Side note: Arwen knows about Edwen's past life. I don't remember if I had a scene in my last chapter where he tells her, but
The plains of Rohan stretched endlessly before them, gold and green beneath the morning sun. The wind swept over the tall grass, carrying the faint scent of rain and the thunder of hooves, the song of home.
At the head of the host rode Edwen Elric Éorendilson, his golden hair bright beneath his helm, the sun gleaming off the steel of his armor. Beside him, Arwen Undómiel's silver-threaded cloak fluttered in the breeze, the white mare beneath her stepping with serene grace.
Behind them rode the proud remnant of Edwen's fifty Riders, thirty now, and the host of elves who had chosen to follow, craftsmen, healers, and guards alike. The banners of Rohan and Rivendell flew together for the first time, rippling side by side in the wind.
As they crested the final ridge, the Golden Hall came into view. Edoras lay before them proud, weathered, but alive. Smoke curled from chimneys, the city bustling as bells began to ring in the distance. The golden roof of Meduseld caught the light, flashing like fire on the hill.
Edwen slowed his horse, his breath catching in his throat. Home. After years of war, loss, and wandering, he had come home.
The horns of Edoras sounded across the valley, low and clear. The gates opened wide, and a cheer rose up from the people gathered there: the Riders of the Mark, the farmers, the smiths, the children waving green banners from rooftops.
At the forefront stood the King of Rohan, Edwen's stepfather, regal in bearing yet smiling with unguarded warmth. Beside him, the Queen of Rohan, his adoptive mother, stood radiant as ever, tears glistening in her eyes.
Edwen dismounted before the steps of Meduseld, dropping to one knee in respect. "Mother," he said, his voice thick.
She didn't wait for formality. With a cry of joy, she ran down the steps and threw her arms around him. "My son! My golden child, you're home."
Edwen held her close, his voice trembling. "I told you I'd return."
His stepfather placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "And return you did with the heart of Rohan at your back."
Behind them, the people cheered once more, the sound rolling like thunder. Even the elves smiled, their bright eyes soft with respect for the mortal joy before them.
That night, the Golden Hall blazed with life. The long tables were laden with food and wine, and music filled the rafters. Laughter echoed as humans and elves mingled , a rare sight, but a welcome one.
Arwen sat beside the Queen, listening to her stories with a quiet smile. The child of the house, Edwen's little sister, toddled about in excitement, climbing into her brother's lap and demanding to hear about dragons, heroes, and faraway lands.
He told her only the gentlest parts of shining cities and brave friends , leaving the darker truths unspoken. The hall roared with applause and laughter as the girl clapped her tiny hands.
When the hall quieted, Edwen rose to speak. The room hushed instantly.
"My people," he said, his voice steady and clear, carrying to every corner of the great hall. "We have endured storms that could have broken us. We've lost many friends, kin, and brothers in arms. But through it all, Rohan stands."
He paused, letting the words settle. "The elves have given us wisdom and knowledge, and we shall return their kindness with strength and loyalty. Rohan will no longer stand alone upon these plains. We will build bridges, not walls. We will be the heart that binds men and elves together."
His mother's proud smile gleamed like the golden torches. Arwen's eyes shone in the firelight, reflecting something softer, admiration, and perhaps, something more.
When Edwen sat, the applause thundered through Meduseld.
Later that night, the fires burned low, and only a few candles lit the balcony overlooking the plains. Arwen found Edwen there, leaning against the carved railing, the starlight casting silver across his face.
"It feels strange," he said quietly. "To be home again."
"Strange?" she asked.
He nodded. "Like I've been gone longer than a lifetime. And maybe I have."
She tilted her head, curious. "You mean… your other life."
He gave a small, rueful smile. "Yeah. I was different then. Angrier. Always chasing something I'd already lost." His gaze drifted toward the horizon. "But I had a little brother , stubborn, kind… always believed in me even when I didn't deserve it."
Arwen stepped closer, her voice gentle. "You miss him."
"Every day," Edwen admitted. "Even though I know he's somewhere better now." He looked down at his hands, scarred but steady. "I've learned to let go, but it never stops hurting. I guess that's what it means to live to love, lose, and keep going anyway."
Arwen's eyes softened. "That pain… it makes you more alive than most who have never known it."
He smiled faintly, turning toward her. "You sound like your father."
"Perhaps," she said with a quiet laugh. "But I think he'd agree with me that you've finally learned what it means to be at peace."
They stood in silence then, the wind whispering through the valley.
Three Years Later
Rohan was transformed. The great roads that Edwen had designed now connected the capital to distant villages, paved with smooth stone and guarded by fortified outposts. Canals carried fresh water through the city. The first great steam train, The Windmane, roared across the plains, pulling carts of grain and iron between Rohand and Revendeile.
Elves and men worked side by side, smiths at the forges, healers in the new hospitals, scholars in the great library Edwen had built beside the Hall. Rohan was no longer a lone kingdom of horsemen, but the heart of a growing age of invention and unity.
In the royal gardens, Edwen sat beneath the willow tree that overlooked the plains, parchment spread across his lap. Arwen found him there, his hands smudged with soot and ink.
"You never stop building," she said fondly.
He looked up, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "If I stop, I start thinking too much."
She laughed softly. "Perhaps that's why your heart endures."
He gazed at the horizon, where the sun bled into gold and crimson. "You know," he said after a moment, voice turning wistful, "back in my first life, people used to call me short."
Arwen blinked, confused. "Short?"
He smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah. Constantly. It was… kind of a sore spot. Let's just say I had a few overreactions."
She eyed him up and down, tall, strong, regal in bearing, and raised an elegant brow. "I find that difficult to believe."
"Oh, it happened," he said solemnly. "And I might've, uh… yelled a lot about it."
Arwen giggled, the sound like silver bells. "Then it's a mercy for your kingdom that you've grown. I can only imagine the terror of a short-tempered prince."
Edwen grinned, looking up at the stars. "I guess I finally learned to look up not because I have to, but because I want to."
The wind whispered through the grass, carrying their laughter out across the plains. And for the first time in many ages, Rohan was at peace , its Golden Child watching over it with the heart of both man and elf, the weight of two worlds resting gently upon his shoulders.
A few months later.
From the balcony of Meduseld, Edwen Elric Éorendilson watched the dawn rise over Rohan. The first light swept across the plains, gilding the fields in gold and crimson. Far off, the great steam engines hissed and sighed, their iron hearts awakening the age he had forged. Caravans rolled along smooth stone roads, smoke rose from new workshops, and the laughter of elves mingled with the songs of men.
He had built something that would endure. Yet even now, with peace stretched before him like an endless horizon, there was a stirring in his chest, a whisper that the winds were shifting again.
Change never sleeps, he thought. It only waits.
Soft footsteps echoed behind him. Arwen's presence filled the air like moonlight, quiet, serene, eternal. Her cloak shimmered faintly in the pale light, and when she came to stand beside him, the scent of wild lilies brushed against the morning air.
"You're awake early," she said, her voice carrying warmth and a touch of amusement.
He smiled faintly. "Old habits. The plains don't let me sleep long. Too many memories out there."
She followed his gaze, watching as sunlight spilled over the horizon. "The world breathes differently now," she said. "You can feel it too, can't you?"
Edwen nodded. "Something stirs. A shadow to the east, maybe or perhaps just the wind reminding us the peace we hold is fragile."
"And yet you've given it strength," she murmured, looking up at him. "You've given hope shape and breath."
He turned to her, and for a long moment, neither spoke. The dawn bathed her face in gold, softening the quiet sorrow that still lingered in her eyes. Without a word, Edwen reached out, his hand finding hers, then resting gently against her middle.
Arwen's breath caught, but she didn't move away. Instead, she laid her hand over his fingers, lacing, silent understanding passing between them.
He smiled, small and warm. "New life," he whispered, his voice barely more than the wind. "It always finds a way."
She met his gaze, eyes glistening like morning dew. "As it should."
Below them, the horns of Edoras sounded, and a steam train wailed its greeting to the rising sun. Its sound echoed through the valley, iron and wind, man and magic, all blended into a single, living song.
Edwen looked to the east, where the mountains met the sky. "There's change coming again," he said softly. "A journey waiting to begin."
Arwen smiled, her voice a whisper carried on the wind. "Then we'll face it together."
He turned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the faintest laugh breaking through his solemnity. "Always."
As the sun crested the horizon, its light spilled over them both, casting long shadows across the plains of Rohan. The kingdom stirred to life its Golden Child and its Evenstar, standing at its heart, the promise of tomorrow resting quietly between them.
And far beyond the horizon, in lands not yet touched by their light, a dragon stirred in its mountain, and a new story began to take breath.