Chapter Forty

~ Haldir~
I was more confused than I had ever been in my entire lifetime. There stood Tinúviel, who had said she was Elessar's daughter and also Eldarion's sister – and yet I knew for certain that Eldarion was not Elessar's son . . . wasn't he? Because then Estel would be Elessar's daughter, and I knew too that Elessar and Arwen Undómiel were not yet even married, much less parents of not one but three children. Besides, Eldarion and Tinúviel had called the other woman "Mother" and I knew that Elessar still bore the pendant – and love – of the Evenstar.

After a long moment, the woman stirred. "~Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien,~" she said in a calm voice, startling me with her ability to speak our tongue so fluently. "~I understand your confusion. When my children speak of Lord Elessar, their father, they do not speak of the Elessar you know – the one we also know as Aragorn.~"

However, if anything, that only confused me more.

"~How is that possible? There is no other Lord Elessar,~" I protested.

The woman sighed. "~I see that you do not yet know the truth,~" she said sadly. "~But I think now is the time to rectify that. Estel, please close the door.~"

When the door was shut and locked securely, and everyone had taken a seat, and I was positioned comfortably enough to listen for what was going to be a long story, the woman began.

"~My name is Kiria, and I am a Lady of Rohan; more importantly, a descendant of the royal line of Rohan. I see your confusion in that, for I look like all of my people – more Elvish than mortal. It all goes back to . . . ~"

We could have been there for days, and I would not have noticed. I was so fascinated and repulsed and amazed by her story that I could have sat still for winter after winter and never notice the passage of time or the needs of my body.

Finally, at the conclusion of her tale, I understood everything.

I sighed. "~My apologies, then, for my outburst,~" I tried to tell her.

Lady Kiria waved her hand. "~Do not; you had no idea of the truth and were understandably confused, as all others have been.~"

I eyed Legolas and Aragorn. "~You know?~"

Aragorn met my eyes squarely as Legolas nodded once. "~Yes, but the both of us were sworn to secrecy by Lord Elrond,~" Aragorn said. "~He did not want harm to befall any of them because of who they were.~"

"~I understand. And I swear to keep this silent, lest I am given permission or I speak among you once more,~" I vowed.

I could see how everyone relaxed when I said my vow. But I meant it. I would not harm to befall any of them either – Eldarion, who had become my brother in the long days of us being wardens together; Estel, who had amused me and now seemed to be my little sister; and now Tinúviel, who had enchanted me by means that were far from mortal.

I directed my words to her next. "~I apologize to you as well, my lady; I knew not of what I spoke when I spoke,~" I said.

Tinúviel smiled affectionately. "~It is all right; others have made the same mistake as you.~"

Eldarion eyed me. "~Why, what did you do?~" he asked curiously.

I shifted slightly, and did not reply. So Eldarion looked to his sister, one eyebrow raised in a silent question that she understood – and answered.

"~He thought I was Lúthien Tinúviel,~" she said simply.

Estel laughed merrily from where she sat next to Legolas. "~And I suppose you thought you were Beren Barahirion?~" she teased.

I flushed furiously and did not answer.

"~Ah, tease him not,~" Legolas chided gently, standing. "~Let him rest. He deserves it.~"

"~And needs it,~" Aragorn put in.

But as they all filed out, I found myself a tad too excited to sleep. So. Tinúviel was not Arwen Undómiel or Lúthien Tinúviel – but in my mind, she was a great deal more than both of them. Her bloodline, after all, was a great deal more diverse, gifting her with the blood of Kings of both Men and Elves. And on top of that, she was far more beautiful and more interesting.

Then I reprimanded myself for that thought. That thought was the kind of a love-struck fool, which I would never be.

~ Estel ~
I found it highly amusing that Haldir had, for once, acted like a normal person and had mistaken my sister for Lúthien Tinúviel (as many others had before him).

But then again, it wasn't so surprising. After all, my sister had taken after her namesake just as much as Eldarion had taken after his. She was as much the epitome of the Elven beauty of the Elder Days as he was the embodiment of the Men of the Houses of the Edain of the same Elder Days.

That set me wondering – who did I represent? I wasn't the beauty my sister was or the warrior my brother was. I was something . . . else.

Later that night, I went in search of my mother. The question burned in me like nothing else ever had, and I didn't want to ask anyone else. Even my newfound closeness with Legolas wasn't enough to warrant me asking him something so . . . personal.

My mother listened calmly while I spoke, and then nodded once.

"I see. . . Estel, child, you know what your name means?"

It was more a statement than a question; I was almost as fluent in Elvish as she was, and I knew the meaning of my name as well as I knew the origins of it.

"It means 'hope'," my mother answered anyways. "Your brother – Eldarion – he is the scion of the Edain. He is more a Man than anything else, despite the fact that he bears an Elven name, speaks Elvish, and has Elvish blood. He represents the good in mortals, the good that we have seen since the Elder Days – and that has grown faint in these troubled times. He restores faith that Men still are capable of doing the right thing, of setting the score right, of bringing about balance as the Eldar leave our shores and the Dominion of Men settles in.

"And your sister – Tinúviel – her name means 'nightingale'. You know just as well as I do that Arwen Undómiel was the Evenstar of the Elves. Well, she is our Evenstar, perhaps the last of those with human blood to carry the beauty of the immortals. She represents our past, the past we are beginning to lose our hold on. And as long as her voice reminds of us what we have lost, we remember who we are and what we are – we remember our heritage, good and ill, because of our nightingale."

"Then what I am? Just another child?"

My mother laughed. "Oh, my child, did you fail to understand?" She grew quiet before taking my hands in hers and gazing solemnly into my eyes.

"Estel," she murmured. "Hope. Your brother represents the hope of the future; your sister, the memory of the past. But you, Estel – you are neither. You are the present, the truth that this time of all times our races have lived in harmony and peace and love, and are now coming together to fight for one last time side by side, as friends."

Then I found that I couldn't speak. Emotion choked me, and for the first time in many years, I clung to my mother like a child scared by a thunderstorm and wouldn't let go.

And she – she just hugged me like any mother would.

The only difference?

She didn't let go either.

~ Tinúviel ~
I stopped, startled, and for a moment I thought was I having a weirdest dream I ever had had.

A cloaked and hooded person, shadowed in darkness, stood on the ramparts, head uplifted and eyes to the stars. He was tall, taller than anyone I'd ever met, including my own brother. He was fully dressed and armored, but surprisingly he had no weapons on his person – no sword, no dagger, not even a bow and quiver.

And for a moment he scared the brains out of me.

But then he turned, and his hood fell back, and my fear left me.

"~Haldir,~" I greeted cautiously.

"~Tinúviel,~" he said gravely.

I took a cautious step closer, surprised at why he of all people was up this late when he should be resting. "~Are you all right? Can you not sleep?~"

He shook his head. "~I am an Elf, remember? We are the children of the stars.~"

I crossed my arms. "~Perhaps. But you are also children who can sleep, and you must if you plan to heal and recover. Unless you wish the leave Middle-earth to join the Halls of Mandos rather than Valinor.~"

He ignored my words, turning back to the stars. "~Look. Eärendil rises, the Simaril shining on Vingilot.~" He even gestured, and sure enough a brilliant star – brighter than all the rest, bright enough to put even the moon himself to shame – travelled across the inky backdrop of the heavens.

I moved to stand by his side. "~I know the story,~" I said quietly.

"~You should,~" he said approvingly. "~Especially if you are one of his descendents. Which is more than many of the Dúnedain can say.~"

"~You cannot blame them,~" I countered. "~The Dúnedain have faced many hardships. They have not the time to tell stories around a campfire in luxury when they ought to be training for war.~"

Haldir turned to me, his blue eyes sharp. "~I do not blame them. I merely point out their flaws.~"

"~Well, unless you have a plan to fix those flaws, any comments will be considered criticism,~" I said tartly. After all, I was descended from the Dúnedain as well as Eärendil; it was only right that I defend them.

I wasn't too surprised, though. The Elves of Lothlórien thought little of the Dúnedain; they still remembered what had befallen them when Isildur had betrayed them and allowed the One Ring to live instead of casting it into the fire of Mount Doom. To them, the Dúnedain were simply Men with Elvish blood that as the years passed waned ever more – and they were right, in some ways. The Dúnedain were getting fewer and fewer, and their life span – once one that spanned nearly five centuries – was dwindling.

Haldir was silent for a long moment. Then, he said quietly, "~I mean you no offense, my lady. I know of your ties and your love for the Dúnedain.~"

"~Yes, you do,~" I agreed. "~But do you respect it?~"

I let him stew on that for a moment.

"~Good night, my lord,~" I said, turning away and dropping my arms. I had better things to do than try to right old wrongs in the minds of even older Elves. We'll prove them wrong. Assuming they're still here to see it.

Suddenly a vice-like grip appeared on my upper arm, yanking me around.

I stumbled in surprise when I turned to see Haldir's wide eyes. He raised a shaking hand – but he stopped it, quivering, inches before my neck.

"~You bear the Evenstar,~" he said. His voice was remarkably calm.

I pulled my arm away. "~Yes. As my brother bears the Ring of Barahir and my sister bears the Elessar, the Evenstar is my responsibility.~"

Haldir closed his eyes and sighed, a long sigh of a last wish and a final death. Slowly, he composed his expression and straightened. It was like by sighing, he had released something inside of him, some emotion that had plagued him for a long time and that he was only just now getting rid of – or, perhaps, just learning to live with.

When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and gentle.

"~I think,~" he said slowly, "~that you are a great deal more than you seem. And I am honored by your acquaintance, my lady. Because it seems that I have forgotten that the race of Men are also Children of Ilúvatar.~"

He offered his arm, which I took. It a gentlemanly gesture, and I was grateful for his return to formality.

But when we touched, it was like an electric shock. Not a bad one, though; as it spread through my body, I got the strange sense of . . . connection, of familiarity, of being . . . home. To my surprise, I felt suddenly closer to this Elf who had been born, had lived, and had died thousands of generations before my time than I had felt even to Círdan and my own family. There was just something about him – something undeniably right about him.

Now, more than ever, I got the feeling that my destiny was greater than I had thought. Haldir's too. For they had saved my life, and spared his.

If the Valar didn't have a hand in our destiny before, they most certainly do now.