The Exile's Daughter

Healing

The effect of Imladris was truly remarkable. Two weeks after I awoke, I was sat in an armchair, facing the window in the mid-morning sunshine. Though my wound still pained me, it was hard to dwell on it when the warmth of a spring day shone upon my face. My waist-length hair lay loose about my shoulders, soft and honey coloured in the sunlight.

Arwen sat opposite me, humming to herself, an easel in front of her chair, sketching a fine miniature portrait for Aragorn. It was an image of them both, standing with their foreheads pressed together under the eaves of Lothlorien, where they had pledged themselves to each other. Though she had not yet added any colour, I could almost see the golden leaves above them, and the blossom in their hair, smell the sweet scent of summer flowers, and feel the breeze lifting Arwen's long skirts away from her ankles.

Our time with the rangers had been coming to an end in March, and as such we had missed his birthday. I had already gifted him a particularly fine bottle of Dorwinion, the strongest a mortal could drink, and he had promised to wait for me to share it. Arwen, of course, wanted to give him something unique. Once it was finished, he would easily fit the tiny canvas into a pocket or a pack.

While she worked on her gift, I completed my own with a satisfied smile – a sunhat for Miriel, embroidered with leaves and tied with strings. I had never had a chance to finish it back in the camp.

"She will look so sweet in that." Arwen smiled, setting down her work to inspect mine.

I chuckled. "Legolas nearly melted into a puddle when he saw it."

Arwen smiled a sly smile, as she did whenever I mentioned him. "I can imagine. You will be such fine parents one day."

"Now, stop it." I laughed. "Even if we end up wed, it will be years before we have children. Centuries, perhaps."

Arwen rolled her eyes. "If."

"You're only so smug because you won your foolish bet."

Her smile grew wider. "Partly. You know how competitive Aragorn can be."

Just as I was about to ask what the other 'part' was, there was a knock on the door. In a flash, Arwen had hidden her canvas under her cushion. I called to enter, and Legolas, Beriadan and Almarien walked in, Ancalimë hobbling along behind them, clutching on to Aragorn's arm. She was frailer than before, and I could not get used to the empty space where her right arm should be no matter how hard I tried, but her smile was the same.

Beriadan knelt beside me, his daughter in his arms. "How are you feeling?"

I smiled easily, accepting Legolas' kiss as he leaned down, and grinning at Aragorn when he ruffled my hair. "Rested, and content."

"I do not remember rest" Almarien said wearily. We all smiled, and she perched on the left arm of my chair. I took the hat, and stroked Miriel's pink cheek. She looked curiously up at me.

"I have a gift for you, little one."

Almarien took it from me, beaming. "Hold her." Beriadan said, offering me the baby. She whimpered when her father stepped away, but I rested her against my shoulder, humming softly, and she calmed again. Almarien put on the hat and stood back to admire the affect. "It's perfect." She smiled. "Thank you, Ness."

"It gave me something to do." I said airily. "And we don't want you getting sunburned", I soothed, running my free hand down Miriel's back, "do we little darling?"

It was a bitter joy to see both mother and baby doing so well. I loved them both, of course, but every time I held the delicate infant, with her dark hair and her rosebud lips, I was reminded that I would not do the same for my own for many years.