Penultimate Chapter! Sorry about the long delay. Writer's block, I swear.
I don't own any of this except for Linwe. Enjoy!
-The Author
The air was foggy as the morning dew evaporated. The ground beneath, usually crunchy from last year's leaves, barely made a sound beneath their feet. A bird chirped loudly nearby, a bizarre cross between a bell and a song. Figwit glanced behind, at his fair cousin, riding the white horse. Her face was pointed; she watched the ground, as most did, but it was clear she wasn't looking for root and rocks that obtruded her path.
"Take her by the safest road," Lord Elrond had said. "A ship lies anchored for the Grey Havens. It waits to carry her across the sea.
"The last journey of Arwen Undomiel."
Why did his uncle's instructions keep echoing in his mind? Why should Arwen look so forlorn, so sad, this close to home? She was not some foolish girl to lose her head over some Man. There were scores of men around her, although they were silent, unlike most men, who would be loud and chatty on a long journey.
Not a little like Linwe.
Figwit sighed. She was a regret, too. Perhaps she was regretting her decision now. Perhaps she was following them here. Maybe they could wait a while, a few hours, before leaving, so she could catch up.
That was ridiculous. Linwe had, for some reason, found more ties in Middle-Earth than at home. She liked to cause disturbance and ruin peace, not dwell and maintain it like so many others did.
He gazed out at the scenery around him. There weren't any flowers or fruits about, but this point in the journey remind Figwit of the Undying Lands. All the peace and quiet – perhaps too quiet – he wondered if someone would start singing again. He glanced about, but everyone had a look of mediation on their faces.
Maybe he ought to start it. Surely it couldn't be that hard.
He cleared his throat. Nearby, Finrod glared at him. Figwit began humming – start high, two octaves down, a half step up, hold it – skip one and a half octaves up – another one – half step down – one full octave-
"Excuse me," said Finrod, "But you're disturbing my premeditative state of nirvana."
Figwit stared at him until he went away.
It occurred to him that he didn't usually enjoy humming, or making any sort of music at all, nor did he enjoy being noticed. He certainly hadn't been the type to stare a man down – maybe he could stare Linwe down, but Linwe couldn't be stared at for more than fourteen seconds without bursting into giggles and trying to grab him. In fact, it was kind of cute, that look she would get sometimes, angry but laughing inside. He didn't know any other elf maid who got a look like that.
Why was she such a fool about love?
He turned his head to look at Arwen again.
Why were her eyes so sad?
Wasn't she going to the Place of Peace, to a life where there would be, well, Life? The destiny of all Men was to die. If she loved him so, wouldn't she miss him when anyway? Would her heart be broken just as much if he died – left her? He thought of all of the images of the future Lord Elrond had given him – the coronation of Lord Elrond, his son, his death, his funeral…
His son?
He remembered the image again. The dark-haired child, running to his father – being picked up – Figwit could nearly hear the child's giggles – and Lord Aragorn kissed the boy on the cheek, in fatherly love…Arwen's Evenstar hung from the boy's neck…
How could anyone be denied their child?
Was this the Aragorn that Arwen loved? Not the mortal, worried warrior, but the kindly, wisened husband?
Could this be True, Unbroken Love?
What was True, Unbroken Love?
What was Love, of any sort? It was tossed around so often – I love that dress, I love that book – how could anyone define what Love was? How in the world would someone as outwardly foolish as Linwe understand any of it, when she was too busy prattling on to think?
He looked back at Lady Arwen, paler than usual. He sent her the image – the child ran through the forest. She lifted her eyes, following the boy as if he were really there. She stopped her horse. Before her eyes, he knew, the forest became like a stone castle, and the boy ran to his father, who swung him around and kissed his cheek…the boy stared back, as if into eternity.
Figwit dared to look at her. Her eyes were wet.
Linwe was not the only one who desired to go to Gondor.
"My Lady," he said. Arwen jumped, looked at him. "We cannot delay," he said.
She flicked the reins of the horse and turned it around, riding off down the path.
"My Lady?" he called.
He smiled.
He tried to imagine the future, when Arwen showed up at Minas Tirith. It will be fun, he thought.