Daughters
Arwen glanced down at her four little daughters with a maternal gaze. Mirien, the eldest. Gwenneth, the second. Lalaith, the next. And the light-haired youngest, Laurel. They were on the pristine floors of the Citadel, each squabbling over the other's toys. They were each growing so fast, in her eyes. She kept sending away their dresses to be altered. Happiness filled her. She felt so complete. Long had she dreamed of this life with Estel. Her smile broadened as she laid a gentle hand on her belly. He would be very pleased to hear another daughter is on the way.