For all those of you clamouring for Eldarion, Lord Arderthron and action...not this chapter! This one is a long conversation but it's really important and has to be said.
More action next chapter. Sorry, not sorry.
Bigpattern: Haven't received a pm from you...wonder where it went? And when I try to pm you it just says you have it disabled. :-)
"I am sorry, Legolas," Arwen tells me as she settles down beside me, "For earlier."
I do not want to hear it really.
"It upsets me," I say, "your bickering, and I am not in the best state to deal with it. I certainly wasn't then." We do not often disagree, she and I, but I have woken with a headache that creeps slowly on, threatening to turn into an agony. It shortens my temper.
"I know you are not." She reaches into a small bag I did not notice she carried and brings out a sweet cake. Not just any sweet cake . . . My favourite, topped with strawberries. "Forgive me?" She says with a smile, and how can I not? She knows me so well. My sweet tooth overwhelms my cantankerousness.
"I do not like to see you at odds," I tell her, for I cannot give in too easily. "And it is not good at the moment for you to be so." In truth I do not think I have ever seen them argue with such bitterness before.
"Estel lets his anger at what has happened to you affect Eldarion and I will not have that," she says defiantly.
"But Eldarion is at the centre of it. You can not deny that."
"I can deny he had any idea his actions would lead us here. I can deny he is anything but a victim in this, as you are."
"But perhaps he should have had some idea. Aragorn warned him." I am not sure why I argue Aragorn's side in this but I feel I must.
"He needs his father and Estel has abandoned him!"
"Because he must be King, Arwen."
I do understand this, as she obviously does not . . . Or does not want to. I have been there myself, in Eldarion's shoes, when circumstances have meant my Father had to treat me as his subject and not as his son. It was difficult—for him and for me—but it is just the way things must be when you are a king.
I wonder why Arwen does not know this? Surely Elrond must have had reason to choose what was best for Imladris rather than his children at some point? I must ask Elrohir . . . See what he says about it.
I remember then something Aragorn said in the midst of their argument that made no sense to me.
"Aragorn said you asked for Eldarion to visit the Dúnedain. I did not know that."
"Yes," she says, "but he will not allow it. I have argued long and hard for that."
I do not understand that.
"But they are where his heart lies. If he could choose for himself, a Ranger he would have stayed all his life. Why does he not want that for Eldarion?"
"Has he told you of that time?" She asks, "when he first went to them or do you just know the stories everyone tells?
I want to say yes, of course he has told me, but when I stop to think on it more carefully I wonder . . . Has he?
"He was young. He discovered he was not who he thought he was. Things were tense between him and my father. It was hard for him initially with the Dúnedain. He did not want the heritage that had been dropped upon him. Oh he loves them now. You are right, he would chose the life of a Ranger now if he could . . . But when he was Eldarion's age? It was difficult. He had no father of his own and was separated from the only family he knew at Imladris. He does not want that for Eldarion. He does not want him adrift without father and family at the same age. If he could go with him to the Dúnedain himself . . . But of course he cannot."
It makes some sense, but only a little. It is not the usual careful considered reasoning I would expect from Aragorn. But then, for all we are close I am realising he has never spoken to me of that time. It is obviously a dark period of his life. I know all about those and how they can make logical thinking difficult.
"So knowing this," I tell her, "still you argue for it. Why?"
"Eldarion feels lost." She sighs. "I think it would help him to know more about them. To understand his heritage. To discover who he is."
And there it is. She has offered it to me on a plate. A chance to discuss what I promised myself I would after my last argument with Eldarion. What I spent my day at the stables pondering on.
"Do you really want him to discover who he is . . . Or to forget it?"
"What do you mean?" She stares at me as if I speak in riddles but I know she understands me.
I mean the Dúnedain are not who Eldarion is, as much as you might wish it."
"Of course they are! They are his heritage, his father was born there, spent long years there. Eldarion is Dúnedain!"
"Eldarion is elven."
Her face drains white in front of my eyes. It is all the recognition I need to know that I am right. She has known all along what I have just discovered.
"He is not." She gasps. "He is mortal, Legolas. I made my choice and he is mortal because of it."
"That may be true but in here . . ." I place my hand upon my heart, "He is elven. It is obvious now Arwen, I do not know why I did not see it. His skill with the bow beyond anything I have seen in a Man, the way he finds the song in a piece of wood when he carves, his talent with our horses—"
"So he has many talents, Legolas. Why are you surprised. He is Estel's son." Still she denies it.
"He is your son too. You know this is true. You must do Arwen, you of all people, you will have felt it. I remember that small boy stuck high upon the walls trying to be an elf. He is still inside there somewhere."
"Stop it!" It is little more than a gasp and too late I see there are tears in her eyes. "Stop it, Legolas. You are right. Does that satisfy you?"
"Not if it upsets you."
"Of course it upsets me." She bends her head so her hair hides the tears I now know are there. "I have always known it, since before he was born, since the very moment I first felt his fea. It felt so elven. And as he has grown . . . I used to hope I was mistaken . . . That things would change . . . But it has not."
"So you want to send him to the Dúnedain in the hope it will wipe clean his elvenness and magically awake that part of him that is Man? It will not work, Arwen."
"My brother always returned from his rides with them feeling to me as if he was more Man, less elf." She sticks her chin out with determination. She refuses to be wrong in this.
"Elrohir? His blood lends to Man as Eldarion's lends to elf. You know they are not the same. Left to himself, with no me . . . Or you . . . Or Elladan, Elrohir would choose mortality. The Dúnedain called to what was already there. You would be better to send Eldarion to Imladris if you wish him to find himself!"
"That is the last thing I want to do!" She cries. "He is mortal. He cannot be doomed to be elven trapped within mortality. I must find a way to reach his mortal blood or he will never find happiness."
"Does Aragorn know this? Have you discussed it?"
"No." I have never known her to be this upset in all the years I have known her. "Estel cannot feel his fea. He does not know. It would cause him pain."
It seems I have unwittingly unearthed a whole heap of trouble.
"Have you spoken to Eldarion?"
"No." She shakes her head, "I am afraid of what he will tell me. I am afraid he will hate me. My choice is what doomed him."
And I tell her then what I told him.
"If you had chosen differently there would be no Eldarion. This is not your fault, Arwen. It is the fault of the Valar who forced your choice upon you. Why did Elrond's choice not end it as Elros' did? Why did anyone have to choose at all? Why could you not all have been left to live your lives as your own blood told you?"
"I have asked that often myself," she sighs.
I feel sorry for her. It is not fair . . . Any of this. It is cruel to the extreme and always has been.
"Elrohir will live with a choice different to the call of his blood," I say in the end, "He will sail to Valinor when he would rather remain in Arda, but he will be happy. I will make it so! If he can survive it so can Eldarion. If you would just acknowledge it . . . Talk to him. Ask him what it is like to be him, we can find a way to make this right."
I do truly believe it.
"So he is mortal . . . He can still be elven. He can still embrace that, Arwen."
The headache that has been creeping up on me since I awoke has reached a crescendo with all this talk. It pounds a melancholy rhythm inside my head and I cannot help but wince. Of course Arwen sees.
"You do not feel well." It is a statement, not a question. "Your head hurts."
"Did you help yourself to that? How many times must I tell you to stay out of my head?" She knows it annoys me yet she can never resist it.
"It is obvious, Legolas. I do not have to help myself to anything when it is written on your face." She picks up the traitorous vial beside my bed. "You need some of this I think."
"No. It will make me sleep and at the moment we are talking. This is important, Arwen and we have solved nothing."
But she will not take no for an answer. How Aragorn survives her stubbornness I do not know.
"Estel wishes you to rest," she says as she carefully measures out a cupful of the bitter medicine. "He is worried by the way you reacted to this injury. He thinks it needs careful nurturing."
"He over-reacts as always."
My protests get me nowhere.
"I agree with him. Do not be foolish, Legolas."
"You use my injury to avoid this discussion and you cannot afford to Arwen. Look at what is happening to Eldarion, how confused this is making him . . . Where have you been? Your fear of acknowledging this does not mean it all goes away. It means you abandon him when he needs you. See how hard he is pushing the elves away to try and run from himself and be who you want him to be."
"I promise you I will think on this further, Legolas. I promise you we will revisit it, but I will not compromise your health to do so. What damage would that do to Eldarion? Estel is already worried how this will go for him. We need you well."
"Speak to Aragorn. Promise me that."
She holds out the cup, her face stern. She looks as she does when she tries to wrangle her small wild daughter into toeing the line.
"I will not promise you that. He is overburdened as it is. This will devastate him. He still carries guilt about my choice and the effect that has had on my family. To know Eldarion is affected too . . . I will not, Legolas. Not at the moment when he has so much to handle. And I will not make things worse between him and Eldarion by risking you. Do as you are told. The best thing you can do for the both of them is rest and recover."
It is true my head hurts. It is true it is becoming difficult to organise my thoughts into any sense, but this is important and everyone . . . All of us . . . Have failed this boy in our blindness.
I remember him standing there looking at me in horror, before my captors saw him. He looked so young. The child he was, rather than the man he will be. He reminded me of myself when I first went south as a warrior, too young, underprepared, not as mature as my family believed me to be . . . And that all ended in tragedy too.
"He is not as grown as you think." I tell Arwen and she frowns, head tilted in confusion. Too late I realise that made no sense to her. My thoughts have taken a different path and she struggles to catch up. "Eldarion . . ." I explain, "He is young yet."
"No Estel is right. He is a man and I simply cling to the boy I once had. I must let him go." She places the cup in my hand and lifts it to my mouth. "Your sense begins to abandon you, Legolas," she smiles.
I give in. I drink it. Arwen always wins in the end which is why Aragorn so often uses her to bend my will when he cannot. But I have to share my thoughts on this now I have had them.
"I still see a boy inside the man everyone else sees. A nearly there boy who, because everyone thinks he should now be grown, is lost and confused. I know what that is like Arwen. I have been there and it lost me one I loved, destroyed my family. Yes as a mortal Eldarion should be the man you all think you see but what if his Elven soul lags behind? What if he just needs time . . . More time to grow?"
Her eyes are wide. Her hand, which holds the cup, begins to shake
"You mean he matures at an elven pace?" Her hand flies to her mouth in shock.
"A mix," I say, "not as slow as that obviously, but slower than his height, his physical maturity, would suggest?"
"Why have I not thought of this?" She cries.
"Because He is unique?"
"Then we hold him to an unfair standard and I should tell Estel."
She should tell him. This knowledge may help Eldarion when he answers to the Lords. It may be the key Aragorn needs to defend him.
But telling him this means telling him the rest of it and she is right . . . That will hurt him.
It will all be his fault. Aragorn is good at that . . . At claiming responsibility for us all and drowning himself in guilt.
He will add his son to the list of people his love has damaged.
I do not envy Arwen her choices now.