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It was Almárëa who first spotted the banners of the army, tiny flecks of black and green on the distant east horizon, even before the tower guards. Her skirts billowing about her skinny knees, the little princess jumped down from her perch at the Citadel wall, crying out for all to hear.

"They're back, they're back! Adar and Eldarion are home!"

Almárëa's calls brought Arwen and Eruthiawen rushing out from the Tower of Ecthelion and Éowyn and Túrien from somewhere in the Second Circle of the city. Faramir was not far behind, along with the nobility of the White City. Soon the call was taken up by others throughout Minas Tirith, and all dropped whatever they were doing to fill the streets. An air of great gladness and also great anticipation hung heavy in the air like a summer fog, even though the day was bright and sunny. Very soon the fates of many would be revealed to their eagerly waiting loved ones.

Her doe-like eyes wide with delight, Almárëa ran to Arwen's side.

"Naneth, Naneth, can you see them?! Just there, beyond the north watchtower of Osgiliath?"

The queen smiled, taking her youngest daughter's hand and squeezing it. Arwen was the picture of queenly poise, the crown upon her raven-black hair shining like the moon in the vaulted night sky. When she saw for herself the growing wave of soldiers approaching from the east, her eyes lit up no less brightly than Almárëa's.

Túrien and Eruthiawen came to join Arwen and Almárëa at the parapet. Túrien was clad roughly in a fitted jerkin and leggings, setting her in sharp contrast to Eruthiawen's robin's egg blue gown. The two were undoubtedly sisters in their mirroring, eager postures as they leaned toward the horizon.

"We should probably wait to greet Adar and the others when they reach the Citadel." Eruthiawen said, her voice trailing off somewhat as her clear grey eyes feasted on the sight of the army.

"Aye, we should..." Faramir, lord of all things decorum said, sounding likewise unconvinced. He and Éowyn exchanged a look.

"Fie on waiting!" Túrien cried, whirling around on her boot-shod heel. "I'm going down to the gates!"

"Wait for me, I'm coming too!" Almárëa dropped Arwen's hand and took off after Túrien, a spring in her light step.

"Naneth...?" Pausing, Eruthiawen looked to Arwen. The eldest princess already had her gown hitched up in her hands, ready to give chase to her sisters.

A slow, playful smile tugged at Arwen's cheeks. Éowyn was already on the move. "I will race you down there, iel-nin." The queen of Gondor declared.

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When the gates of Minas Tirith fell open before them, Eldarion could no longer contain the smile of relief which had been waiting to surface ever since they first saw the White City. They had been gone only a matter of weeks, and yet this felt like a long awaited homecoming. With Aragorn and Éomer leading the way, the lords of the west rode into the main city square.

People were everyone; on balconies, crowded in the streets, shouting from their windows. Conflict with the East had been too long enduring, and it seemed that a great weight was now lifted from the shoulders of all folk. The banners of Gondor and Rohan fell slack as they lost the wind beyond the city walls. The lords of Gondor had returned, and at last the swords could be sheathed once more.

With a kingly smile of greeting for his people, Aragorn lifted his clenched hand to the sky in a gesture of victory. This announced their win over the men of the East better than any speech could have. Instantly a cheer went up from all around, sure to spread throughout the entire city. There would be great celebration in Minas Tirith that night.

Eldarion saw Almárëa threading through the crowd, between the still-mounted soldiers only a moment after Aragorn did. Aragorn slid from the saddle in time to open his arms wide to his youngest daughter. Almárëa launched herself at Aragorn, wrapping her arms around his neck heedless of the dust of travel.

"Ada, you're home!" Almárëa cried.

The utter lack of decorum on the part of the young princess opened a similar floodgate for all of the other families about them. Children ran to their fathers, parents embraced their sons. There was no need to stand on ceremony in the face of such loving relief. Those who were unfortunate enough to have lost a loved one were surrounded by comfort readily given on all sides.

Aragorn squeezed Almárëa tightly to him, nuzzling her soft cheek with the stubble on his chin. "I promised you that I would be, my little light." Then Túrien reached him, and he set down Almárëa to embrace his middle child. "And here is my fierce storm in all her glory."

Túrien bowed her head to let her father kiss her brow, a tender gesture she would not have tolerated from anyone else. Almárëa meanwhile fair near pounced on Eldarion.

"Eldarion, thank the Valar you made it!" Almárëa was squeezing Eldarion so hard around the waist that it nearly crushed the breath from him. Eldarion returned the hug with just a shade less strength, not wanting to squash his littlest sister.

"What, you were doubtful that I would, Almárëa?" He asked, his words teasing. "Have you so little faith in my skill with a blade?"

Arwen and Eruthiawen were only moments behind the younger girls, and Aragorn greeted them both with tender reverence, declaring them the queens of his heart. Nearby, Elboron had nearly been pulled down off his mare by Éowyn and Faramir in their haste to embrace him. Elboron met Eldarion's eye over his mother's shoulder, and the two of them grinned at one another. They could hear Queen Lothíriel somewhere close at hand, showering her husband and son with scolding and love in equal measure.

"My victorious horse lords, come! You must tell me all that happened in the East, and...Elfwine, what is that? No, don't turn your face, take that helmet off! Éomer...however did this happen to our son?"

Listening to Éomer and Elfwine both trying to explain away the magnificent green, purple and black bruise above Elfwine's eye was certain to be amusing. Eldarion's attention was pulled away by another form of blustering. Gimli was being helped out of the back of the cart, and he was even less pleased at the idea of being carried on a stretcher than he had been at having Legolas carry him on the battlefield. Almárëa was at her favorite 'uncle's' side in a twinkling.

"Gimli, what happened to your leg? Oh why does it look so swollen?" She was already trying to lean in for a closer look at the splint.

Gimli gently batted Almárëa back. "No lass, that's no sight for a wee girl like you to be seeing. You let it be, I'm alright."

Finally it was agreed that Legolas would take Gimli up to the Houses of Healing on Arod's back, rather than the dwarf suffering the indignity of a ride on a stretcher all the way up through the city. Aragorn sent his friends on their way with a promise that he would come to check on Gimli's leg presently. Once all the soldiers were officially dismissed, the royals all together returned to the Citadel. Aragorn walked with Arwen, arm-in-arm with their four children close behind, all chattering happily together. Éomer followed with Lothíriel tucked against his chest. Elfwine and Elboron jested with one another as they walked, the two cousins cheerfully shoving one another and earning a half-hearted scolding from Faramir, whose hand was claimed by Éowyn. Kings and queens, princesses, stewards and lords they might be, but as they all walked together they savored the simple joy of friendship.

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That evening, as promised, there was a great gathering in the Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts. All of the captains of Rohan and Gondor were present, as well as from Dol Amroth, Ithilien and Lebennin. The cloaks of the Rohirrim added a rich, earthy presence to the polished marble hall, none more splendid that Éomer with the golden crown of Rohan on his brow.

Raven-haired Lothíriel glimmered at her lord husband's side in royal blue and silver, ear cuffs in the design of curling swan necks paying tribute to her origins as a princess of Dol Amroth. Her brother Elphir captured Faramir and Éowyn early on in the evening, the three of them sitting at the end of the head table deep in discussion. The White Lady of Ithilien complemented her dark-clad husband in a gown of buttercup yellow as the sun complements a sunset sky. Almárëa was still fussing over Gimli, who sat with his crippled leg propped up on a pillow. The dwarf had long since given up on trying to call her off, and instead repaid her concern with dramatic retellings of the battle itself. Túrien, looking disgruntled in red satin was eagerly listening to Gimli's war stories in between peppering Elfwine and Eldarion with questions about the eastern armies. Eruthiawen meanwhile played referee to a riddle contest between Elboron and Legolas, and if her bell-like laughter were any indication someone was losing quite badly.

At the center of the head table, Aragorn looked sideways at Arwen and smiled. Here, surrounded by their kin, dear friends, and loyal subjects, all felt right with the world. Aragorn still would have preferred to be out beneath a starlit sky singing old ballads for their children. Still, not everything could be perfectly as a person wished. Arwen returned the smile and flicked her gaze slightly. It was time for a speech from the king. Aragorn sighed internally but nodded, prompting Arwen to pat the back of his hand as he rose.

Immediately the Great Hall fell silent when the High King stood, all eyes turning to the head table. This was a moment of glory for Gondor, and Aragorn looked every bit the victorious lord. Gazing up at her husband, Arwen felt a prickling of foresight. This was the summit of an era. The end of the War of the Ring had begun a new age, and Aragorn had been just at the beginning of his prime as king. Like an elf can smell the very moment in which summer turns to autumn, Arwen sensed that first whisper of the changing winds. Leaves must turn from green to gold, and the sun must fade with the year. The Evening Star of Gondor turned somber as she saw a vision of not Aragorn, but Eldarion standing tall in the seat of honor with a crown upon his head. Had it begun already, so soon? Ah, the bitterness of mortality that seasons should change so swiftly.

"Lords, ladies, friends." Aragorn began. "We gather here tonight to celebrate renewed peace in Middle-Earth, but also to look to the days ahead. Peace seems a fragile thing, given to wavering in the face of old grudges and uncertainties. Peace must be tended to with all the care of a fresh seedling, mindful of the winds of change and the storms of long, tumultuous history. Yet know this; if we nurture that precious seedling, watering it with hope, trust, and forgiveness, one day a mighty oak might stand firm in its place. Nations may rise from ash in such manners, and the fruits of wisdom will be shared by generations to come."

At the mention of forgiveness a quiet murmuring went up around the hall. Éomer sat calm and expressionless, but many could guess at what Aragorn foreshadowed. The enmity between west and east ran dark and deep in the south of Middle-Earth; many in Gondor and Rohan had lost kin to the long wars with the Easterlings and Haradrim. Aragorn knew that, if the terms of Harad were to be accepted by his people, the process of reconciliation would have to begin now, this very moment, long before they were even brought before the Council. It would take time, a great deal of time, to heal the wounds of war.

"Come, let us now turn out thoughts to hope and joy." Reaching down, Aragorn took up his silver goblet. Éomer likewise stood, lifting his own cup, as did Arwen and Lothíriel. "To the future."

"To the future." Arwen echoed.

Éomer did not repeat Aragorn's toast, but he did drink from his chalice all the same. The king of Rohan's gaze slid to Elfwine, standing between Eldarion and Túrien. Despite the mottled bruise on his brow, his son's handsome, square-jawed face remained as cheerful and open as ever. Éomer drained the goblet then without any further hesitation.

Once dinner was over and the long tables cleared to make way for dancing, Arwen excused herself from Aragorn's side. Understanding the needs of his half-elven wife for moments of peace, Aragorn nodded and kissed her hand with his chapped lips. His brow may be weathered and his beard and hair shot with silver, but Aragorn's eyes have never changed, Arwen mused as she made for the balcony at the end of the hall. Many bowed in deference as she passed. The queen of Gondor was still breathtaking, the black beads on her burgundy gown winking like dew-slicked thorns on a rose. Arwen noticed that the riddle game now consisted of Elboron and Eruthiawen; Legolas was no longer with them. Knowing the elf lord of Ithilien to likely be of the same mind as her, Arwen was unsurprised to find Legolas already out on the balcony.

Legolas's silvery blonde hair glimmered in the starlight, his embroidered tunic only a few shades darker. He stood facing the city, his long slender fingers resting on the balcony rail. Even Legolas's fair skin seemed to glow with the inner radiance of the Eldar, a glow Arwen had long since lost. The whisper of Arwen's hem was enough to alert him to her presence. Arwen greeted him with a heartfelt smile, then a soft laugh.

"The years may have aged me, mellon-nin, but not so for you. You are still as light and golden an ellon as Lúthien Tinúviel was dark and beautiful an elleth."

Legolas chuckled and shook his head, making room for Arwen at the cool stone railing. Eärendil's star hung low and bright in the sky already, always the first to appear and the last to fade each night.

"My father was freer with his flattery in my earliest days. Who told you that phrase?"

"Mithrandir, of course. The old wizard was rather fond of gossiping about the elvish realms you know, especially to my father."

"That hardly surprises me. Gandalf the Grey did have a penchant for spinning yarns." Legolas leaned back on his elbows, studying Arwen in the low light. "You are neglecting your guests, Your Grace."

Arwen looked back over her shoulder toward the golden glow of the Great Hall. Music reached them from within, and already the gliding forms of dancing couples could be seen on the floor.

"They are well used to their queen's unusual tendencies by now, I think."

"Something weighs on your thoughts, Undómiel?"

Arwen sighed, lacing her fingers together and studying them in the moonlight. "Nothing that I did not fully accept when I gave my heart to Estel, so many years ago. Foresight tells me that tonight marked a turning, the beginning of the waning of our years together. I cannot explain it...but my heart whispered so to me tonight.

"Fleeting are the days of mortals." Legolas spoke bluntly, but not without gentleness. "You and Aragorn still have time in this world yet though, more time than many mortals of lesser bloodlines could ever hope for." Then the elf prince's fair face took on a mournful tinge. "Do not hurry the passing of days along with anticipation, Arwen, for I am in no hurry for you, Aragorn or any others whom I hold dear to depart this world."

Arwen looked up to Eärendil's star, so beloved by their people. "You find yourself the lone immortal amongst mortals I fear, Thranduilion. The price paid for making yourself a part of this world, no?"

"Now that also sounds like something my father would say. Are you entirely certain you have not been corresponding with him on the sly?"

The seriousness of their conversation dispelled, Arwen laughed. "Since when has your father ever been one to correspond with any beyond his own borders, exempting yourself?"

Legolas shrugged helplessly. "He grows more reclusive with every passing century. I had hoped to draw him out to see our new colony in Ithilien at least once, but even that seems too much to expect. Ah well, I am hardly one to dictate how others ought to live." Then his voice grew serious once more. "Time passes differently for us all, Arwen. Perhaps you shall find the years you still have in this world to be enough yet. And besides, there is still a great deal to look forward to."

"Such as?"

"The ripening of yours and Aragorn's children, for one. Eldarion is a fine young man, and your daughters would each have claimed a place of pride in the ballads of any elvish minstrel. All of Gondor can scarcely wait to see what the future holds for the heirs of Isildur and Imladris."

Arwen's heart warmed at the thought of her son and daughters' futures, so bright and full of promise. "I have always loved autumn, and thought it a season of great beauty."

"Then do not dismay that the first breath of autumn has crept into yours and Aragorn's lives. Enjoy the changing of the colors in all their splendor, and fear not the winter. 'Remember how to live', a wise woman once told me. 'That is the hardest thing to do, but also the very best thing'."

"You are beginning to sound like a wise elder yourself, Little Leaf." Arwen tucked her arm in Legolas's and drew him back toward the Great Hall. "Come, let us linger no longer in the shadows. Elboron will no doubt be looking to avenge himself in the aftermath of your little riddle contest."

"On the contrary, it is I who need avenging! Faramir and Éowyn's son has an uncommonly clever mind, for a mortal."

"And so it seems I must now take back my words regarding your so-called wisdom." Arwen laughed. Together the two children of the elves rejoined the party, once again surrounded by all the love and light of mortality.

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