Note this is the last chapter of this healing arc. Next arc I'm going to leave for you guys my fans here are your choices 1. Edward get thursed into to the hobbit with Arwen
or 2. he goes to his home and makes more kingdom building with Arwen. Side note he will end up in the hobbit if 2 is chosen but it would be later on in the story when he gets involved will be later decided;).
_________________________________________
The days in Rivendell moved with a rhythm unlike anything Edwen had known in Rohan. There were no horns calling to war, no clamor of smiths or restless Riders. Only waterfalls that sang endlessly through the valley and the quiet steps of elves who carried centuries of peace within their gaze.
For all the stillness, the weight in his chest did not vanish. Every night he dreamed of the plains. Sometimes of Brandt's laughter, sometimes of the thunder of hooves, more often of the silence after all was lost. Yet when he woke, the memory of Elrond's words lingered: We do not forget, but neither do we let memory consume us.
He clung to that truth like a man learning to breathe again.
It was on the sixth evening, as twilight painted the valley silver, that Arwen found him once more in the gardens. He was seated on a carved bench, turning a steel token in his fingers a piece of a Rider's rifle, worn smooth by his touch.
"You guard that as if it were a jewel," she said softly.
He started, but the voice calmed him as it always did. "It was Brandt's," he said, setting it gently on his palm. "The man who taught me half of what I know about leading. He carried it until the end."
Arwen's eyes softened. She did not reach for it, only studied his hand. "And now you carry him, in more ways than one."
Edwen looked down at the token again. His throat tightened. "I fear that if I let go of these things, they will vanish. As if they never were."
She shook her head gently. "Memories do not fade because we loosen our grip. They fade only if we refuse to share them."
He frowned, but she rose and extended her hand. "Come with me. I will show you something."
Hesitant, he took it.
Arwen led him through winding paths, past lantern-lit bridges, and into the heart of Rivendell's forests. They climbed a stair carved into living stone, moss glowing faintly in the moonlight, until the trees parted and revealed a hidden glade.
The place seemed untouched by time. A pool mirrored the stars above, so clear it was as though the sky itself lay at their feet. White flowers floated on the surface, their petals glowing faintly with silver light. At the far end rose an ancient tree, its branches reaching toward the heavens.
"This is the Moonlit Glade," Arwen said. "Few come here. It is a place of remembering. A place of healing."
Edwen could only stand in silence, breath caught. Even as an elf, he had never seen beauty such as this.
Arwen released his hand and stepped to the water's edge. She began to sing, her voice soft and luminous, carrying like light across the still air.
It was no war-song, no chant of mourning, but something older a hymn to the stars, to life that endures beyond shadow. The melody wrapped around him, fragile yet unyielding, like the memory of warmth in winter.
Edwen felt something stir deep within, a place he thought had been buried beneath grief. For the first time since the battle, his eyes filled not with sorrow, but with a longing for something brighter.
When the song faded, the night seemed to hold its breath.
"I do not know how to carry what I have lost," Edwen whispered. "But when you sing… it feels as if I could."
Arwen turned to him, her face lit by starlight. "You will. Not by forgetting, but by walking forward. That is the gift of our long years, Edwen. Time to carry, time to heal, time to love again."
His chest tightened at her words. He wanted to speak, to confess the ache that still bound him, the fear of outliving every soul he cherished. But the words would not come.
Instead, he stepped beside her, and together they looked into the pool, watching the stars ripple.
For the first time, Edwen allowed himself to imagine a future. Not free of grief, but not consumed by it either. And at his side, the daughter of Elrond not yet his, but close enough to remind him that life, even a long life, could hold more than sorrow.
That night, as he returned to his chamber, Edwen placed the steel token of Brandt on the windowsill. He did not clutch it as he slept. He let it rest in the moonlight, where memory could live without chains.
And for the first time since the plains, his dreams were not filled with death, but with the sound of a song beneath the stars.