AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am sorry this took so long to post, but I am stalling to write the last ch. (it was going to be the next one, but I came up with more to write another ch.) because I reeaally am dreading it because it reeaally is a grievous part of this long tale and I do not wish for it to end. I must thank you all hardily once again for reading my story and being patient as I take so long :). Moi: Welcome! I am glad you found my story and that you really like it :). Thank you very much! There is no greater compliment in the world than to have someone tell you your writing reminds them of Tolkien's. Everyone enjoy ch. 33! I am sad that we are reaching the end...

Aragorn, Eldarion, and the men of Gondor who had accompanied them to Esgaroth and the lands in the Northeast returned to Minas Tirith, shining gloriously in the afternoon sun. There was a clatter of hooves upon the white marble streets as the King Elessar Telcontar and his son rode up through the city to the citadel where they were eagerly awaited.

Once they were seen passing onto the open area of the Court of the Fountain, Aragorn was assailed. He laughed as Silmarien leaped into his arms in a flurry of dark, braided hair and brilliant white garb.

Eldarion smiled to see his young sister jump without fear of her father not reaching out to catch her. He would always be there when she jumped…and she knew that just as he had when he was a child. Their father stood ready to take hold of his daughter and son whenever they stumbled in life.

Aragorn held Silmarien in his arms as he continued on to Arwen Evenstar who had released her daughter to rush to her father. She stood regal and beautiful in pale blue and silver, the colours of the Valar Manwë and Varda.

"Well met, my King," she said with a slow smile.

Silmarien looked up into his face with large grey eyes after wrapping her arms about his neck. Her glossy dark hair tickled his cheek. "I missed you father. You should not go away so long."

He grinned and kissed her pale cheek. "I know, yet some things must be done as King."

Arwen stepped forward and grasped his head in her hands to press her lips against his brow. "And I also missed you, meldanya. Come inside and take rest from your long journey." She turned to Eldarion and also kissed his brow. "And you as well, my beloved son. Let us all enter together."

Three years passed and men looked upon the King and his son as the mightiest Men that had lived in the Third Age. Even during such glorious years of peace the King of Gondor did not lie idle for he had learned many times not to forsake all care.

There was training of the young men in the art of weaponry whether it was the sword, the bow, or the spear, and many more became skilled as in the height of Gondor and Arnor at the instruction of the most skilled man among them: Elessar Telcontar. He himself had begun to teach Eldarion when he was seven years of age…not to kill but to defend and to also teach in time.

Once every month Aragorn went out into the field to watch them practice. It was that time. He had taken Eldarion with him for the past five years. They rode out to where a company of soldiers had been since the early morning honing their skills. Most were Eldarion's age or older though there were some who were younger at only seventeen years of age.

Eldarion stood at his father's side watching as his father watched, fastidious and calculating. The men did their best, yet something was missing in their steps and attacks. He could not quite think what it was, yet he saw Aragorn also seeming troubled by their way of fighting.

He was surprised when his father stepped out and drew Andúril from its sheath. There was a resonant ringing and the sword blazed like fire in the sun, forged by the Elves long ago with edges never dulling and light never quenched. His hand was wrapped around the hilt in a way that seemed the blade was fashioned for him alone…the King of the West.

Some grew nervous in the presence of the King wielding the renowned sword. There was a shifting of feet and a few exchanged anxious glances. What was he doing?

"One of you attack me," said Aragorn. He laughed softly when no one even breathed. "Do not fear. I must see something."

There was a man four years older than Eldarion who stepped forward at last quickly making sure his stance was perfect before assailing Aragorn who watched calmly and quietly. Eldarion knew such a position would have frightened an enemy. There was no knowing when he would strike, how quickly, or how fiercely.

Clouds churned and spewed out wispy arms to veil the sun. The man sprung forward to attack his beckoning King. Aragorn simply blocked the blow with an almost casual air and nodded to himself. The younger man was surprised by how easily he brushed aside his sword and tried again, this time with renewed vigour.

Eldarion had never ceased to be amazed at his father's skill for the blade flowed as easily as though he had been birthed with the cold weapon in his grasp. None would ever master him in the days to come in Middle-earth for he had been taught by the Elves until he could surpass even many of them. Eldarion had learned well, yet he did not believe he could ever wield a sword so smooth as well as be so swift. He could hardly follow Andúril now as the test grew more intense.

Suddenly Aragorn stopped the man's attacks with a forceful block and a great clash of steel. "Good," he said. He looked out to all who were watching. "There is something lacking in your combat that I now understand and recognise."

He motioned to Eldarion to join him in the small opening the men had created for the fighting. He did with a wary gaze upon his father; sometimes he could not guess what the man was thinking or planning to do even after all these years. Only Arwen could do that.

"Draw your sword," said Aragorn.

Eldarion did and a quick look passed between them. Eldarion attacked with a swiftness he had not known before, and Aragorn now had to keep his ground with more alacrity and concentration. It was a dance of swords and feet that the others observed with awe and veneration. The world around them began to fade away as they focused chiefly on the movements of their blades, both realising at the same moment that Eldarion had grown in the past few years nearer his father's incredible ability. A faint smile appeared on King Elessar's face even amidst the struggle as he saw his son's admirable skill.

It was when both were breathing heavily and neither advancing any further that they stopped. There was a deafening silence among all who were present. There had never been witnessed such swordplay since the Second Age when Elendil and Gil-galad fought tirelessly with the Dark Lord.

"That is what is missing," said Aragorn sheathing Andúril. Its shimmering light faded and the sun peered over the clouds at last that could no longer conceal its golden beams from reaching out to touch the earth. "You fight as though you always bear about the knowledge that you never will be in true battle with Orcs or wicked Men in these days of peace; and so you only put a part of yourselves into what you are doing. All men these days believe there is no longer any threat in Middle-earth, yet I know there is still evil that lingers here. There always will be here if not in the Undying Lands. It is Men we look to now in apprehension for a seed was planted in their hearts long ago by Morgoth of the Shadow and we do not stand together against him or Sauron the Dark Lord in this Age. Who knows if our peace with the Men in the Eastern lands will hold or with the Wild Men near Rohan…Even many of the Umbarians are holding a festering rancour in their hearts against me, the King of Gondor, for I have defeated them and they are shamed still by it though many years have passed. There is no reason to lie idle in this peace or to suppose we will not need to defend ourselves or anyone ever again."

Arwen watched Aragorn from the corner of her eye. They were riding through a small wood near Minas Tirith and the Sea to enjoy the fresh, dancing breeze that played upon the leaves and the grass, singing of the spring that was fast approaching. Flowers were readying to push their blossoming heads through the earth to feel the sun at last, and leaves grew lush and abundant on the boughs of the trees of the forests.

Arwen had been studying him closely of late for something, she felt, had changed—or was changing—of which she could not place no matter how hard she tried. She had even inquired as to his health and spirit, yet he felt nothing was amiss. Even Eldarion had not noticed anything different or odd. Only Arwen Undómiel knew Aragorn Elessar like she knew her own heart and soul, for they were of one spirit.

They had gone out alone together for more than to just enjoy the Sea-drifting wind that brought them all hope of a coming transformation in the land. Eldarion had grown into a man of great stature, proud bearing, increasing wisdom, ceaseless love, and royal knowledge. All praised his name and spoke to a great extent of the young man who had changed before their very eyes. He had put away childish things long years ago and now had even fallen in love.

There were none that recognised her better than Aragorn and Arwen. At once both had seen Eldarion one day and knew that a young maiden had captured his eye…and perhaps his heart like a fish in a net. Aragorn had spoken alone to Arwen that evening and told her of a woman of gold hair and emerald eyes who had sat in their presence at the Midsummer's feast. Eldarion had been entranced by her flawless, shining beauty for the entire night of celebrating and had even accompanied her to her home afterwards. The girl was not only beautiful but of a kind heart and noble blood for she was of pure Westernesse that was so very rare in the beginnings of the Fourth Age. She was Vanimeldë daughter of Pelendur of Dol Amroth who was of close kin to Imrahil, the man who had ridden at Aragorn's side at the Pelennor Fields so long ago. Eldarion did not know then of whose blood ran in her veins.

The two had grown close over the past months and love blossomed like a flower after the spring rains between them; although, neither had openly admitted to the burning passion in their hearts. The young women of Gondor would weep to see the tenderness that flourished so brightly there in Eldarion and Vanimeldë either when they were together or apart.

Aragorn led Arwen into a glade where the sun shone and the wind stirred gently. He dismounted and helped her to the ground beside him. The horses began to nibble on the thick grass while their masters lounged together in the same a short distance away.

Aragorn soothingly and absentmindedly stroked Arwen's outstretched arm where she lay on her side in the grass and he sat thinking. "He will soon inquire of her hand in union, I am sure. They can no longer stay away from one another for even a day or two." He smiled.

Arwen also smiled and looked up into his face. "That long journey you two both took almost tore his heart and hers for such length seems an eternity for love."

They gazed at one another, drinking in the sight of faces committed to memory with soft caresses of the mind from so many years ago. So many memories drifted to the surface at the sight of each other that they had not recalled for generations.

"It has been so long," murmured Aragorn, grasping her hand to kiss it tenderly. "Love has shaped our lives and our fates. There are few who know her so well as we."

Arwen leaned forward to press her lips against his and smiled. "She shall always be with us. I am happy for our son. Young Vanimeldë is a wonderful woman…and she will grow greater with years and Eldarion at her side. She will be a perfect Queen to aid him in ruling this kingdom, and I would gladly lay that responsibility at her feet. We have spoken oft of late."

Vanimeldë had been present at the birth of their youngest daughter and had shared in the resplendent joy that spilled over that blessed dawn. She also had served as one of the Queen's maidservants before Eldarion had even taken her into his arms.

The King and Queen of Gondor lounged there in the grass together for a time longer, listening to the singing wind and the whispering of the trees as the Elves once did in their ages of this world. Arwen always recalled her lost kin when she heard the melodious language of the trees and of all the forest around her.

There was a thumping of hooves upon the ground, and Aragorn and Arwen both stood to receive the rider who came swiftly down the path they had taken into the wood. Neither had told anyone of their day's trek into the forest, not even Eldarion, so they waited patiently to see who it might be.

A tall, broad-shouldered man leaped from his horse and moved at once into the glade. Eldarion's dark hair stirred away from his face as he greeted his mother and father. Arwen touched his arm when she saw the urgent glaze in his grey eyes.

"Mother, father, I must beg you to return with me to Minas Tirith! She has fallen ill!"

"Who has fallen ill, Eldarion?" asked his mother. She grasped his hand. "It is Vanimeldë, is it not?"

"It is indeed, and you must accompany me back at once for we cannot allow her to be so near death any longer. I have never seen the like in all my years." His face was drawn and apprehensive as he turned to Aragorn. "I fear for her, father. Please hurry."

Aragorn had rarely shown worry, yet he now mirrored his son's deep concern in his eyes. "Of course. Let us go as quickly as we are able." He offered a hand to his beloved and they three rode upon their horses like the wind that now rushed over the land alongside them…for it too feared for the health of the fair, golden-haired maiden of Dol Amroth.