FIclets

of Hope






Star of Hope

Rated PG13

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has been nor will be made from this story.

“You wished to see me, my lady?”

I shuffled my feet nervously. Master Elrond was never other than courteous towards me, but I still felt like a timid little girl in his presence.

“It is my son’s third birthday tomorrow. I should like some small celebration for him to mark the occasion.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Gilraen, the tradition of Men to mark the day of birth, since the day of begetting is so rarely recalled amongst my brother’s kindred.”

I lowered my eyes, hoping Master Elrond would not see the light of memory in my eyes that his words recalled. Oh, but I did know the day of Aragorn’s begetting, that special night is still as clear in my memory as if it were yesterday. These memories are too precious and private to ever speak of to Master Elrond, kindly though he is. Maybe, one day I will tell my son that he was begotten upon an auspicious day, maybe…

****

It was a rare gathering for the Dúnedain. As many who were able came from the scattered villages amidst the ruins of the old capital, Annuminas, where they made camp and prepared to celebrate Loëndë.

The celebrations began on the longest night of the year, a night feared by the servants of darkness. My parents were amongst those present. I gladly greeted them, having not laid eyes on them since my marriage.

“Are you happy in your marriage to Arathorn?” my mother enquired of me later that night, taking me aside, her keen gaze scanning my still slender form. I could sense her disappointment that I was not yet with child.

“He is kindly and treats me always with respect,” I answered. Truth to tell, I still hardly knew my husband. He had been away most of the time even before the Lord Arador's death. Since he had become Chieftain earlier that year, Arathorn had even less time for home and hearth. As Lord of the Dúnedain, he was needed to care for our people and lead the fight against the minions of Shadow. I tried to be a good wife and ease his cares when he was at home. I had not opposed my mother's wish for the marriage; and I was content enough, honoured to be wed to so worthy a lord.

“Have you grown to love your husband?” my mother persisted.

I could only say. “He is a good man.” I had never lied to my mother. It was useless, for Ivorwen’s gift of farsight always enabled her to see into my mind.

My mother frowned but said no more on the matter, instead encouraging me to try the wine, a gift from Elrond of Rivendell.

The sun sets on even the longest day. We sat watching it sink below the hills while we told tales of old Númenor and sang of the great deeds of the Sea Kings and the Faithful.

“Will you walk with me, my lady?” Arathorn suddenly appeared at my side, my cloak in his hand. He draped it around my shoulders. He led me along the shore of Lake Nenunial.

The moon had risen and cast a silvery glow across the rippling waters, which lapped gently against the shore.

“To think that these ruins were once a great and prosperous city,” my husband sighed, his voice full of sorrow. “Alas, for our people!”

“Maybe one day it will be rebuilt,” I said, wondering why I should voice such wild dreams. Tonight they appeared almost as a certainty to me. It was as if I could see a fair city, where now there lay only ruins.

“The young may have their dreams still,” Arathorn said sadly.

I pressed his hand. We stood there for I know not how long, watching the bright path of the Star of Eärendil across the evening sky, the silence broken only by the waves' music.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light in the West.

“Look!” said my husband, “ a shooting star. You should make a wish, Gilraen.”

I silently wished that I might give him the heir he longed for, the heir we all needed.

As we watched more comets streaked across the sky.

“Come,” Arathorn said at last, “it grows cold.”

He let me back to our large and well-appointed tent, set a little aside from the others as befit the Chieftain and his lady.

Arathorn took me in his arms and kissed me. I found myself responding with a newfound fervour; pulling at the fastenings on his cloak as he bore me down to our warm nest of hides and furs. That night I was not just a dutiful wife, but also a happy one. Maybe it was the wine, or the surroundings, I know not. I know only that I enjoyed the intimacies of marriage for the first time. My passion equalled his as I freely and joyously surrendered to my lord.

“Never have I seen so many shooting stars as there were last night!” my mother remarked over breakfast the next morning. ”You look well, today, child. That Elvish wine must have suited you.”

Alas, my joy would be short-lived. Arathorn had to ride away again ere nightfall when a report arrived of Orcs gathering in the East.

When he returned a few weeks later, I had news for him.

“I carry our child, my lord,” I said.

His stern features broke into a joyous smile and he embraced me tenderly.

Arathorn was at my side more often during the following months. I grew large with his child and spent my days dreaming of filling our home with the laughter of many children.

Soon after the turn of the year, my mother arrived to care for me. We expected the child in mid March, but our Aragorn was eager to enter the world and arrived as soon as February took its leave. The moment I first held my son was the happiest I have ever known.

***

“You are smiling, Lady Gilraen. Do you find our customs amusing?”

Master Elrond’s words interrupted my memories “Indeed not, lord, but my son is a child of Man not an Elf.”

“Your son is the Hope of Men, my lady,” Elrond said gravely. "He will know his lineage when the time is ripe. I shall ask the cooks to prepare a celebration for his birthday on the morrow.”

I smiled my thanks. For now, my Aragorn must remain hidden, but when the time is right he will blaze forth, as a star of hope for our people; a star that was kindled even as I wished upon the shooting star upon the shores of Lake Nenuial. Until then, I can only wait and hope.









The One

The One Linda Hoyland

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. No profit has,nor will be made from this story.

Co- written with Raksha the Demon

The One

Soon after Elrond told me of my true name and lineage, I beheld the man for the first time.

He appeared one night; in what could not have been a mere dream, but was rather the foresight of the Dúnedain. I had seen neither the man nor the place before.


In my vision, I stood by a gate in a wall that girt a great white city. A tall man strode towards me and then knelt, proffering a white rod. Somehow, I knew that the city was Minas Tirith and the man my Steward, gladly surrendering his office to me, his King. The uplifted face was like unto my own. We could have been close kin, for the grey eyes, raven hair and carven features showed the other man to be a true son of Númenor.


I had not known that any such Men still lived in the South.


Years passed, until one day, under a false name, I came to the Realm of Anárion. When I saw its lord’s noble face, kindly and welcoming though it was; my heart sank; for this was not the man.


Yet Ecthelion had an heir. Espying him first from a distance, I felt certain that this must be the man in my dream. But when I saw his cold grey eyes, narrowed with suspicion and jealousy, I knew it was not.


Nigh fifty long years of toil and hardship passed. At times when my heart almost despaired of reclaiming the crown of my fathers, the dream would come to me again: the tall man kneeling and lifting his eyes in joy and welcome, holding out the stewards' rod. New hope then surged within me that someday I would indeed become King.


When counsels were held in Imladris, I espied a stranger with a familiar face, Boromir of Gondor, Denethor’s firstborn son grown to manhood. But this proud lord was not the one. Doubt assailed me that my dream would ever be realised.


Now I had come again to Gondor but was loth to even enter what should be my own City, for fear of stirring up dissent. Boromir had fallen, and I knew that his father would not have welcomed me even if his son yet lived.

***


My reverie was interrupted by Gandalf. The wizard had come to ask my help for Denethor‘s younger son, Faramir, who was sorely stricken by the Black Breath, and for others ill with the same foul sickness.


I went with little hope, uncertain that I had the strength to snatch this stranger from the Dark Lord’s clutches. I would look at him, surely, but I yearned to aid my hobbit comrade and the lady of Rohan.


Then I saw Denethor‘s heir, clinging to life by the slightest of threads, the chiselled features stilled, the raven hair streaked with sweat and oil. Could it be? Was he the one? Dream or no dream, I had to try. I would not willingly let a defender of Gondor perish.


Long I fought to save the valiant captain, pouring my strength into his wearied heart. Finally his eyes opened, and he said: "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?”


I had seen those shining grey eyes, so full of knowledge and love, long before he was even born. This was the man! This was my Steward.





Temptation





The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.

With thanks to Raksha

"Want some company, traveller?"

The man, who was elsewhere called Thorongil, looked up from his drink to meet the girl's eyes. She was pretty for a tavern pleasure-woman, still young with clear skin and lustrous black hair, which reminded him of Arwen's.

Arwen! How he ached for her presence.

"Does she not please you?" The innkeeper's voice interrupted his reverie. The girl's eyes widened with fear. Thorongil knew she would be punished if he rejected her.

"She pleases me." He tossed the man a coin.

The girl led him by the hand towards the stalls at the back. The cries of pleasure from behind the curtains left no doubt as to the nature of the customers' gratification.

"Come!" She slowly started to unfasten her robe, revealing shapely curves beneath it. Swiftly, Thorongil averted his eyes.

He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. "I must go now," he told his companion.

"I thought you wanted pleasure?"

What man does not? Thorongil thought. But one alone can satisfy me.

"There is no need for shyness." She sat down beside him. Suddenly, she was kissing him, her full sensuous mouth pressing against his own. Her hands fumbled with Thorongil's robe. Her silken tresses fell across his face. They smelt of jasmine.

He was a man. She was a woman and a fair one.

Thorongil hastily rose to his feet. "My friends await me," he lied. "I will tell your master you pleased me greatly."

"I do not understand."

"I cannot give myself to you. I must prove worthy of my heart's desire."

He stumbled out into the street; eager to put this place and its unsavoury temptations behind him. The sooner he could leave Umbar the better.

If he could not be joined with Arwen, he would remain forever alone.




Sour Milk

A/N. This is very AU and not to be taken seriously



It is based on this photo from a Tolkien calender



For Juno Magic and Silverwerecat

The people cheered when the King arrived and the Steward presented the White Rod.

The King disdainfully accepted it, dismissed Faramir and marched through the City; still glaring. Éomer of Rohan’s army followed at his heels, ready to crush any dissent.

The people turned away and returned to their houses.

“Let’s made a nice cup of tea,” suggested one Goodwife, putting on the kettle.

Her husband scowled, as he tasted it. “The milk is sour!”

The City was in turmoil. Not a drop of fresh milk was to be had anywhere!

The King’s gaze had turned all the milk sour!

000

Word of meow summoned the cats of Minas Tirith together. The leader, a large ginger tom, spoke. “We must take action,” he mewed. ”There is no milk left in Minas Tirith that is fit to drink since this new King arrived. The old Stewards never brought such misfortune upon us!”

“I know what to do,” said an old tabby, veteran of many battles. “We shall chase him, scratch him, and spray upon his fine clothing until he mends his ways.”

The cats agreed and made there way to the King’s apartments. Aragorn raged, threw water upon the cats and even drew his sword, but they were too quick for him. Everywhere he turned, there were cats, waiting to trip him up, scratch him and spoil his fine clothes.

Unable to take any more, he called for their leader. ”What do you want?” he demanded of the ginger tom.

“We cats demand that you cease acting like a spoiled tyrant who turns our milk sour,” mewed the cat. “We also demand you recall Steward Faramir for he was always kind to us cats.”

Aragorn bowed his head in shame as he saw his errors at last. None but a cat had dared challenge the King. “I shall be a good King in future,” he promised. “The Steward shall take his place at my right hand. As for you, Master Tom, I would ask you to remain here at my side to teach me humility.”

The cat purred his agreement and commanded the other cats to depart.

From that day forward, Aragorn became a good and wise King, loved by both people and cats.

Never again was the milk sour unless it was left out in the sun. The Citizens of Minas Tirith all lived happily ever after as did the cats!



The leader of the cats.



A Day at the Spa

My friend Raksha and I were discussing the modern trend of the "metrosexual" male,who is obsessed with beauty products.I remarked that Aragorn and Faramir would not have the same appeal to us if they thought of nothing but looking beautiful.
Her reply was the following scene, which I then added to.


This is AU and not meant to be taken seriously


Day At The Spa

Scene one - by Raksha



(Aragorn and Faramir are luxuriating in the King's secret Elven mud baths around F.A.20)



Aragorn: Ah, nothing like a good mud bath to clear away unsightly scars, help heal wounds, and restore one's spirits!

Faramir: ' Tis wonderful indeed.

Aragorn: And marvelously refreshing to the skin, softens and moistens better than all the potions of Harad.

Faramir: Speaking of softening the skin, I brought that cream of which I told you.

Aragorn: Is that the skin cream Ecthelion used? He had the visage of a man in his prime when I knew him!

Faramir: Possibly; for ‘tis an ancient remedy, borne all the way from Númenor! Isildur carried the sapling of Nimloth's line; but Anárion brought a treasure almost as great: the skin cream of the Elendili! My poor father scorned its use; and, his face did not age well.

Aragorn: May I try it?

Faramir: As soon as I get out and can reach yon satchel. Marvelous stuff. Did you know, I had a wrinkle starting last year, and the Númenorean cream did away with it straightaway?

Aragorn: I never noticed!

Faramir: But you hardly bear any wrinkles yet.

Aragorn: Any? I thought I had none at all.

Faramir: Um. Er. Mayhap I was mistaken.

Aragorn: Still, I am a hundred and eleven years. Before me, Dúnedain men in the North usually began to wrinkle at about a hundred and twenty, that is, if the Shadow had not killed them by then. Now, our younger men do not have to be Rangers and roughen their skin by spending so many months out in the wilds. Yet this freedom has a troubling consequence - I have actually seen some Dúnedain lads in Annuminas looking plump!

Faramir: Oh, the horror!

Aragorn: So I shall order the building of a gymnasium; you know, such as they have in Dol Amroth and here in Minas Tirith; where men will go to wrestle and take steam baths. The dwarves have even come up with some ingenious devices that help each man exercise various muscles in the body.

Faramir: You should ask Elladan and Elrohir to patronize the establishment, to encourage others to do so.

Aragorn: Actually, my foster brethren came up with the idea. They are working with Gimli on plans for a heated pool, where we can swim inside during all weather.

Faramir: Swimming is wondrous exercise, and puts a becoming glow on the skin without making one sweat.

Aragorn: Exactly! Now, tell me more of the shampoo with which the Khandian ambassador gifted you. I have seen that your hair has had more shine of late....





Scene two – In the Gymnasium – Aragorn and Faramir’s private changing room. - by Linda

Aragorn : Does my behind look too big in these shorts?

Faramir : Not at all. The colour suits you. Black is so slimming. Oh, nooooo.

Aragorn : What ails you dear friend?

Faramir: I have a spot on my nose! It is enormous, bigger than that spider we once encountered! It quite ruins my looks!

Aragorn: Now, don’t fret, dear friend. I have a wonderful Elven remedy designed to remove spots. It is in my bag somewhere. Now where did I but it? Are here it is, just underneath the hair removing cream.

Faramir : You still use cream? I much prefer waxing. You should try the new Khandian Beauty Parlour. They have done wonders with my legs.

Aragorn :That sounds far too painful a treatment, though I agree your legs look wondrously smooth.

Faramir: You smell sweet today. I like your new perfume.

Aragorn : Arwen gave it to me. It is called Passionate Delights.She has not been in a good mood recently. She says I think more of my appearance than I do of her!

Faramir: How strange, Éowyn has been saying the same thing! She is being most unfair. She has used half of my favourite bathing foam and if I don’t hide the shower gel, she will have that as well!

Aragorn : And Arwen used all my favourite shampoo . Now I have split ends!

Faramir: Oh no, I’ve found a grey hair!

Aragorn :And I have a wrinkle!

Both men burst into tears.

The End






Flash of Foresight
Flash of Foresight

The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.


With grateful thanks to Raksha.

“You may see them now, my lord.” Denethor impatiently pushed past the waiting woman to see his wife and new son. He was vaguely disappointed. He already had the heir he needed. A daughter would have been nice; a child he need have no fear of being called upon to sacrifice in Gondor’s endless struggles against the Dark Lord.

Finduilas sat propped in the vast bed, clutching a small bundle, her face almost as white as the sheets. She looked exhausted. Denethor felt a stab of fear. The Healers had warned him she was not strong.

She smiled. “We have a fine boy, my lord. Another jewel for us to cherish. Would you like to hold him?”

Rather reluctantly Denethor took the babe from his wife and studied the tiny creature. Its face looked as wrinkled as an old man’s and was framed by a fuzz of black hair. Altogether, it was small and not too fair to look upon, though Finduilas seemed to think otherwise. Boromir had been a beautiful baby. Almost immediately, the infant began to howl.

With sudden foresight Denethor knew this child was destined to somehow supplant his brother.

Shuddering, he returned him to his mother.




The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.

Dedicated to Raksha

The New Arrival

Boromir cautiously approached the bed. His mother was sitting up, gazing adoringly at a shawl wrapped bundle.

“Come, meet your new brother,” said Finduilas. ”Is Faramir not fair?”

“He is very small,” Boromir replied, studying the red, wrinkled face without enthusiasm. “I thought you said I was to have a new playmate?”

“You will have to wait for him to grow,” Finduilas explained.

“I’d rather have a puppy. Puppies are more fun than babies!” Boromir scowled.

Faramir suddenly opened his eyes and looked at his brother, stretching out small chubby arms.

Boromir tentatively extended a finger, which the baby grasped.

“He is strong!” The older boy was impressed.

“He will grown into a big strapping boy, just like you,” said Finduilas smiling. I will need you to help me look after him until then.”

“Yes, mama,” Boromir replied obediently.

Finduilas‘s heart swelled with pride at the sight of her sons together. Her two precious little jewels. How she loved them!

“Promise me you will protect your brother?” She tried to disguise the sudden shiver down her spine.

“I promise.”

“Good boy, now go and play while mama rests.”

“I think I like having a brother!” Boromir skipped away smiling.

A/N The first mention of Faramir's existence as himself was May 6, 1944 in Tolkien's letter to his son Christopher.

Behold the King


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.No profit has been nor will be made from this ficlet.

But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him gazed in silence, for it seemed to them that he was revealed to them now for the first time. Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him. And then Faramir cried:

‘Behold the King!’ - The Return of the King - J. R.R Tolkien

With thanks to Raksha.



Behold the King


The young Steward approaches with the crown, I am taking his place, yet he offers it willingly; his eyes filled with devotion.

I speak the words of my forefather, bringing together past and present.

I take it from him, but do not crown myself. I call rather for Frodo and Gandalf. Today, all are hailing me, but without them there would be no crown to offer. Gondor would lie in ruins under the Dark Lord’s dominion, while I would be dead, or worst enslaved by him.

For many long years have I longed for today. My dreams, though will only be fulfilled if Arwen is beside me as my wife and Queen. Dark will be my days if I am doomed to rule alone.

I scan the sea of faces. So many are here and yet so many are not. Would that my mother had lived to see this day! If only Halbarad were here and Théoden King. Their blood bought my triumph dearly.

I kneel before the Wizard in humility. Gandalf places the crown upon my head and speaks a blessing. The crown weighs heavily upon me, reminding me of the many burdens I now bear.

New strength courses through my veins. I feel the burden of my long years of wandering lifted. Today, I am reborn as Elessar, Envinyatar. I show my true face at last, the heir of Elendil, the rightful King in whom the blood of Númenór runs true.

Faramir, his face alight with joy cries aloud, ”Behold the King!” Shouts of acclamation fill the air as trumpets sound.

The sea of smiling faces gladdens my heart. They are my people now. I will protect them as a loving father protects his children.

May the Valar grant me wisdom to rule them with justice and compassion!

A/N This ficlet suddenly jumped into my head to mark the date of Aragorn's coronation
Night of Love
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.

Dedicated to Julia

O sink hernieder,
Nacht der Liebe,
gib Vergessen,
dass ich lebe;
nimm mich auf
in deinen Schoss,
löse von
der Welt mich los!

O sink down us

Night of love,

Let me now forget

I live;

Take me up

In thy lap.

Release me

from the world ! – Tristan und Isolde - Wagner

Oh thou, my fair evening star,
how gladly have I always greeted thee;


O du, mein holder Abendstern,

wohl grüsst'ich immer dich so gern:- Tannhäuser- Wagner

Aragorn believed his bride deserved better than to be taken like some sacrifice upon a marriage bed, haunted by the ghosts of long dead stewards and their wives, while servants listened and gossiped behind the closed doors.

Arwen was a child of stars, not of stone. Aragorn cared only for her happiness. How he wished that they could spend their honeymoon in Rivendell or Lothlórien where his bride felt truly at home.

Arwen had been overwhelmed to see Minas Tirith the day before, regarding its elaborate architecture with a mixture of curiosity, alarm and revulsion. Only her joy at seeing her beloved had sustained her throughout the wedding ceremonies and the long drawn out Gondorian rituals of escorting the bride to her marriage bed.

When, though, the doors had finally closed behind the newly weds, leaving them alone in a vast stone walled chamber, an overwrought Arwen had collapsed sobbing into her new husband’s arms. This was not how she had dreamed of spending her wedding night through the long years of their waiting. Aragorn had tried to comfort and reassure her. In truth, he was almost as fearful as his bride. At last they exchanged a chaste goodnight kiss and slept fitfully.

Galadriel had provided wise counsel the next morning, after beholding the new bride’s less than radiant demeanour. She had suggested the secluded gardens would make a suitably romantic setting to relax the nervous newly weds.

Hand in hand they now tiptoed through the corridors, silent of step and unnoticed by the sentries as they stepped out into the gardens.

Arwen’s steps lightened as she gazed up at the bright stars overhead.

Shedding the cloaks they wore over their night attire, they spread their blankets in a secluded spot under a vast tree, then kneeling, called upon Elbereth to witness and bless their union.

A breeze blew away what wisps of cloud veiled the sky. The stars seemed to smile upon them while the moon bathed them in a gentle glow. The balmy night air smelled of honeysuckle and a nightingale sang sweetly in the branches overhead.

Aragorn trembled with a mixture of fear and longing. How could he ever be worthy of the Evenstar? How could he ever please her; he a man beset by mortal frailties and imperfections? He kissed his bride; at first tentatively, then with ever increasing ardour at her eager response. Her perfume intoxicated him, while her unbound hair gleamed like silk in the soft glow of the moonlight.

Still he hesitated, despite the eagerness of his longing. “Are you certain?” he asked her almost shyly. “You will be giving me so much!”

“I offer myself to you freely, my Estel!” Arwen replied. “No other has touched my heart through long centuries. I would accept the Gift of Men. I would be ever at your side and bear your children. I would be wholly yours, both body and soul!” She nestled closer, pressing her body against his, revelling in the touch of his strong arms, both tender and ardent. Never before had she been so close to a man nor felt such fire in her veins. Eagerly she melted into his embrace, listening to his whispered sweet words of love, as he sought to reassure her.

Never did they think they could know such rapture, a union of both body and soul that no words would be adequate to describe. No longer apart and alone, but one with each other, man and wife.

At last they slept, snug under the blankets, entwined still in each other’s arms.

Aragorn awoke first, mindful that they must return ere daybreak to their rooms. Fondly he gazed upon his sleeping bride’s face. She looked so young, yet was older than the mightiest oak in the garden. He could scarce grasp that one so wondrous fair was now his wife! He had waited so long for this, forsaking all others, even when his love had seemed destined to remain forever unrequited. This night had been the most fearful and most beautiful he had ever known.

Arwen slowly opened her eyes. He hardly dared meet her gaze. Had he disappointed her in any way?

Radiantly, she smiled at him. “I love you, Estel,” she whispered. ”I am so happy to be your wife!”

“I am so proud to be your husband!” Aragorn replied, helping her to her feet and kissing her tenderly. She shook the leaves from her nightgown and donned her cloak.

The first pink streaks of dawn were visible as they made their way back inside. The walls took on a glow in the soft light. Arwen smiled. “The city looks far fairer now!” she exclaimed. “I shall learn to be happy here with you at my side, beloved, watching your White Tree blossom each season!”

“My Steward had a vision, which I shared, of us by the Tree surrounded by our children and our children’s children,” Aragorn confided.

“Such a glorious vision gladdens my heart! We will build a happy home together, you and I,” said Arwen, “It will be as fair as the Elven cities of old!”

“If only I were not taking you from your people and your home!” Aragorn lamented.

“My home is where you are, for you hold my heart,” Arwen replied fervently.

Hand in hand they watched the sun rise.

A/N Written to celebrate Aragorn and Arwen’s Midsummer marriage.

Waters of Life

Waters of Life





By the waters of Life we sat together,
Hand in hand, in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,
When skies were purple and breath was praise – Thomas Noel 1799-1861

With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help
A gift for Julia

This is where, I found the stream, my lady, just up here,” Faramir explained.

Aragorn smiled at the Steward and took his wife’s hand, helping her up the steep slope. He had long desired to show her the hidden lake, Faramir’s discovery of which had restored both King and Steward in body and soul.

Today was the anniversary of the King and Queen ‘s marriage and together with their Steward; they were taking a rare break from their duties and exploring the slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Arwen had finally decided that now Eldarion was fully weaned, he was old enough to be left for a full day in the care of his nurse.

Arwen gazed upon the stream in delight. Its clear waters sparkled like diamonds in the June sunlight. “It reminds me of fair Nimrodel!” she said. Kneeling beside it, she cupped her hands and drank deeply.” Never before have I tasted water so sweet outside of the Elven realms!” she exclaimed in delight. “It would further gladden my heart to see the lake from whence this stream flows.”

“I will lead you up the mountain to it, beloved,” said Aragorn, smiling at his wife’s obvious delight.

“I will await you here,” Faramir announced.

“You are welcome to join us, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn. “We do not plan to go swimming, so you need not worry about respecting the Queen’s privacy.”

Although Arwen could swim, she did not especially enjoy it, unlike the two men. The King was secretly relieved. He feared disrobing here to go swimming in the lake with his beautiful wife might arouse feelings, which would be far better suited for their bedchamber than for this hallowed place.

“I would rather stay here and admire the view,” said Faramir.” I am not especially partial to climbing mountains.”

Aragorn smiled at him gratefully, acknowledging his tact. He had wanted Faramir to come with them, feeling it was only fitting that the Steward should show Arwen the stream he had discovered. Yet he yearned to be alone with his wife when he showed her this special place.

“We will return soon, farewell for a while.” Patting his friend on the shoulder, Aragorn took his leave of the Steward and offered his wife his arm to escort her up the mountainside.

Arwen’s Elven grace made her surer of foot than her husband. Soon it was she who guided and aided him as they toiled up the steepest part of the path.

Aragorn became slightly apprehensive as they rounded the final bend. Was the lake truly as beautiful as he recalled? Sometimes, it seemed almost like a dream, the short time he had spent there with Faramir and experienced the nearness and the blessings of the One.

“Let me go first now.” He tightly gripped Arwen’s hand. Together they emerged onto the plateau.

His fears were groundless. If anything, the mountain lake was even fairer than when he had first beheld it. The clear blue sky reflected in the peaceful waters, while an air of wondrous tranquillity pervaded the atmosphere. The scent of fair blossoms perfumed the air while graceful butterflies danced amidst the flowers. Even the birds sang more sweetly here. Graceful swans glided across the lake’s surface while the breeze rippled the flowers and grasses that grew along the verdant shores.

“Estel!” Arwen’s beautiful eyes sparkled with sheer joy. “This place is wondrous fair! See, here is the niphredil you told me of!” She knelt on the grass and tenderly caressed the fair white blossoms. For a moment her eyes filled with tears at the memories of the parents who had taught her to love these blooms and the grandmother in whose now deserted realm they grew so freely.

“Arwen!” Aragorn knelt beside her and tenderly stroked her hair. “I did not realize that such sights would make you homesick. Maybe I should not have brought you here. Forgive me!”

“There is no need, Estel. Home is where you are at my side,” she assured him fervently. “And how can this not be my home since the flowers that bloomed for my foremother rise up to greet me! I will not swim, but I would taste the water.” Thus saying, she pulled off her shoes and stockings and waded into the shallows, lifting the hem of her gown free of the water. She laughed joyfully as the waves rippled over her bare feet.

Aragorn hastily shed his own footwear and rolled up his breeches to his knees. He joined her. Hand in hand, they encircled the lake. The birdsong grew ever more rapturous.

“The birds offer me sweet music!” she exclaimed, “I must dance!”

Aragorn sat on the bank and watched her, enthralled. Her graceful form seemed almost to float above the grass. Her beauty and charm had not dimmed since that long ago day when he had first glimpsed her amongst the birches at Rivendell. In his eyes, marriage and motherhood had enhanced her loveliness even more.

Her voice soared in an ancient lay, more rapturous than the nightingale.

No longer content merely to watch, Aragorn joined her, though he felt clumsy by comparison. Her soft cheek caressed his and memories flooded back of the time they had spent together in Lothlórien. Her song was filled with an ecstasy he had not heard since those long vanished days of bliss when they had trodden barefoot on Cerin Amroth.

Wearied at last, they sank together on the bank and Aragorn took her tenderly in his arms and kissed her. "Vanimelda, how I love you!” he exclaimed.

“I love you more with each day that passes, Estel!” she told him, returning his kiss. How she delighted to feel his strong arms around her!

They knew not for how long they tarried there, savouring each other’s nearness and exchanging tender caresses.

Suddenly, the breeze ceased and the birds fell silent. It were as if all nature held her breath in eager anticipation.

Arwen grasped her husband’s hand tightly, sensing they were no longer alone, but in the highest Presence of all. The One was there, and they were a part of something so immense that no words could ever describe it. They were blessed by that Presence, telling them they were, and ever would be, the Children of Eru, granted an especial grace throughout eternity.

Arwen sensed yet another blessing; new life was stirring within her.

King and Queen rose to their feet and reverently bowed their heads.

Hand in hand they descended the mountainside to rejoin Faramir, the light still shining in their eyes.

A/N This is a sequel to “A Time to Reap”, especially chapters 9 and 10 set in an unspecified future date


In my End is my Beginning
In my end is my beginning. - Mary Queen of Scots.






With grateful thanks to Raksha


The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.

I wept until I had no tears left. I could hardly grasp that you had left me, dearest and best of friends.

My head knew it was your time to leave the circles of the world, to seek your destiny beyond them, while my heart would have pleaded for you to stay, selfish, though that would have been.

You were a hundred and twenty years old, older than any Steward of Gondor since the old White Tree had withered and died. Always wise, you gladly accepted the Gift of Men when those years became a burden.

No longer could I heal you and renew your strength; for time devours all Men. I knew you were eager to seek your Éowyn and those others you loved and had gone before: Boromir, your mother, your old comrades, even your father whom you had long ago forgiven.

In late autumn, as the leaves were falling, you lay upon your bed and summoned me to witness your surrender of the White Rod to Elboron, your eldest son.

Your children and their children’s children all came to bid you farewell. They wept. You told them they should be happy for you that you chose to gladly receive Eru’s Gift.

You then asked all to leave save your eldest daughter and me. You loved all your children dearly, but she, your firstborn had always held a special place in your heart and mine too. Arwen and I were so happy the day she wed Eldarion and our families were joined by marriage.

“Be strong,” you told us; “and do not yet seek to follow me. Live for the love we bore one another for so long. I die content, my only regret in leaving those whom I love. “

We promised, that you might depart in peace. We each bestowed a final kiss of blessing upon you, then held your hands as you breathed your last. The years seemed to fall from you in death. We knew you had found what you were seeking.

Then Arwen and Eldarion came in. She held me close. Eldarion tried to comfort his wife. She, the little girl I once knew, was now an old woman. A lifespan, thrice that of lesser Men, can be a doubtful blessing, when you see those far younger than you grow old and fade.

Arwen led me forth from the room. She understood the depth of my loss like no other. Faramir had made our marriage possible by hailing me as his King and relinquishing his claim to rule Gondor. He was ever at my side to advise me how to be the King I wanted to be. I came to look upon him as my eldest son. We were kindred souls, alike in so many ways.

Our friendship began when I saved Faramir’s life. Love sprang between us, a bond of both friendship and fealty when he had first opened his eyes and looked upon me. It were as if he were reborn as my chosen son. His own father had sought his death while I renewed his life. He repaid the debt many times over. My soul felt torn asunder at his passing.

Arwen led me to our chambers and clasped me in her arms while I wept. She sang a lament of her people, which gradually soothed me into sleep.

I saw you then, Faramir, strong and hale, untouched by the passing years. Éowyn was at your side and you looked to be in bliss. You embraced me and told me how happy you were and to rejoice for you. ”I will never be far from you and will see you again, dear friend,” you told me. “Be of good cheer and greet the new heir of our family with love and joy.” Éowyn then led Faramir away into a fair garden and I awoke.

My heart was still heavy with loss, yet I was somewhat comforted by what I had seen.

A knock came at the door and Eldarion entered, his countenance a mixture both of joy and sorrow. “I am a grandsire,” he announced. “Elthalion’s wife has born him a fair son, a little early, but both are well. We shall name him Elfaron.”

“A fitting name for the heir to great Houses,” said Arwen. “Faramir’s name shall never be forgotten.”

I manage to smile. In this darkest hour we have been granted new hope.