Chapter Text
"She is beautiful."
Glaswen looked up with a tired smile, glad to claim the kiss her husband bestowed. "Perhaps next time you will be telling me how handsome our son is."
Arador rolled his eyes, careful to do so when none but his wife were watching. "I have already told you so, melethril. Arathorn is strong and bold, and surely will make us all proud. But a daughter, too, is a joy." He ran his fingertip lightly over the fluff of dark hair already making itself known on the newborn's head. "I am well pleased with you, and with her."
"May I see them, Adar?"
Arador glanced up to see his seven-year-old son hovering anxiously at the deerskin flap. "Have you finished packing, hil-nin?" he asked mildly, eyebrows raised.
"I have been packed for ever so long, Adar. Please may I see Nana and the new babe before I go?" Arathorn wheedled.
"Very well," Arador conceded. "Come, hil-nin. Come and meet your sister."
Arathorn came into the room, letting the flap fall shut behind him, and perched carefully on the bed in the healing tent where Glaswen lay nursing her child. He reached out a hand, and at Glaswen's nod, patted her hair.
"Has she got a name yet, Nana?" he asked.
"Not as yet," Glaswen said. "What do you think, ion nin?"
"Arneth," Arathorn suggested, and Glaswen laughed a little, sharing a fond look with Arador as she pulled her son in to kiss his brow.
"Arneth she shall be," Arador agreed.
Arathorn smiled, giving Glaswen and the new babe each a kiss before running to hug his father. "I love you."
"As I love you, my son," Arador murmured. "Mind your behaviour in Imladris, Arathorn. Do not shame me."
"I promise," Arathorn vowed. "I will be ever so good for Ada Elrond."
Arador nodded, and stepped out into the sunshine with his arm around Arathorn. His son's bay pony and packs were waiting, and the sons of Elrond stood there, greeting Arador with the kiss of close kin.
"Arathorn will be looked after well, gwador," Elladan vowed.
"I know it," Arador murmured, lifting Arathorn up to sit astride his pony and wondering what sort of Man he would be, twelve or thirteen years hence. "Do not forget how much we love you, Arathorn."
"Never, Ada," Arathorn promised. He flung his arms about Arador's neck, and then sat up properly. The Chieftain Argonui was leading the patrols, and so was not there to farewell. "Tell Daerada I love him, too. I said goodbye to Daernana."
"I promise, ion nin," Arador replied, and he watched as Arathorn lifted a small hand in farewell.
Then the Peredhil were guiding their charge away from the circle of lodges, through the field, beyond the gate--Arador watched them out of sight until he could see no more.
He returned to his wife and daughter.
"Arneth," he murmured. Royal Sister. A fitting name.