Some would say I spend too much time in these gardens. I have heard the whispers: “Does the city not please the silver-haired one?” Yet I am an Elf, and a Sinda. I find my comfort in growing things, the simple pleasures of the cool earth, the forest's air, and not the stone fortresses of my lady's people.
Two voices drift from the herb-patch not far away. One form I recognize, but the other I cannot place. “My lady, beg your pardon, but as I said before, 'tis not proper for you to be here...”
The old voice cracks but it does not falter; she insists on detailing every reason Undomiel should leave such simple matters to the ladies of the Houses. Yet she does not seem so offended that she would rid herself of a ready audience for her complaints.
Arwen ignores her chatter; over the hedge, I see my granddaughter kneeling. Burrow, deposit, cover. I knew Aragorn wouldsee that the city never lacked for
again, but he would not ask his wife to plant it herself!
The soul of the Sindar still dwells in her, whatever choice she has made. She will make a fine queen.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.