AUTHORS NOTE: Thank you so much for reading my story everyone! Valia-Elf mentioned Cemendur and I wanted to point out that he was inspired by this thought: was there any Elf enamoured of Arwen (like Daeron of Lúthien) who began to dislike Aragorn because of it? Even Elves can feel jealousy it seems, but Cemendur is still a noble Elf :). I am glad you all like the story, so enjoy ch. 8!
Elrond sat on the fountain's edge, gazing into its crystal depths in deep thought. Arwen stopped before leaving the shade of the trees she stood beneath. Her step had faltered when she saw her father. His back was turned to her and his body motionless as if a part of the pale stone he sat upon. Arwen pushed away the dark hair that blew across her face and stood as still as he. There were sharp lines in his face but not of age. They had come from his many years of life though they left him wiser, not aged as a mortal for he had chosen to belong to the Elves in his time.
Arwen lowered her head when she thought of her own decision and how it affected her father each time it surfaced in his thoughts. "Elrohir and Elladan shall go with you, father. Not everyone has forsaken you," she murmured into the soft breeze. Her sleeves billowed out behind her alongside the skirts of her flowing garments. She became a statue of a beautiful elf-maiden frozen in time.
She finally turned away to depart and leave her word to Elrond unsaid for another time. She had come to speak to him of her decision to forsake the Twilight for it could not stand between them forever like a looming boulder they were attempting to ignore. Someday she would confront him with it; nonetheless, it would be much later.
The days were brightened in Rivendell at the coming of the Evenstar and joy flowed forth abundantly, the Elves singing loud and clear all through the nights seeming to need no rest. The Evenstar, though, did not seem as blissful as everyone else. Elrond perceived it better than others since he had himself raised her and seen how she had come to behave.
Few knew of the meeting between the Lord Aragorn and Lady Undómiel in Lórien. Elrond, Gilraen, and Glorfindel were the only ones who knew of Aragorn and Arwen's pledge on the hill of Cerin Amroth. Aragorn still wandered in the wild with his men. No one knew exactly how long it would be before he visited Imladris yet again, but Arwen felt she was the only one who cared whether he returned soon or not.
She stood looking out from the balcony extending beyond her quarters. The view was spectacular even though she did not take notice for her heart went out across the land farther north. She sighed and decided to take the company of a friend to keep away the seclusion she felt surrounding her. Cemendur was still in Rivendell even after he had delivered his message and had seemed to wish to be near Arwen whenever he saw her in the day; so she left the balcony to search for him.
Cemendur gladly took Arwen's company when she found him. "Arwen, I have not seen you for some time now. How comes this?" he said.
Arwen did not meet his gaze but watched two birds flitting about in a tree. "I do not know. It is not important. How long are you to remain here in Rivendell? Will they not miss you in Lórien?"
Cemendur shrugged his slim shoulders. "I do not know. It is not important," he laughed. "They surely will not miss me, that I know. There is no one there to desire me back home in the Golden Wood. The Lady Galadriel has many who will serve her purposes besides me. Why do you wish to know?"
"No reason really; but you said you would be staying a short time. It is now been more than that...though I suppose it is not important," she said, still watching the birds.
Cemendur tilted his head and leaned forward closer to her. "Is it your habit to not look at people when you are speaking with them?" he asked in jest while he concealed a delighted smile.
Arwen shifted her gaze. Her piercing eyes burned into his own with an intensity that reminded him of the Lady Galadriel, and the Lord Celeborn and Elrond. Rarely could anyone endure the stare of these few of the Wise of Middle-earth.
"Forgive me," she said softly, "I was distracted."
Cemendur looked at the birds that suddenly lifted their wings and flew away with a soft flutter of blue feathers. He did so as a reason just to glance away from her bright eyes. Cemendur did not take much time to enjoy simple beauty such as that of the two birds flirting with each other as Arwen did. Arwen was beginning to take heed of these certain qualities as she was around Cemendur regularly.
"I must be on my way," she said quickly.
"Must you? Do you have some pressing engagement that is more important than speaking with a fellow Elf?" he said with a hint of teasing as well as seriousness.
Arwen sighed inaudibly. "Perhaps...and remember, I am still halfelven." Arwen turned and stared down at her clasped hands as she started walking away so she would not have to tell him of the choice she had made long ago for it would break his heart to hear it.
Cemendur hastened to catch up to her after watching her walk away. He strolled beside her with his hands at his sides, though he appeared restless most instances when he was in her presence. "How could that be possible? No mortal could be as beautiful as you, Arwen." The manner in which his voice suddenly smoothed halted her in her step. She clearly knew Cemendur's mind and train of thought. When she stared directly at him, for she was almost his very height, his eyes now appeared to have a different light in them that moved her to pity. He was too late for her to care for him in the same way.
"I am halfelven and have the choice of which race to live as," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I thought you knew that."
"It does not make any difference. Elrond is halfelven, yet he has chosen the path of the immortal Elves who are blessed to sail into the West when their life here in Middle-earth has tired them to exhaustion of all its lands. All those halfelven have that same choice. Do you not understand that, fairest of maidens?"
Arwen had trouble believing it. How was it that everyone was questioning her decision of immortality or mortality? Arwen grew paler to the extent that Cemendur thought she turned the colour of death itself. It was in some measure of foresight for it mirrored her choice to come.
"I...do not wish to speak of it. It is not a simple matter on my part, so I would hope you do not inquire of it again," said Arwen.
Cemendur looked at her quizzically but did not allow it to worry him. He nodded and looked at his feet.
Arwen watched him for a moment, then sighed. "Forgive me, but I must go and speak with Elrond. Goodbye, my friend." Arwen moved around him and walked in the direction of Elrond's study where she hoped he would be. She also hoped Cemendur would not follow her inside. It was not that she disliked him, but he seemed to broach delicate subjects or say things that made her uncomfortable nearly every time they spoke together. He was also drawing nearer the truth each time.
Arwen endeavoured to wait patiently for Aragorn to visit the Last Homely House again, so she found other things to occupy her mind. One day she discovered something priceless harboured in Rivendell.
She strolled through the corridors of Rivendell silently in deep thought. Her mind wandered the days of old in the First Age as Elrond and Galadriel had portrayed them to her: she envisioned the dark woods of Doriath where Lúthien once danced to Daeron's music and met the mortal Beren. From that meeting came the fate of the world for so many threads were connected to their profound and immeasurable love.
Will that be our fate? Arwen questioned herself as she listened to the sweet silence that overflowed in the great halls of Imladris. Her unshod feet made no sound on the hard floor, and the trail of her silver-blue apparel rustled barely at all. She looked down where she walked, fingering the silver sash swathed around her waist. Will Estel and I even live to see the end of the Shadow? Or will Sauron live on, growing in power? These dark thoughts sent a shudder down her spine like chilled water upon her skin, and she forsook such dim things to remember her beloved and his voice that she had not heard in so long. Oh to hear him near again...
Gilraen, Aragorn's mother abiding still in Rivendell, was attempting to read a book she had found written in the flowing elven-script. She had learned some but had not read much. The sunlight was soft as it seeped through the trees and set alight the leaves into green flame. The heavens were partially shrouded in grey clouds, and the air was chill.
Suddenly Gilraen lifted her head to listen more carefully for it was not only the wind that wafted through the corridors. There was a voice like the flowing of a stream, as clear as starlight, and beautiful like a golden sunset over the Sea. She had heard many beautiful voices among the Elves while abiding in the Last Homely House, yet this one was somehow different and more piercing to the heart. It drew one's attention at once.
She rose to her feet, setting the book on an ornately carved table beside the seat. The voice had grown sweeter and stronger as well as strangely mournful. Gilraen slowly stepped forward to look out into the hallway to see the owner of the pleasing voice. A vision of glorious splendour filed her sight. An Elven maiden there walked with soft light enveloping her. She was clothed in silver-blue with a sash of silver draping over her slender form. Her skin was flawless and pale, like the shimmering surface of snow, while her shadowy hair fell upon her shoulders and back in an intricate fashion. It was her physical beauty that captured Gilraen's eyes, however, when she looked up, a great depth of knowledge and wisdom was thrown from her gaze so bright in the daylight.
The Elven-maid saw Gilraen and slowed to a halt. Her lilting song had ended only moments before.
"Greetings," she said in a melodic voice like unto her singing.
"Greetings, fair Elf," said Gilraen, realising that it might seem strange to find a mortal in the elven halls. "Forgive me for intruding...but I could not help but listen to your song. You sing of what mortals do not fully understand." She had been describing the white shores of Valinor as she sang and all the brilliance about that land. It had entranced her to hear such stunning words.
The maiden smiled. "Thank you. You are Lady Gilraen, yes?"
Gilraen nodded. "I am."
"Estel spoke highly of you, and I am honoured to finally become acquainted with you."
Estel? She knows Aragorn then. But wait...there is only one Elf-maiden I know of that Aragorn has mentioned. "Are you truly Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of the Elves?" she asked aloud.
"I am. I see that you have heard my name before as well."
"From Aragorn who has spoken very highly of you." She pursed her lips. "Very highly, my lady."
Arwen's eyes darkened as she neared the mortal woman. "Then you know of the love we share. Your son is very dear to me, and you have raised him well, Gilraen. There is no other I have seen that has such a golden heart and a pure soul. I can only imagine the fury of his sword in battle when his passion in life is so strong. As King of Gondor he would be greater than all that have come before him. I have often wondered such things for we must be parted in these dark days."
"Perhaps we should speak where none might hear," suggested Gilraen.
"Yes, I suppose we should. Many do not yet know of my decision."
"They will in time, for love cannot be concealed long. Aragorn attempted to veil his love for you here in Rivendell many years ago, yet I could see it plain in his eyes when he merely looked at me. Elrond saw it also."
Arwen's smile slipped from her stunning face. "And yet I had not seen it at first when you both had. I must have been blinded by...something."
They entered the parlour where Gilraen had been reading and sat near one another in the light of the sun. Arwen studied Gilraen's face in a brief moment. She was worn by time but not by it alone for the strain of life had aged her much in the years she had lived. Her pale eyes were dim and almost quenched of light, though her noble wisdom still glittered in their depths. Her shadowy hair was no longer darkly glistening being occupied by aging grey, yet the beauty of her youth remained somewhat in her pale face. Beside each other they seemed completely opposite.
"How long have you resided in Rivendell?" Arwen asked.
"Ever since Aragorn was brought here when he was only two years of age." She sighed. "It was so long ago now, and he is grown to full manhood and wisdom. He always seemed older than he truly was even as a child. Lord Elrond has continually admired such attributes in him." She smiled at Arwen. "He loves Aragorn as he does his own sons even if he is distant at times, but I fear this choice of yours has brought much sorrow between them."
"I know it too well," Arwen sighed. She gazed into the stirring trees outside. A chill wind breathed through the high arches, and she shuddered at the sudden cold. "He is pained to a great amount whenever he ponders it, so I often plead for him to draw his attention elsewhere. We have not spoken of it of late, and in this I am glad for it troubles me little any longer."
"It is a burden he must bear as you must also. Master Elrond is a mighty lord, yet I do not wish for him to have such a heavy load. I have seen his spirit battle the Shadow often over the years."
Arwen nodded. "As have I, Gilraen." She looked into her eyes. "Perhaps we should speak of lighter things for in these times there are needs to shed light in the shadows. My heart was darkened once before, and I refuse to let it be again."
Their conversation shifted to Gilraen's life with the Edain and with the Elves. Arwen listened intently as she drew out the tale. The woman held much beneath her veil of silence, and had taken a heavy blow when Arathorn was slain.
"I loved him dearly," she murmured. "Sometimes I wonder what life would be like with him still living. I suppose Aragorn would not be as skilled in elven things and their ways, so perhaps it was for the good of Man."
"Everything that happens has some purpose whether we realise it or not," said Arwen. "I wonder often of how my spirit would have darkened if I had not met Aragorn in the bright wood of Imladris and then in Lothlórien. My heart would have turned to the West and Aragorn...Aragorn would have forsaken love of a woman and lost his path." She drew a deep breath and unclasped her hands.
Gilraen nodded slightly. "There are many if's in life, yet we cannot dwell on them forever."
"Indeed." The Evenstar leaned forward. "Are you often here in the afternoons?"
Gilraen smiled, her eyes brightening. "Most oft of late, I am."
It was in this moment Aragorn's mother and beloved were at last acquainted and took pleasure in each other's company. Gilraen realised in the following months why her son had become so enamoured of the Evenstar only at first sight: she was a rare maiden of whose like would never walk the earth again lest it be her daughters who would be many years to come.