"Arwen. My daughter!"
The voice rang out behind the three of them, and the silver goblet slipped from Arwen's fingers.
That cry, roughened by tears, made her whole body tremble. Her back locked taut, as if a bolt of lightning had run up her spine and exploded at the base of her neck.
She turned, slowly, as though afraid this would prove to be only a dream. Her gaze passed over the sea of elven faces, until it crashed into a pair of eyes brimming with tears.
A golden-haired Elf stood there, her features bearing more than a little resemblance to Arwen's own. Her long hair was loosely gathered at the back of her head, a few stray strands blown across her cheeks by the sea breeze.
Her travelling cloak was still damp with lingering morning dew. The smile at her lips was tired from salt winds, yet it shone brighter than the dawn over the Gulf of Lhûn—
—because it was the smile Arwen had chased in memory through uncounted nights beneath the stars.
Celebrían.
Daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, princess of Lothlórien, lady of Rivendell, wife of Elrond—and the mother of Arwen and her twin brothers.
Centuries ago she had been ambushed by dark creatures crossing the Misty Mountains. Her body and spirit had been scarred beyond healing, and in the end she had been forced to take ship into the West.
Now,
She had returned with the host from Aman, sailing in company with her cousins Anrod and Anariel, to set foot once more in Middle-earth.
"Mother…" Arwen's voice shook, thin as a strand of silk soaked in morning fog, almost ready to snap.
She took a stumbling step forward. The hem of her linen gown caught beneath her heel and creased, but she never noticed.
Fifteen hundred years had fallen between that last farewell and this moment.This single word, "Mother", had rolled upon her tongue for so long unsaid that when she finally forced it out, it trembled as if it did not yet dare to be real.
Celebrían could hold back no longer.
Gathering her robes in both hands, she ran.
Mother and daughter crashed into each other's arms, and in that instant the songs, the laughter, the sea and the wind seemed to fall away.
Arwen buried her face against her mother's neck. There was the familiar scent of Niphredil that lived in her oldest memories, mingled now with a faint cool sweetness—the fragrance of Valinor carried from Aman.
The scent of home. Of a homeland she had thought forever lost.
"My little star…" Celebrían's fingers tangled deep in her daughter's dark hair, her fingertips brushing the silver leaf earring she had once fastened there herself—a gift from grandmother to mother to child. Her voice broke, barely forming words. "I thought… I thought I would have to wait for the next world to see you again…"
Her tears fell into Arwen's hair like dew on petals, each drop catching a glint of light.
"You've suffered, in all these years without me."
Arwen shook her head, but the tears only came harder.
She wanted to say I have been well.
She wanted to say Father has loved me dearly.
She wanted to say I have met someone worth giving everything to.
But a thousand words jammed in her throat and melted into a single, shuddering sob.
Artemis laid a gentle hand upon Arwen's back, patting in quiet comfort. Her eyes lingered for a moment on mother and daughter locked together, then she glanced at Kaen with a small, understanding look—no need for words. They both knew they should step back and leave this moment untouched.
Kaen let his gaze slip away from the reunited pair and toward the Elves standing just behind Celebrían.
Ingwion. Anrod. Elurín… the leaders of the Westward-sailing host were all there.
The high, cold pride that had once clung to them was gone, blown away by sea-winds and hard choices. When they looked at Kaen now their eyes held something else: the earnestness of those who had struggled, and at last chosen to bend.
As Kaen's eyes met theirs, Ingwion was the first to move. He inclined his head in a respectful bow, long golden lashes throwing faint shadows upon his cheeks in the morning light.
"Kaen, my lord," he said quietly.
The other leaders followed his lead, bowing and nodding in turn with almost drill-perfect unity.
Kaen gave Artemis a brief nod of his own, silently asking her to stay and keep Arwen and Celebrían company. Then he stepped forward to meet the Elves from Aman.
"I can more or less guess why you're here," he said. "But this is not the place for the words we must speak. We'll need somewhere quieter."
His gaze lifted to the White Sacred Tree, Galarenþir, crowning the peak of the Blue Mountains. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but carried a weight that brooked no denial.
"We'll go to the foot of Galarenþir. It shall witness the bond between you and Middle-earth, or the sundering of it."
The elven lords all dipped their heads.
"As it should be," Anrod said. "We will follow your lead."
They had little choice. This was not their ship, and here Kaen's authority was no less than Gil-galad's. His presence pressed upon them like a summer sun at noon—too bright, too fierce to challenge.
Kaen sent word to the assembled envoys of every realm, save Gil-galad, who was still greeting his people, that they were to attend a council beneath the White Tree.
And so, while Lindon rejoiced, while song and music rolled through the streets of Grey Havens, they turned their backs on feast and lay and climbed the steep elven paths toward the high ridges of the Blue Mountains.
Galarenþir, the White Sacred Tree, towered there upon the peak.
Its trunk was thick as an ancient citadel pillar, its boughs spread like a canopy of living green, each leaf edged with a soft white radiance.
Sunlight poured through the leaves and fell broken upon the ground, scattering in a web of shadow and light like a net of shattered stars.
Twelve nobles of Lindon stood guard around the tree, cloaks stirring in the high wind. Each was a hero of the highest renown, legends even among the Eldar.
When they saw Kaen approach, they bowed deeply.
"We greet you, Aran-Erain,."
Kaen inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"You are all steadfast warriors," he said, "with the strongest hearts and the clearest faith. A great council will be held beneath this tree. You will stand as witnesses, but you must swear upon your lives that all which you hear and see today will remain in your hearts alone."
At once, the twelve went down upon one knee.
"As we live," they said as one, "we swear before the Valar and all created things: what we hear this day shall be bound to our lives. The day our tongues betray it shall be the day our bodies fall."
"Take up your watch," Kaen answered. "No one else is to approach this place."
There were no chairs beneath the White Tree. Each found a place to stand where they could.
The leaders out of Aman watched Galarenþir with bright, intent eyes, feeling the light that streamed from its branches wash through them. Every face was lit with longing.
"It is like the Two Trees of old," Ingwion murmured, scarcely aware he spoke aloud. "It cannot light the whole world, but it could hold a kingdom, perhaps more than one, beyond the reach of shadow."
Nods circled through the gathering; on this, at least, all Elves readily agreed.
Seeing their expressions, Kaen spoke.
"In this world, any Elf who lives long beneath this light—whether in spirit, in wisdom, or in the depths of the heart—will stand equal to the so-called Elves of Light,The Calaquendi" he said. "The only difference will be that they do not bear that name."
Ingwion and the others blinked, then understood.
He was reminding them—gently, and yet not gently at all—that save for the crafts and lore of Aman, there was little left in which the Elves of the West could claim themselves above those who had stayed and bled in Middle-earth.
Their eyes grew complicated.
Had he said such words upon their flagship, they might have brushed them aside. But here, with the Tree's radiance sinking into their very bones, they could not deny it.
The proof was living and shining all around them.
When everyone had settled into place, Kaen drew a long breath.
"Very well," he said softly. "Then let us begin.
"From this moment on, we speak not for one kingdom alone, nor for one people alone, but for the fate of all Middle-earth."