Edwen Elric Éorendilson stood on the balcony of Meduseld, gazing across his realm as dawn spilled over the horizon. The light kissed the fields and the new forges alike, casting everything in a molten glow. Below, the city stirred awake, smiths lighting their fires, merchants opening stalls, elven artisans weaving tapestries that shimmered like starlight.
He breathed deeply, the scent of metal and morning dew mingling in the air. Behind him, the banners of his house fluttered the white horse of Rohan entwined with the silver tree of Rivendell.
The wind was brisk, sharp enough to tug at his unbraided hair. He had grown taller still, his once-youthful frame now fully that of a man. There was laughter in the lines of his face, and calm in his eyes tempered steel where once had been raw fire.
And yet, he still found humor in his reflection.
"Never thought I'd look down on elves," he muttered under his breath, chuckling. "Guess I finally outgrew more than my temper."
"Talking to yourself again, my love?"
The voice came soft and musical from the doorway. Arwen stepped out into the morning light, her gown a deep green trimmed in silver, her long hair braided with white blossoms. Her steps were slow and deliberate, graceful even in weariness. The way one hand drifted often, absently, protectively toward her middle did not go unnoticed.
Edwen turned, a smile blooming unconsciously on his lips. "Just testing if I can still sound wise when no one's listening."
"You've never had that problem," she teased, her eyes alight. "Only the problem of sounding too clever."
"Occupational hazard," he said easily, crossing to her. He kissed her forehead gently before resting a hand over hers, the one that lingered upon her stomach. The gesture was wordless, tender, protective.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The quiet joy between them said enough.
Below, the forge fires flared to life, and the clanging of hammers began their morning song.
Edwen's gaze drifted to the horizon. "You can almost hear it, can't you? The rhythm of peace. I used to think silence was what peace sounded like. But it's not. It's this, the world working, living, breathing again."
Arwen followed his gaze. "You've given them something precious, Edwen. A future built on more than fear."
He smiled faintly, a flicker of humility crossing his face. "Maybe. But I only gave them tools. They're the ones who chose to build."
They stood together for a long moment, the wind tugging softly at her hair.
Down in the square, children ran laughing between the fountains. A group of elven healers passed, carrying baskets of herbs, their light laughter mixing with the clatter of the market. Humans and elves, dwarves all moving side by side.
Arwen watched them with quiet satisfaction. "My father would not believe it if he saw this. Dwarves and Elves working together without ancient grief or suspicion."
Edwen's mouth quirked. "He'd probably give me a ten-page lecture before admitting I did something right."
"Perhaps twenty," she replied, smiling.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
A familiar voice called from below. "My lord! The north road has reached the edge of the mountain passes!"
Brandil, the half-elf engineer, approached carrying a scroll half the length of his arm. He looked up with boyish excitement. "We've done it! The first stretch of the paved trade route from Edoras to the western valley. The dwarves are already talking of a forge outpost in the highlands."
Edwen took the scroll, unrolling it with a grin. "You did good work, Brandil. This road will tie the world together. Trade, travel, safety, it'll change everything."
"The others call it the King's Way," Brandil said proudly.
Edwen shook his head. "No. The People's Way. It belongs to all of them."
Arwen touched his shoulder gently, pride glowing in her eyes. "You've become a true king, my love. The kind who doesn't just rule, he builds."
He met her gaze, his tone softening. "And you've become the heart of this place. They look to you as much as they look to me."
A faint blush warmed her cheeks. "Then perhaps we are both learning to share the weight."
He smiled at that, then, in a sudden spark of humor, leaned closer and whispered, "Though between the two of us, I think you're carrying more weight than I am lately."
Arwen's lips twitched, her expression caught between exasperation and amusement. "You are insufferable."
"Only when I'm right," he said with a wink.
She sighed but didn't pull away. Her hand rested again on her belly, and his followed fingers entwining gently over the soft curve there. The moment lingered, private and fragile, filled with unspoken promise.
Brandil, wisely sensing the shift in tone, made a quiet retreat.
Later that evening, the hall of Meduseld blazed with warmth and life. Candles lined the walls, their flames flickering against carved beams. Music filled the air, Rohirrim strings blending with elven flutes.
Edwen sat among his people, laughter easy on his lips. His once-commanding presence had mellowed into quiet authority, and yet when he spoke, the entire hall listened.
"Tomorrow," he said, raising his goblet, "we begin the final stretch of the east road. When it's done, Rohan will be bound to Rivendell by stone and will—men and elves traveling as one. Let this be the foundation of a new age."
A cheer rose, echoing through the hall like thunder.
Arwen watched him from her seat, her face half-lit by firelight. There was pride there, and tenderness, and something deeper, a secret that neither of them dared to speak aloud just yet.
As the hall roared with celebration, Edwen found her gaze across the room and smiled softly. She returned it, her hand resting once more upon her stomach, her thumb tracing small, unconscious circles.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of rain and distant snow from the north. The night sky above Rohan shimmered with stars, cold, eternal, and watching.
And in that moment, beneath the golden banners and the laughter of his people, Edwen felt a stirring deep within his soul.
A sense that peace, like all things forged, was only as lasting as the hands that tended it.