(continuation, following a group scene)

Backwater of the Bruinen(#21031RHXnt)
Here the trail leads down to the waters edge, widening out into a
pebble-covered beach, several yards square. The Bruinen here is quieter, the
current deflected toward the opposite shore by a large rock upstream. This is a
pleasant backwater, overhung by willow trees, quite suitable for swimming. The
water is crystal clear, and only a few feet deep, close in. Further out it
drops away to the Bruinen's usual jumble of rocks and sandy deposits, and the
current moves there with frightening speed. But within this sheltered area
there are peacefull still waters, a soft, sandy riverbed, and a feeling of
calm. Even the voice of the river seems muted.
Obvious exits:
Terraces leads to Terraces.


A soft rustling grows slowly into footsteps along a path on the cusp of fully
awakening to spring. As Arwen, Lady of Imladris, turns upon the path's end at
the pale shore of the backwater, she looks for a moment as one younger and more
innocent than her years would otherwise claim. With a heavenward glance then
turned back to the path and the one who follows upon it, Arwen's grey eyes hold
the light of the stars as a child might appreciate them.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
And as a child, perhaps, does her brother yet perceive her - no matter the long
seasons' passage, nor the inherent gravity which belies youth. Elrohir follows
in her steps, with mild concern his mantle, not yet unfurled. With no caution,
he speaks, as one who has lost too much time to waste on pleasantries. "What
troubles you, sister?" Raven hair mottled, gilded by the moonlight he leaves
the dark branches to stand by her at the wide water, gently searching her eyes.
"What has happened?"

Arwen's smile is quick to wither at this, but her eyes speak of lingering love
even in its absence. Willow-thin shoulders straighten as they may, though the
face of Arwen Undomiel loses aught of reverent grace to a worry yet unspoken -
one that nothing would veil from one so beloved. "When we roamed these paths as
children, I could not keep up with you and Elladan. Much has changed," she
muses, straying along a memory as her focus dips down to the glassy surface of
the water, pricked with stars.

Yet this respite of age and ages is not long to last; again her mien ages, and
the timbre of her crystalline mid-soprano weakens. "I am leaving, Elrohir. I am
leaving, and I know not what Adar will say. What you and Elladan will say."
Though strained beneath a burden borne alone thus far, the Evenstar gives in to
a plainness of spoken thought to match her brother's.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
"Leaving."

The repetition is thin, delayed, tightly controlled. Her gaze lost to him,
Elrohir searches instead the pale reflections wavering at their feet - his own
glance growing dark as an ominous sky. "What has happened?" he repeats quietly,
and turns his head to study the line of her profile. "Has a promise been
broken? Who drives you from these shores?"

"No. No." Undomiel echoes, though each not of the same voice. If the first is
wrought of firmness and resolve, the second is left with only sadness as a
slender hand seeks the Herion's forearm, only to freeze in the air between,
stayed by the darkness of his face. "Think it not so. I seek no shores as kind
as those." There is confidence in so many words, but hesitation in the faint
lines of Arwen's face.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
His glance drops to her touch, paused in the chill; brow yet furrowed as an
unyielding stony crag. But Elrohir's voice is softened by worry, as he studies
the delicate lines of his kin's pale hand - not yet willing to meet her eyes.
"What roads summon you, then, Arwen? What, or whom, would drive you from your
home?"

As slowly as a pale leaf would float from a wintering tree, Arwen's hand begins
to fall. Yet before silence and sadness would wilt upon it, she turns up her
palm, imploring. "One last chance to do what the ages - what every day -
sunders further from me. One last chance at what I fear I will never again find
the strength to do." Her voice grows further away upon each wistful syllable,
though the slightest step seeks to close the distance between them. "I would
seek the road to Lothlorien, Elrohir, if only one last time. There are promises
made there that I do not care to forget."

[Elrohir(#31678)]
But her brother steps away, smirking in swift protest; unwilling to take her
hand, acknowledge the bittersweet certainty within Arwen's words and thereby
lend them weight. Elrohir clasps his hands solidly behind his back as the
Bruinen pools about the soles of his boots, restlessly searching the far shore.
"Why do you speak of endings? Why of dwindling strength?"

He looks to her then, with stubborn finality. "The road is too dangerous.
Wait."

"Why?" Arwen echoes, a note of dry, rueful laughter threatening the edges of
her voice. "Because it is not for me to name when they will come. When strength
will fail." With her hand now at her side, smoothing over an unseen wrinkle in
her velvet cloak, she straightens opposite her brother; her argent eyes,
however, fail to match the conviction deep within Elrohir's. So does she stand,
cloaked, as a picture of lost beauty beneath the ancient trees. "It is because
of that danger that I am loath to wait. Elrohir..." But his name shatters her
crystalline voice, and she again falls silent.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
Conflicting purpose flows slipshod over his headstrong features, and he also is
silent and still, as wind rattles through the spindly willows. Intractable he
seems, coldly unrelenting as stone.

But then Elrohir shakes his head, and a great, fluid weariness softens all his
bearing. "I would not keep you fettered, Arwen." He studies her face in mingled
love and uneasiness, as if he has spoken against his judgement. "That is no
life ... And I wish a great depth of life for you, muinthel-nin. No pale,
fearful existence."

He hesitates, then continues just above his breath. "There has been a great war
within the mountains. There will be no better time."

A smile curves upon her mouth at this, but it speaks naught of reassurance, or
of gratitude - only a thin, sad expression that ages the very fair of her
deathless face. "I know you, Gwanur," comes her soft voice, spoken as much from
the depths of thoughtful eyes as from pale lips. Her words are as read from his
own features as she studies them. "I know of your love, and of your hope. So do
you know me."

A smile now failing falls from his face to idle upon the Bruinen's calmer
waters. "I am afraid." This is spoken plainly, vulnerable in even the softest
of voice.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
His fingers curl tightly into his palms, though all else is quickly mastered
into sturdy quiet. "All will be well," says Elrohir, with a solitary nod.
"...Your strength does not wane, sister. It grows. It has deep roots ..." His
words falter, fade away with the river's running. And he reaches out to gather
her in a fiercely sheltering embrace, which nonetheless lacks no gentleness.
"We will let no harm come to you."

Arwen sinks readily into her brother's arms, resting a face only slightly less
worry-lined against his shoulder. A deep sigh brings release, though her hands
at his back remain tentative. "I would not forget them," she answers, whether
to words of strength and roots, or an echo of promises spoken before, now
remembered. Pulling slightly back then, she rests both hands upon his forearms,
as if willing the tension out of them. "Nor would I forget a brother's love. Do
not worry for me, Elrohir. Not like this." Upon him look imploring eyes, so
very alike to his own in all else.

[Elrohir(#31678)]
The entreaty there is mirrored, unspoken. And Elrohir lowers his head in a
reluctant nod, glance falling away. "I will speak with Elladan." He hesitates,
as though there is a great deal more to say. But in silence, kisses her brow
and steps back, striding quickly into the dim. "That path, at least, may we
prepare for you."

Arwen's arms are slow to fall, as if cementing the memory of the embrace - or
mourning its ending. As Elrohir fades away from her reach, his sister remains
still beside the star-silvered waters as a slender silhouette in the ever
fading light. All surrenders for silence, save one further sentiment in the
wake of an absent, distracted nod.

"Do not tell Adar. I must speak with him myself."