Sometimes, when she sat beneath the boughs of the ash trees in the gardens of Minas Tirith, Arwen was reminded of her childhood.
Back then, when her feet dangled above the ground beneath her seat, when she still wove clumsy flower crowns for her brother and her mother sang sweetly beside her, life had been so much easier.
There had been no shadow to darken their days, no Sauron threatening to emerge from years of obscurity. All the darkness she knew had been her father’s stories, heavily revised to not frighten little elflings such as her.
He had told her many things, of his parents who had left him before he was old enough to understand their reasons, of his new fathers and their sorrowful lives, of his brother who had chosen mortality, of Gil-Galad and the War of the Last Alliance.
Back then, Arwen could not name the strange look in Elrond’s eyes for all she saw herself was a dashing hero with a life so full of adventure that it left her dreaming of such a thing for herself.
Now, so many years later, she knew that look for the sorrow it was. Never would she have imagined to be the cause of such pain herself.
They stood together in the highest ring of the gardens at Minas Tirith. Below, just far enough to hear only wordless voices, Aragorn was making futile attempts at wrestling a gleefully teasing Legolas to the ground. Gimli, a mug of ale and a long pipe in each hand, sat aside and laughed merrily. They had already said their goodbyes to Elrond, she knew. His adopted son, his honorary son and their strange new friend.
Arwen smiled gently at their shenanigans before directing her attention back to Elrond who was watching as well, caught halfway between amusement and exasperation.
“Who would have thought that little Estel and his eternal babysitter would adopt a dwarf, of all things,” he mused lightly, though there was a note of something darker there. He was stalling, she knew.
“I seem to recall you saying that you believed anything possible when it came to these two,” she quipped back, throwing Elrond a playful look.
He snorted. “And, as I recall, I said that under duress…while drunk.”
“Losing a wager hardly counts as under duress, father.”
“It does when it comes to your brothers,” he answered, crossing his arms with mock outrage. “All four of them. Three now, I suppose. You married one, after all.”
“Though I have never really considered Aragorn a brother.”
“Oh, I would certainly hope so!”
Arwen hesitated. “What of Elladan and Elrohir?” she asked eventually, steering the conversation where it needed to go.
“Will they sail with you?”
Elrond did not look at her even when she leaned around him to catch his eye. Instead, his gaze grew distant, as if seeing further than the horizon itself.
“No,” he breathed. “They will not.”
Arwen sighed. “Will they sail at all?”
“I,” Elrond said almost too quiet to hear, “do not know. They said they have not made their choice yet.”
She set a careful hand on his arm, feeling the tension running through the muscles there. “I’m sure Glorfindel will pull them onto a ship by the ear eventually,” she said, attempting humour. A leaf as green as emerald fell onto the balustrade before her and she picked it up, rolling it carefully. “You know he is incredibly excited at the prospect of seeing his friends from Gondolin again.”
“Oh, I am aware. He will not stop singing about the ‘beauty of reunions’, I’m afraid.” He smiled bitterly, once again caught between emotions; fondness and pain. “If only all of us would want to sail so badly.”
A heavy silence descended upon them, as oppressive and choking as anything Sauron could have created. At this moment, the Dark Lord was perhaps happier in the endless void than Arwen’s father was standing in the warm sunlight of a day of true peace.
“You know I cannot come with you,” Arwen whispered gently after the silence grew too loud, fiddling absently with the leaf. Sticky moisture dyed the tips of her fingers a pale green.
Elrond growled lightly and pushed away from the balustrade and the cheerful scene below. He stalked a few steps away, robes sweeping up tiny flower petals. “Yes, you could!” he said. “But you refuse to. For him.”
Arwen dropped the leaf and turned, but did not follow him. “You’re wrong.” Her eyes burned but she blinked rapidly to keep the tears away. “I stay for me. I stay because I choose to, for myself. Not for anyone else.” Her voice shook. “I stay because I want to be happy for my own sake.”
A soft breeze blew between them, lifting hair and tickling skin. As if the Lord Manwë himself wanted to carry their pains away.
After a long time, in which the three friends below fell to quiet conversation, Elrond heaved a heavy sigh. “There is truly no way to change your mind, is there?”
“No.” She shook her head. “None.”
He sighed again and chuckled mirthlessly. “And I always thought your brothers were the stubborn ones.”
She smiled when he turned to look back at her. “We take after you,” she said. “What did you expect?”
“Your grandmother always said her family’s blood flowed too thickly in all three of you.” He sounded vaguely amused.
Arwen gasped in mock offence. “So you blame mother’s side of the family? And that you were raised by Fëanorians had nothing to do with it?”
“No Oaths!” he exclaimed theatrically, shaking his fist at the sky. “I like to believe I got the more sensible traits from them.” He sobered again, eyes falling to the grass.
“You will see them again,” Arwen said, closing the distance between them to take her father’s hands in hers. “Your blood parents, your fathers, mother, Gil-Galad, near everyone you’ve spent so long mourning. They will all be waiting for you there.”
He brought her hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “But I will lose something precious in exchange.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I will always be with you, father. As long as you hold me in your heart, I will never leave you.”
A single tear fell from his eye and she leaned up to kiss it away from his cheek. His hands came up to cradle her face, his forehead touching hers. His eyes were closed but she kept hers open to watch his expression.
“Your mother will be sad,” he said, stating a fact instead of attempting to persuade her further.
“Tell her I love her,” Arwen replied, pressing her forehead harder against his as if she could somehow push all the love she felt for him into his skin so he might never forget. “And that I’m happy.”
“I will.” A promise. Her father never broke a promise but he also never gave one freely. “If you promise me to live your life so you will have no regrets.”
His promises always came with conditions. When she had been a child he would promise to read her stories if she promised to tidy her quarters before supper. Now he needed more from her.
“I promise.” She gave it gladly, tears in her eyes. “I love you so much, father.”
“And I love you, child. Now and forever.”
gift fic for @sindar-princeling who always finds something to praise in my writing even when I can’t. She asked for tearful goodbyes between Elrond and Arwen, so here we go. This turned out a lot longer than expected. hope you like, dear!
Additionally, I’m thinking about taking prompts, so if that’s something you would be interested in lemme know.