Chapter Seventy

~ Kiria ~
The whole of Minas Tirith was in an uproar about preparing for the coronation of Aragorn – who, in just a few hours, would become Elessar Telcontar, the first King of Gondor and Arnor of the Reunited Kingdom. Guests of all positions were arriving to pay homage and witness this miracle of the beginning of the Fourth Age, the age of peace, of prosperity, of unity . . . and of passing. For even as Men poured into Gondor and thence to Minas Tirith, one by one Elves were quietly passing into the Grey Havens and into the ships yonder.

The end of the Third Age was the end of their Age, for now was the beginning of the Dominion of Men, the Fourth Age of Middle-earth. Only a few Elves still remained even now, and almost all would go to the Grey Havens by the end of the year.

I had removed myself from these preparations. I could feel the sorrow at the end of my kin beating in my heart – my entire family did. But that sorrow was far outweighed by the joy and fear that had risen up inside of me . . . now that my husband had been returned to me.

He was barely a shadow of the Man I remembered, but at least he was alive.

Aragorn had delivered him to me personally when they had returned from Mordor, after assuring me that all three of my children were alive and giving me quite a scare. Our blood was the same, but it was clear to me that his Elven upbringing gave me the advantage of stealth and silence.

I brushed my fingers along my husband's forehead. He was thin, and there was not a patch of skin that wasn't bandaged or bruised or had a poultice of athelas on it. Thankfully, though, there were no life-threatening injuries and no

But he was alive.

Even now, I could feel his breath against my hand, reassuring me.

"Elessar," I murmured, feeling the joy at being able to say his name again. "Oh, Elessar. . . What have you been through?"

"~My lady Kiria,~" a sudden, formal, musical voice said.

I jumped, startled, and retracted my hand from my husband's forehead. That was not Legolas's voice, nor any of my children, nor Aragorn – but who else spoke Elvish here?

Three Elves stood in the doorway, tall, majestic, ethereal. Dark brown hair graced their heads, and grey eyes their faces. They were almost triplets in appearance, save for their clothes and for that one bore a silver circlet around his brow. He seemed . . . older and wiser, perhaps, in some way I could not say. But power radiated from him in ways it did not for the others.

I dropped a quick curtsy. Elves would not mean me harm. . .

"~Well met,~" I said. "~But I fear you have the advantage, for I know who you are.~"

One of the younger Elves grinned almost mischievously. "~Do you not? Can you not guess as to our origin?~"

I started to shake my head.

"~Enough,~" the oldest Elf commanded suddenly. His voice reflected the aura of power and the wisdom, but in there was a hint of . . . familiarity? No, impossible. . . "~Tease her not; she has enough troubles as it is.~"

"~Yes, Father,~" the two Elves said at once. They grinned once at each other and bowed to me before vanishing.

I blinked. Father?

The oldest Elf approached on silent footsteps, seemingly to glide instead of walk. "~How fares your husband, Lady Kiria?~" he asked gently.

"~Well. He shows no sign of permanent injury.~"

He rested his fingers on Elessar's forehead and closed his eyes briefly. Then he straightened and turned to me.

"~You still cannot venture a guess as to who I am?~" he questioned.

I shook my head.

"~My name,~" he said, "~is Lord Elrond. I would say that I hail from Imladris, but I fear you already know that, and repetition of knowledge known is always tedious. . . And forgive the teasing of my sons, Elladan and Elrohir; the centuries have not yet tamed their wild streaks, I fear.~"

I stared. The Lord Elrond, tending to my husband?

"~I . . . I am honored to make your acquaintance, my Lord,~" I stammered out.

He caught my shoulder as I tried to curtsy again. "~No, no, none of that,~" he admonished gently. "~I know of your history, Lady Kiria; I know of the bloodline that runs in your veins. You may simply be a daughter of the line of Rohan, but the fact remains that you married into the line of my brother's descent. I will still consider you one of my family.~"

"~You are too kind, Lord Elrond.~"

He smiled. "~Your daughter said much the same. . . You are to be commended for raising them so well.~"

"~I fear I had little hand in their upbringing, especially that of Estel,~" I replied.

One eyebrow arched. "~And you are humble as well.~" He straightened, gazing at me with the air of one reassured and business concluded. "~In you, Lady Kiria, and your children, at least, my faith in the race of Men may yet be revived. . . That, I thank you for. For now, I must tend to another matter of my own. I will see to your husband when I return.~"

He was almost out the door when I called, "~Lord Elrond.~"

"~Yes?"

"~You know you must learn to let go,~" I said, startling myself for being so bold as to say that, out loud, to Lord Elrond Peredhel.

"~I fear I must,~" was all he said.

"~He will not let you down nor let her suffer. He loves her as you loved Celebrían. Know that, and let her go with peace in your heart, Lord Elrond. You will meet again beyond the circles of the world. We all will.~"

He was silent, with only a sigh to mark that he had heard me. Then –

"~I thank you, Lady Kiria, but even that cannot soothe loss.~"

"~I know.~"

Then he swept out of the room, and I returned my gaze to my husband. Yes, that knowledge would not reassure me either. . . Nor would it soothe my children when finally Elessar and I returned the gift, and accepted the boon and burden of Men. Or their loves, when Estel and Tinúviel passed as well, and left Legolas and Haldir grief-stricken, alone, and in mourning.

Yes, what a tangled life we weave. That is why we are Peredhel, after all. . .

~ Aragorn ~
Mithrandir lifted his hands and stepped back, his face solemn and proud. The crown, silver and gold, rested heavily on my head, as did the voluminous cloak and many layers of fancily adorned clothing I was wearing for this occasion; but the burden of what now lay on my shoulders rested even heavier.

"Now come the days of the king," Mithrandir announced, letting his voice ring through the courtyard. "May they be blessed."

This would be my life now. I was King. The responsibility for the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor was mine, and mine alone.

Too late to turn back now, I told myself. You were born for this.

So I took a deep breath, calmed my mind, squared my shoulders, and turned to face the crowd. The crowd of – now – my subjects.

They cheered.

"This day does not belong to one man," I said, "but to all. Let us together rebuild this world . . . that we may share in the days of peace."

And while they cheered and as white petals cascaded and blew around me, I cleared my throat and prepared to sing the tribute I had devised. It would be my way of honoring my ancestry, both to Elendil and further back, to Elros himself, the first king of Númenor – the same way I was the first king of the Reunited Kingdom of Elendil's sons.

As I sung, I walked among the crowd, nodding to those who bowed and smiling to all.

"~Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.~"

It was both a beginning and an end, bittersweet in every way.

But then again, so was my Kingship.

The world of Men finally had a King again. Sauron, the greatest threat to Middle-earth, was cast down. Middle-earth now had peace, between Men and Elves and Dwarfs and all other races. This was the beginning of the Fourth Age, the age of peace, and I would be one of its greatest, foremost leaders.

A leader who would stand alone.

I greeted Legolas, who approached me with a silver circlet of a prince on his brow and clad in the garments of Mirkwood royalty. At his side stood a smiling Estel, dressed as beautifully as she had been in the Golden Hall of Meduseld at the conclusion of the Battle of Helms' Deep. To their left, I could spot Eldarion, attired in the clothes of the Dúnedain, and Haldir and Tinúviel, Haldir in the clothes of Lothlórien and Tinúviel in similar garments to that of her namesake ere when Beren first found her.

Legolas and I clasped shoulders.

"~Thank you,~" I told him. "~Thank you all. For everything.~"

Estel smiled at me, her eyes dancing with amusement and affection. "~You need not thank us for a debt repaid,~" she said quietly.

For a second, the pain of Arwen's passing to Valinor threatened to overwhelm me as I saw how Legolas and Estel smiled so lovingly, so tenderly at each other. They had each other. They were complete. They would not stand alone . . . not as I would.

But then, quite suddenly, Legolas tilted his head to his left at the same time that Estel stepped away.

Startled, I looked beyond them, wondering what they could possibly be –

A standard of the White Tree was there – that was the standard of the King, of Isildur's heir. . . But why was Lord Elrond there beside the bearer? Why were . . .

My thoughts stopped abruptly when the standard slowly moved, revealing the face of the bearer.

Arwen.

I stood stock-still, too stunned to do anything but stare and drink in the sight of Arwen, so beautiful, alive . . . here . . .

I was barely aware of Legolas slipping out from under my hand, or of him rejoining Estel, or of the two of them smiling at me as Legolas placed his arm around her waist and she leaned against him affectionately.

I was aware, though, when Lord Elrond shifted quietly behind Arwen . . . and she took a tentative step in my direction.

She stopped before me, her face a mix of hope, wariness, and fear. Very slowly, she bowed her head, as if to pay homage to me as the King – even though no King of Men could ever presume to command her, Lady Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond Peredhel and Celebrían, Evenstar of her entire people and of Middle-earth.

I touched her chin, lifting it, seeking in her eyes for any sign of any regret, any fear, any change. . .

I saw none.

So I simply leaned forward, grabbed her, and kissed her.

~ Estel ~
"~And at last they are happy,~" I murmured absently, watching with fond affection as Aragorn and Arwen embraced, Arwen laughing with joy and love on her face and Aragorn looking as though he was the happiest Man in Middle-earth.

Legolas turned and kissed the top of my head. "~They will not be the only ones,~" he said quietly.

I smiled up at him, seeing the smile returned with the same selfless and enduring love.

"~No, they will not,~" I agreed.

I returned my gaze to Arwen and Aragorn just in time to see them stop suddenly, and see Aragorn raise his hand in admonishment and step forward.

Then, just as suddenly, Aragorn bowed his head and knelt.

The rest of us followed moments later – all of us, young and old, royalty and commoner, Elf and Man. For all of us, all of us, owed a debt that could never be repaid to the four Aragorn was now bowing to. And it was only right that they understand the enormity of that debt, and how unique their success – and sacrifice – was.

Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry.

They had given and lost more than any of us, and they would be remembered as no other heroes would be for what they had done.

I was sure of it.

Legolas suddenly stiffened by my side, his head whipping to the right. I looked at him confused, even as his arm tensed around my waist. What could possibly be wrong?

There was a light tug on my dress.

"Lady Estel," a young woman whispered urgently. "You must come. At once. Please."

I straightened. "What is it?"

The woman twisted her hands, clearly in dismay for whatever she was about to say. The worry inside of me doubled, and then tripled, in size. Something must really be wrong – the only question was what?

"Speak," Legolas ordered.

She looked up, and took a deep breath, and delivered the fatal words then.

"It's your father."