Epilogue
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They lingered in the small glade, protected by the stately oak, for as long as they could before the risk of pursuit and discovery turned too great. Then they moved out, steadily north until they came to Cair Andros where they crossed the river. Like shadows they passed through fair Anorien and across the many streams of the Mouths of the Entwash.
Nobody marked their passing through the East Emnet and the Wold, which were bright and green as spring turned to summer. And their spirits rose with every day of their long journey that took them further from the dark memories of Minas Morgul. There had been no sign of pursuit and if anything the shadow of Mordor seemed to lie less heavily on the lands, as if Sauron's mind was preoccupied with the Morgul Vale and his gaze no longer went farther afield, looking only to reordering his own affairs.
Aragorn felt a newfound sense of freedom as he traveled across these lands, through the North of Gondor and the expanse of Rohan where he had served so many of his recent years as Thorongil. He did not begrudge the end of his tenure in Gondor any longer, but rather accepted that it had been time to move on. More than anything he now craved the rest that Lothlorien and Rivendell would offer.
In the evenings when he and his brothers enjoyed the spoils of a successful hunt they discussed other travels, other places of the world. There were so many other places in the world yet left to explore. He had set out to learn the hearts of men, and he had done so - in the West of Middle Earth. But the East and South he now knew had given their allegiance to Sauron and he wanted to know why.
But in all their talks he and his brothers were never in a haste to start those journeys. A shadow still lay upon the twins - he could tell it from the way Elrohir looked to the stars and the melancholy in Elladan's voice as he sang to Elbereth. It was noticeable, even if by day they riled each other with friendly banter and raced their horses against his Rohirrim stallion.
For his own part the road ahead seemed unusually clear, bright even. Despite the fact that he felt a youthful apprehension when he thought of reaching Lothlorien, of finally seeing Arwen again. It had been too long since they had last met and he was reminded of how young he had been then. His love and devotion had never wavered - and never would - but he could not help the way in which the mere thought of Arwen took his breath away and derailed his thoughts, leaving him occasionally lost in a daydream of future joy - and very much at the mercy of his brothers' teasing.
On the evening of their twentieth day since leaving the lands of Ithilien, the golden roof of Lothlorien came into view. Even from a distance it was radiant in its beauty. Silver stems like smooth straight beams, supporting a canopy of golden flowers, brilliant in the orange fire of the setting sun. They set up camp one last time on the open plains that night and arrived at the forest edge during the morning of the next day.
They were already expected. A tall, blonde elf, robed in grey but with shimmering mail beneath awaited them at the treeline. When Aragorn and his brothers dismounted he bowed low to the twins. "My lords. Your Lady grandmother is expecting you," Aragorn thought he saw something flitter over the face of the elf, something like amusement perhaps, "- tonight at dinner. She has things that she wishes to discuss." The way he worded the invitation, harmless though it seemed at face value, and the sparkle in his eyes seemed to hint at long acquaintance. Aragorn suddenly realized he had never asked his brothers for an account of their visits to the Golden Wood and now wondered what infamy they might have gained here.
The reaction of his brothers certainly explained the elf's entertainment. For a moment, they looked ready to jump back into their saddles and make straight for Rivendell, foregoing the planned rest in Lothlorien. Ultimately though they both bowed their heads in acknowledgement and Elladan stepped forwards, clasping the elf's arm. "Rumil," he greeted solemnly. "It is good to reach Lothlorien and to see you, though you bring such grim tidings to weary travelers looking for naught but to rest beneath the golden bows of your fair forest."
Elrohir snorted in amusement, but Elladan was undeterred. Indicating Aragorn he continued: "We bring with us-"
"Aragorn of the Dunedain, yes," Rumil interrupted and, to Aragorn's surprise and slight mortification the elf bowed to him as well. His voice carried much more formality than it had when speaking to Elladan and Elrohir when he continued: "Lady Galadriel bids you welcome, ranger. All sons of Elrond shall be honored guests in Lothlorien, be they bound by blood, or by choice."
Trying to hide his surprise and bewilderment, Aragorn sketched a quick bow and replied: "Thank you, Rumil, and my thanks to the Lady of the Golden Wood for her hospitality."
When he looked up again he saw the earlier amusement return to Rumil's face but there was a glimmer of something else, a sense of wonder as if though he had spoken the words of his lady, he was still puzzling out their meaning, still weighing Aragorn against the implications of the welcome. "I am sure you may thank her in person once we reach Caras Galadhon, though you have been spared an invitation to the reckoning that awaits your brothers."
His laughter was like the sound of silver bells as he turned and led them through the slim silver trees, ever deeper into the forest. The ground was soft with the golden leaves of yesteryear, fallen during the spring and replaced in the branches by fragrant golden flowers. Aragorn looked up, unabashedly enjoying the wholesome air, the rejuvenating smell and the golden rays of the sun, tinted by its passage through the canopy of flowers above.
If nothing else, his unconcealed amazement seemed to delight their guide, and Rumil's voice rose in song, singing of the beauty of the mellyrn of Lòrien in the changing seasons of Middle Earth.
Their weary feet were not hurrying and they walked for hours until at last they reached the living wall around Caras Galadhon, an imposing ring of trees, grown together and deeply intertwined, shielding the city within and yet blending into the forest in a beautiful array of light green leaves and golden flowers. The large gate, pointing south, stood open to accept them and Rumil led them through the gates, between the closely clustered trees and to a low hanging talan not far from what had to be the 'palace' of Lady Galadriel. If palace it could be called: It was a majestic tree, much larger than any he had ever seen, with a long ladder that led up and around it, hugging the massive trunk and gliding up through talan upon talan until it was lost in the lofty heights of the tree's canopy. Aragorn's eyes lingered on the branches high up in the tree, pondering who might wait up there, feeling suddenly dwarfed by the magnificence of this realm. It was so elven - even when compared to Rivendell, which for all its secrecy was still open to the world, to elves and dwarves and men that passed through or sought refuge.
Lothlorien, he realized, was nothing like his home.
Rumil left them in the talan with a good natured wave and a comment about the twins' impending doom and Aragorn could hold back his curiosity no longer. "Rumil?", he asked.
"An old friend," Elladan supplied and Elrohir elaborated further. "He is of our age and we often played together during our early visits to Lothlorien - I am afraid we rather often got him into trouble with his older brother."
"In return he has always enjoyed seeing us get into trouble with our grandmother - apparently he still does," Elladan picked up the explanation again.
Something of Aragorn's surprise at the mention of 'trouble' must have shown on his face, for Elrohir was quick to reassure him, with a laugh. "Do not worry for us Estel, nothing worse than our grandmother's questing gaze awaits us." He gestured at the table in the center of their small talan, laden with fine clothes of spun silk and woven wool as soft as down: "Perhaps you should worry more about your company this evening, and about what you are going to wear."
And as he looked Aragorn realized that there were three sets of clothes. All fit for kings or elven lords, in shades of white and silver and with cloaks of elven gray - identical to the ones that Elladan and Elrohir had always worn, had always said came from the land of their grandmother. For some reason Aragorn felt humbled at the thought that he had been presented with a 'magic' cloak of his own.
They refreshed themselves with the clear, cold water that was provided, clearing off the grime and dust of their long journey, and changed in silence. When he was finished, Aragorn found that he was strangely nervous and though the garments the Lady had set out for him fit as if they had been tailormade they felt wrong somehow, as if he were merely bothering a costume, engaging in a game of make-belief rather than showing his true self.
"There is something missing," Elrohir's quiet voice interrupted his silent thoughts and Aragorn almost startled, "Here," his brother continued, removing the bright stone that had given Aragorn his name in Rohan and Gondor from his travel clothes, the mark of a son of Elrond. With practiced ease, Elrohir removed it from its brooch confinement and bound it into a small circlet, seemingly all with the few things that the lady Galadriel had provided for them. Was this another sign of her famous foresight?
Elrohir bound the stone to his forehead, and it seemed to shine with an inner light as it settled, as if it captured the radiance of the mallorn blossoms in its fractured depths. When Aragorn looked up again there was something vast in his brother's eyes, pride perhaps, mingled with hope - and the love of his family that Aragorn had promised himself he would never doubt again. When he turned he found something similar reflected in Elladan's gaze as well. It humbled him.
"The look suits you, brother," his oldest brother was saying and when Aragorn looked at his reflection once more he found that he spoke true. No longer did he feel like an imposter, but like a captain of worthy men, like a son of Elrond, like a future king come to ask for the favour of his lady.
"Let us go," Elladan said, interrupting the thought and making him move before hesitancy or doubt could catch up to him once more.
When they reached the bottom of the wide staircase that led up around the vast trunk of a mallorn to heights unknown, winding between talons and branches and disappearing into the lofty heights above, the lady Galadriel and lord Celeborn were waiting for them. His brothers bowed before their grandparents and he copied their move, though he was suddenly quite uncertain of what to do with himself. If Rumil's words proved true, then his brothers were expected but he was not. Yet he need not have wondered, even as he lifted his eyes he met Galadriel's keen gaze. Eyes as blue as the ocean, stormy as an overcast sky, a gateway to depths beyond reckoning, held his own - and even as he was captivated by her, he thought he saw a smile light up her face and a sound as of clear laughter, of a mountain stream in spring time came into his mind and as if from far away and yet close, right across from him, he thought he perceived her voice. "Welcome, Aragorn," it said though Galadriel's lips did not move, "there is someone here who has long waited for word from you."
Her gaze was keen and suddenly he realized that he was being tested, that his thoughts were laid bare and examined, yet before he could even think to shield them, to arrange them into something favourable, the sensation passed. And Galadriel smiled, free and genuine and Aragorn felt as if he had passed the test, though he had not understood the rules of it.
Again her voice came to him: "Turn around," it whispered. And Aragorn did.
And there, under the silver boughs of Lothlorien, after years of hardship and toil had kept them apart he beheld again that which was most beautiful in all of Arda: Arwen. More beautiful than the stars of Elbereth that shone from her eyes; Her smile was as radiant as the sun as she beheld him and she seemed to breathe his name as she came running, barefoot across the grass, light as a bird and free as the wind. He opened his arms for her and she fell into them gladly, fitting against the curve of his body like a piece of a puzzle that had too long been missing. And when he looked into her eyes all his doubts, all his fears seemed ridiculous in the face of the love she held for him. There could be no doubt, Elrohir had been right, she had chosen him.
As if the thought of his brother reminded him of their audience he turned around. Galadriel was embracing her grandsons but over their shoulder her eyes met his and there was still a smile on her lips, though it seemed sadder now, burdened with an unknown grief that marred her joy. "Go," she seemed to say, "Enjoy your happiness."
And whether he imagined the words, or Arwen heard them as well, she took his hand and turned away, leading him from the square and then the city to walk upon the grasses and paths of Lothlorien, beneath the silver mallorn boughs. Her hand was warm in his, and her touch melted the frozen corners of his soul that the Nazgûl had touched. It was probably just as well that he had never finished that letter to her, for how could words ever capture this moment? This feeling of being by her side? This perfection cast into a day, a week, a season by her side?
There was no doubt, or hesitation in her eyes, just pure, fierce love. She would not bow to the whims of the world, would not bow to the enemy that threatened them all and neither would he. For her, he would reunite the kingdoms of old, would walk to the Black Gate and face the entire host of Mordor; he would cleanse Middle Earth of the Evil of Sauron and the days of their marriage would be blessed.
As they walked up the slopes of fair Cerin Amroth, her delicate fingers were soft in his calloused hands. So fine and yet holding a strength past the reckoning of men. He held her firmer and her long fingers brushed against the ring on his finger, the Ring of Barahir, a symbol of his heritage, a symbol of his destiny. And there could be only one destiny for him - her.
He took the ring from his fingers and among the niphredil and elanor, a sea of silver and golden flowers upon Cerin Amroth, he knelt before her. And he did not even need to hear the word leave her mouth for her eyes spoke the answer more clearly than any poet could ever hope to capture. 'Yes.'
The End
"[...] He came to the borders of Lórien and was admitted to the hidden land by the Lady Galadriel."
"Galadriel bade him cast aside his wayworn raiment and clothed him in silver and white with a cloak of elven grey and a bright gem on his brow. Then more than any king of men he appeared [...] and thus Arwen beheld him for the first time after their long parting and as he came walking towards her under the trees of Caras Galadhon laden with flowers of gold, her choice was made and her doom appointed.
Then for a season they wandered together in the glades of Lothlórien, until it was time for him to depart. And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn, Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad."
The Return of the King, LoTR Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers: The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen
A/N: And there you have it. It is done! I can't believe that we have come to this - the ending of the story and of the trilogy. My most ambitious project to date and certainly the one I have spent the most time writing/revising and planning. I set out to write a story about Aragorn's raid on Umbar and ended up with a plot that included only a hint of corsairs - prompting the rest of the trilogy. And, well, so 'much' happens in this one year that you have to wonder how Aragorn did it all - so much food for thought and plot bunnies. This has been an absolute joy to write and to post and it has been made so so much better by every one of you that has left a note, a like or follow. Feedback is the energy that keeps me writing. Thank you!
And if you would care for some future reading, I have a shorter story in the works right now, and - thanks to the innocent inquiry by MistressOfImladris on whether or not I plan a story about the siege of Rivendell - another trilogy in the planning stages (my future NaNo Camps will be busy) - so stay tuned for that, I guess. ANd in the meantime I would love to know what you thought about this story, this trilogy, this epilogue - whichever. Reviews are Life! :D