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Lord Elrond stood, tall and regal at the entrance to his daughters' chamber. She lay prone upon her couch, her dark hair pooled behind her head, which drooped at an angle altogether unnatural for an elf, and proclaimed a breaking spirit as surely as the tear-tracks that shone down her cheeks.
"Arwen..." he breathed softly, moving across the leaf-strewn floor, and seating himself beside her. "You are making yourself ill."
"It is not an easy choice, father." Her voice, when it came at last, was far-off and low, not the usual voice of the elf maid. "And yet, it ought to be."
"You mean you ought to feel you have no choice but to go with us?"
She shook her head, another tear escaping from her blue eyes, and falling down her face. Her red lips parted; they were chapped and neglected in her sorrow:
"I ought to feel I have no choice but to stay with him."
Elrond shut his eyes. He loved the ranger like a son, but for his daughter to give up her immortality... He knew this day would come. She was not like the other elves, as much as she may have seemed to be. As a child, the only thing that would proclaim her different from the other elven children was her companionship to the young human, Aragorn, who was sent by Legolas Thranduillion to be raised in the safety of the halls of Imladris. But though she had matured into the wise elven maid that she was now, she seemed to yet be falling back upon the follies of her ancestors... It was time to tell her the truth.
"My daughter, I have something that I must tell you," Elrond began, drawing Arwen into his arms. She allowed her head to be pillowed on his chest, and there, in the safety of his face being hidden from her gaze, he began the tale...
"Long ago, in this land that you know and love well, there was war. It did not seem to touch these parts, but changes occurred, small though they were, as a result. It was war between the Dark Elves of the North, who are now no more, because of their love of destruction and death, and between ourselves. The Silvan elves were our allies in this. Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, took the first captives in this struggle. They were a party of spies that had been sent to gain information about our strengths and weaknesses. No one knew how the hidden halls were found, but they were taken into custody nevertheless. Among them was one I will call Korvara, Mother of Darkness. She attracted the eye of Thranduil, enemy though she was, and he took her and knew her. I know not if it was with love and kindness, or with passion and force.
"Nevertheless, soon his mood turned foul and she was sent to rejoin her fellow prisoners languishing in the dungeons, and nearly perished from poor treatment. A bargain was struck, so they say, but many suspect treachery, for the dark elves were released by the light of the moon and sent quickly and silently on their way. However, they were not to make it beyond the wide felds. Not knowing the truth of their release,we attacked and slew them, only saving two – one who appeared to be a leader, who later died of his wounds, and a woman – Korvara – who was with child. We cared for her until the child came, but did not notify Thranduil, though this was undoubtedly his doing. We knew his son, Legolas, would be his heir, and he would acknowledge no illegitimate offspring. Korvara died not long after.
"There was nothing we could do but care for the child ourselves. From an early age, we assured that Legolas and Morwen, as we called her, "Dark maid", were friends. His regular visits from Mirkwood were primarily to promote good relations between the Silvan elves and the elves of Rivendell, but it served much more – they grew up friends, not knowing until much later that they were, in fact, half siblings."
Arwen had straightened, and regarded her father attentively while he related this tale. His voice was emotive and flowed like the wind through the leaves of the treetops, and he took her hand as he continued.
"Morwen was a warrior at heart. In her culture, it is the women who rule over the men. She was fierce and competitive, like her kin, and was constantly armed. Her appearance was unlike ours as well, for her hair was dark, as were her eyes. We could not, in good faith, give her a post as guard, for she was the child of the enemy, but she did much in helping our warriors train be being a willing competitor in sparring matches. Like a caged bird, she was, until the day that we had visitors to our realm, unlike any ever harbored here before...
"Like the visits of Legolas, this was in the name of promoting diplomatic relations. Thrain, the most powerful of the dwarf lords, was growing old, and ill with goldsickness, and his son Thror was preparing to become king of Erebor in his stead. Thror's son Thorin was an over-eager and feisty young dwarf, angered at his grandfather's greed, and longing to do something about it. Thror sent him to stay with the elves for a season and learn temperance. This was before the great dragon Smaug, that you have heard of, came and wrought his destruction on the dwarven halls, and Thranduil refused his help, sealing the hatred between our races. As such, the young dwarf prince came to Rivendell, and made no secret of his desire to return home as swiftly as possible. In Morwen, he found a kindred spirit.
"I am not entirely sure how the two met. It is quite likely they exchanged names as they exchanged blows in the practice court. At any rate, Thorin found himself attracted to the fierce elven maiden, and could respect her as he had never respected a woman before. He did not hold women – especially elven women – in high regard, thinking that they were weak, superficial, and lacking in conviction. Not so with Morwen. Yet when he tried to tell her this, she made it very clear that she did not feel the same way about him. She thought him arrogant and dull, and very presumptuous to speak so, as the weaker of the genders. He reminded her that he was a prince, and above her. And so they bided their time, ignoring each other, arguing when forced to be together, and each secretly thinking of the other while apart.
"Now, my dear daughter," Elrond spoke the word tenderly, and stroked a strand of dark hair from Arwen's pale face, "You must listen closely. This is, perhaps, the most important part of this tale. Thorin and Morwen's strange relationship continued for a season, when one day, after a conversation with Legolas, who was once again in Rivendell to visit his sister, both Thorin and Morwen agreed that they were going to run away. Once outside Rivendell, Thorin would return with all speed to the Lonely Mountain, and the halls of his father and grandfather, and Morwen would make for the north to see if any of her own people were yet alive. They stayed up late discussing this, when once again Thorin, against his will, though it was, confessed his feelings for the elf. The lies that she had spoken and come to believe caved in like the earth around a deep spring and she gave in that night, dominating him as he thought no woman could, and conquering him. His rough dark mane was pleasing under fingers, and his stout body was full of strength, strength that overpowered her when she had finished. Then, the beautiful fierce warrior discovered that it was wonderful to be ruled by a man, even one half her height.
"The proud young dwarf had recovered from his experiences the next day, and when asked by a softer, kinder Morwen why he was ignoring her, he replied he had too much to drink and was not responsible for his actions that night. In reality, he was torn between two of his peoples' laws: that dwarves were not permitted to marry one not of their race, and the other, that if one had relations with someone, they must consider it an engagement rite and eventually marry. But he attributed it elsewhere. Morwen seethed at this – to be told by one you love that their actions were not prompted by passion, but by wine! She resolved to treat the dwarf prince even more disdainfully after this, and continued to do so for some months. Thorin longed for her with ever fibre of his being, but she despised him. Nevertheless, they planned to go through with their escape. Word came to me of this through Legolas, and we both agreed not to prevent them, if that is what they felt they should do.
"The day before the planned escape, Legolas and Thorin were engaged in some vigorous sparring, and through inadvertence, no doubt, Thorin was wounded by Legolas' blade. Morwen came looking for Thorin that night, expecting to be met as agreed, but found him in bed, having lost a lot of blood. Legolas was unaware he had cut so deeply, and Morwen sewed up the wound herself.
"Thorin lay, pale and powerless upon the bed, and Morwen found herself drawn once again to his mystery. Weak though he was, he captured her heart once again that night, and she let herself be loved by him long into the the hours of the morning. Lying together, idly murmuring to one another, Morwen fell asleep at last. Thorin's senses, however, were heightened, and as he stroked the form of the beautiful dark elf by his side, he noticed something under his more sensitive touch that his passionate hold had failed to detect earlier that night... Arousing her, he asked her directly to tell him the truth, and her silence rather than her response confirmed his suspicions. She was with child. With a cry cursing the dwarven gods, Thorin struggled from the bed, and left her, to curse his folly and fight with the consequences that, were this known, he would be disinherited from his kingdom.
"This is what has prevented me so long from telling you these things, even though both Thorin and Morwen are dead now."
Arwen's eyes were wide as she listened to Elrond finish the tale.
"Thorin had argued with her for long hours the following night that they should not go, for a woman with child should not be traveling. Morwen was affronted, and even more so at the fact that her chance at liberty might be lost from the consequences of loving a dwarf. She retorted that she was perfectly capable of anything. Thorin did not want harm coming to her. "You carry my child, in Durin's name!" he shouted. This is when I knew. They still left that night.
"Legolas followed them at a distance, ever watchful, ever vigilant. Thorin and Morwen spent the night's wrapped in each others arms, and the days in silence or strictly necessary conversation. Once Thorin asked if she was doing alright, and Morwen responded with such scathing scorn that he did not speak of it again. Legolas did not intervene when orcs attacked and separated them, but followed those who captured his half-sister, leaving Thorin to his fate. We now know that he managed to escape and return to the halls of his father just before Smaug came and destroyed the city of Dale, capturing Erebor, and exiling the race of Durin to wander the wide felds of Middle-Earth. Legolas rescued Morwen in the dead of the night just outside the fortress of Dol Guldur. By that time, they had journeyed for nearly a year, and Morwen was ready to give birth. The orcs did not know such a thing occurred in such a way, and had paid no attention to her signs of pain all the previous day. Legolas got her safely away before she gave birth. Morwen's child was not a frightful half-breed; it was a beautiful dark-haired girl, perhaps slightly stockier than most elven offspring, but still a lovely child, with the shining blue eyes of her father.
"Morwen died that night, and Legolas did the only thing he knew to do – returned with all speed to Rivendell, delivering the child to me."
Arwen's eyes were full of tears, as were Elrond's and after sitting very still for a long moment she let out a small sob and threw herself onto him. "You are my honored father," she managed through her tears. "I love you so."
"And I you, my daughter," Elrond whispered back, pulling back to look at her face. "So now you see why you are fated to love that is forbidden."
"Is this really true?" Arwen murmured half-heartedly, looking off into the distance, her eyes cloudy, and in that moment, Elrond saw, as he had seen many times, all the best qualities of both her parents: the misty unreadable gaze of her father, his strong jaw and broad form, the full curving mouth of her mother, her dark hair, and her impressive height.
"It is..." Elrond responded tenderly.
"Call me your daughter again," Arwen whispered, and she placed her forehead against Elrond's bringing tears once again to his eyes.
"If you think you can be happy with him," Elrond began, cupping her face in his hands, "Then I give you my blessing to stay, and marry the mortal... my daughter."
As they embraced, the final leaves of the autumning fell around the two, and on the threshold of the steps far below them, Aragorn paused, and turned slowly away, giving them one final moment together as father and daughter.