could see from the way he moved that he carried a sword at his waist, but it was only when the half-elf came to a halt on the porch that Aragorn recognised the scabbard.

"That's mine!"

Elrohir grinned. "It is, Estel, and . . . but no, I'm doing this wrong. Father, you should do the honours." And with that, Elrohir passed the sword to Elrond, who turned to Aragorn.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, you are about to set out on a journey that could see a final end to the darkness in our world, and the return of the King to his rightful throne in Minas Tirith. On this occasion, therefore, I present to you the sword of Elendil. My sons, Elladan and Elrohir, have worked non-stop since you arrived to have this ready for your departure, but as you see, they succeeded in their usual just-in-time manner." Elrond paused, and drew the sword – the unbroken sword – from its sheath. "Narsil has been reforged and renamed, and so I now present to you Andúril, the Flame of the West. May it serve you well." He held the sword out to Aragorn.

Aragorn reached out with one hand and took the sword, feeling its weight, its balance. He nodded, and as he slipped it into the scabbard Elrond had handed him, he nodded to the Peredhil twins. "A good forging, my brothers. I thank you."

The brothers smiled at each other, but did not speak. That was left to Elrond. "Go now, Estel, and fulfil your destiny." Elrond paused, then nodded at Gandalf. "And please, take that old fool with you. He is beginning to drive us all crazy."

After the riotous departure of Aragorn and Gandalf, Elrond almost found himself bored during the formal farewells to the Mirkwood and Erebor parties. There was one moment of levity when Boromir, witnessing the third argument in half an hour, had looked beseechingly at Elrond and said, "Please, gracious lord, send me to follow Aragorn, send me to map the Far North, even send me to survey the ruins of Mordor, but do not make me look after these squabbling children all the way to Mirkwood." After that, the Elves and Dwarves had quietened, but Elrond did not doubt that Boromir would have his hands full preventing them from killing each other.

Having seen them off, Elrond went looking for Glorfindel, who was supposed to be preparing what little army Imladris had to march to Lórien. On the way, he discovered Arwen, who was leaning on the porch wall, looking wistfully to the South. Elrond smiled slightly at such a show of devotion, remembering how he had been much the same when his wife, Celebrían, had been away. Stepping up beside his daughter, he said, "He will survive, you know."

Arwen did not seem to hear him, instead speaking as if to herself. "Sometimes, when he goes away into the wild, I come here, and look out in the direction he has gone. I speak into the wind, saying all the things I would have said to him, hoping that it might carry my words to him." She turned and looked at her father. "Does that make me mad, father?"

Elrond reached out and touched his daughter's cheek. "No, Arwen, it simply shows the depth of your devotion to Estel." He paused, and smiled. Taking Arwen by the arm, he led her back into the Last Homely House. "Did I ever tell you about the time your mother travelled back to Lothlórien to see her parents, and I took to climbing the bell tower every evening and calling out to her, as if my voice could carry across the Misty Mountains themselves?"

The impromptu story session stretched out, and Elrond did not find Glorfindel until late that evening. Nevertheless, he considered the hours spent with his daughter to be time well spent.

There. A longer chapter at last.

The story of Elrond when Celebrían was visiting Lórien, is my own, and will be appearing on my profile at some point. Probably after I get round to writing it.

Cloaked Eagle