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The sound of the waterfall was new to Eldarion.

He knew well the gentle rush of the mighty Anduin, on its sure and steady course, from his many trips to Osgiliath and Ithilien. He knew the decidedly unsteady trickle of the freezing cold spring by the Forbidden Pool even better - he would often go there with Elboron and his sisters to explore during the summer. Many years of merry treks to the Forbidden Pool made sure the memory of the spring never left the Prince of Gondor.

But this - this thunder of tonnes upon tonnes of crystal water crashing down on sharp rocks and tumbling into the valley, mist-like spray from its force almost reaching Eldarion's dangling legs causing little rainbows to pop up when a ray of sunlight caught it - this was such a tremendous experience, it was utterly breathtaking.

His mother often told him of the magnificence of the Bruinen, in the Valley of Imladris. Eldarion had with all his might wished, whenever her soft voice, reminiscent of different times, spoke of this place, to witness the splendour himself.

Now, he was here.

Early that morning he found his uncles Elladan and Elrohir standing silently on a balcony, mirroring each other as they watched the sun rise. It was a particularly awesome sunrise, the light catching clouds and transforming them to brilliant scarlet and gold and wild orange. Eldarion had waited quietly in the doorway until the display had faded to a slight tinge of delicate pink on the remaining wisps of cloud and the sky was its usual pale blue, and he stepped forward.

The elf brothers turned in unison, their faces unusually grave, framed with long dark hair. When they saw Eldarion, they smiled.

"That was a sunrise and a half," Eldarion remarked, to ease the tension, and went cheerfully to lean against the balcony rails and watch the river. "I wonder what such a display means."

The brothers shared an age-old look.

"The rising of a red sun -" Elladan began carefully - and then, with a change in tone, "- heralds clear skies and not a breath of wind, the coming of a perfect day for a hunt. What say you, Aragornion?"

"I would be honoured!" Eldarion broke from his reverie and grinned, hurrying to ready his horse. His excitement was so infectious that the two elves - used to sobriety and seriousness in these new days of Men, alone with naught but the birds for company - remembered the days of their own youth, millennia ago, and brought Eldarion to the surrounding forests with a cheerfulness not at all forced. The enthusiasm of their young nephew rejuvenated them, and their hunt was bountiful.

Upon their return to the Last Homely House Eldarion hung back a little.

"If you don't mind, I would rather stay here for a while and watch the waterfall."

"Ai, truly we understand, son of Eldar. If it were at all feasible I would spend the rest of my immortal life watching the ever-changing Bruinen, giving thanks for the beauty Lady Kementári had bestowed upon the Valley of Imladris. Every day, Elladan and I discover a new little stream or cluster of flowers or some small nook in nature that opens a new world of wonder. Enjoy your time here, nephew, but return come midday lest your mother sends out a search party."

Eldarion laughed, and dismounted as they rode away.

He led his horse to the far end of the valley, savouring every step on the mossy, leaf-covered ground. This was not the main path they had taken for the hunt, and it rather n showed signs of neglect - tall greenery grew on its borders, and trees laden with leaves lowered their branches so far that Eldarion and his horse had to walk with their heads bowed. The path began to incline.

He came to a clearing in the trees, a steep drop to his right, the waterfall directly below. The ground was covered in delicate moss, and early clover and daisies dotted the ground. Elladan and Elrohir were right -it was indeed a beautiful day, without a breath of wind, and a small white butterfly flitted innocently among the tall grass. An old stone bench, carved from a single block of limestone stood in the middle of the little clearing, facing the view of the valley. Eldarion saw Elrond's house far below, a distinctive tangle of black hair showing his little sister Túrien running across one of the walkways.

Eldarion, after a moment's deliberation, decided not to sit on the bench. It was so peaceful here, the view so magnificent, it seemed sacrilege to desecrate what had evidently once been a private place of reflection for elves long gone to the Havens. He sat down before it, the grass pleasantly warm though it was still morning. The horse needed no tethering, and placidly stayed well away from the drop.

The Prince of Gondor stayed so still he might have been made of stone, like the cool marble statues of elven ladies he'd passed on the way, slowly being taken by nature.

He closed his eyes - and saw her, clear as day, though he knew she could not be real.

She was taller than any mortal maid, and sat gracefully on the stone seat, running her long fingers sadly over the moss. Her hair grew to her waist in waves, the sunlight catching it and making it glow the most brilliant shade of sparkling silver. She wore a long gown of pure white, a belt of intricate filigree silver around her waist. A similar ornament adorned her brow, a circlet with a white stone set at the centre. Her ears were pointed, a posy of daisies tucked behind one and woven into the silver circlet.

She was completely unfamiliar, and yet he knew who she was, his grandmother Celebrían, whose story was so tragic and yet so beautiful - this had once been her private sanctuary, coming here when her mind was in the greatest torment. When her name crossed Eldarion's mind, she turned to smile - and was gone.

Eldarion had scarcely time to blink before the second lady appeared, one he knew very well.

It was clear she took after her father in appearance, with her long dark hair and deep, unforgettable grey eyes, but when Lady Arwen Undómiel turned to smile at Eldarion, he knew it was her mother's. For a moment he nearly laughed - here was a vision of his mother, when Queen Arwen herself was not several miles away in her old home. But that moment passed, and he realised this lady was not yet his mother - her eyes, though still gentle and kind, were fiery and determined, full of youth and hope.

She was singing as she gazed out at the view, that was clear.

Eldarion strained to hear the sweet music, he could almost hear it -

- and the silence was broken by a burst of song from a nearby tree, a nightingale opening her beak and chirping cheerfully.

Tinúviel, Eldarion thought to himself, with a delighted smile.

The moment the name crossed his mind, the lady turned and looked back, frightened, half-rising from the little stone seat where the memories of her mother were strongest. She vanished into nothing, and Eldarion blinked in confusion again.

"Eldarion!"

A real lady came into the clearing, his sister Eruthiawen, only fifteen years old but already possessing the gentle grace of the past Ladies of Rivendell, albeit very out of breath from her climb.

"What are you doing here? Elladan and Elrohir have lit the braziers in the Hall of Fire, and we are about the begin supper. You've been gone for ages."

"Have I?" Eldarion struggled to his feet, looking about, bemused. The sun was definitely nearing the western horizon, and though the water still churned below, there was a definite coolness to the air - evidently his grandmother and young mother had been with him much longer than he'd realised. He decided to confide in Eruthiawen, telling her all about his strange day.

Eruthiawen sighed. Her hair, in the evening sun, glowed like fire.

"There is history here, Eldarion, long years of love and memory that are now but echoes of the past. Mother lived that past, and being here I think she lives it once again. Now come, Father is telling the story of Beren and Lúthien to Túrien and Almárëa."

They began to make their way down the worn path.

"Did you ever wonder what it would be like to be an elf, and live for millennia in such a haven as this?" Eldarion said wistfully. Elrohir's remark about discovering a new stream or clump of flowers or nook in nature, spending the rest of an immortal life giving thanks for the ever-changing beauty of the Bruinen had struck a chord with him.

"Often, brother. I like to imagine it sometimes, as I did this morning in Grandfather Elrond's library - I really believe it would take a century to peruse all the books in that room alone. But I think to our life at home - all the fun we have with Elboron and the girls, and when Elfwine comes in the summer, and how Mother gave up this life for it - I would not exchange it for the world."

"You are right, as ever. But admit it - it is rather fun, playing at being an elf for a few days," Eldarion grinned, poking his sister playfully.

Eruthiawen sighed again, refusing to join the game. "I cannot deny I feel the same. But the time of elves is fading, even our uncles are nearly figures of legend now."

"They still have time," Eldarion said. They had reached the great archway that led to the Hall of Fire, and their hearts lightened at once to see the light and merriment fill the room once again.

"They still have time," Eruthiawen agreed, and pushed open the door.

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