Chapter Twelve: Veiling of the Sun
"Of all the rude, condescending… It is not as if fifteen minutes out of each day could truly be the kind of imposition he implied they were!"
Olwen reached one wall of her room, turned, and walked in the opposite direction. She had been pacing the floor and fuming over Aragorn's behavior for hours now, and her anger was no less vivid than it had been when she left him at dinner. She remembered the confusion on his face just before she walked away and felt a stab of vicious pleasure.
One thought repeatedly tried to push its way through her anger, and finally she was not able to shove it away. You would not be so upset if his words had not hurt, it whispered. What truly bothers you is the implication that being with you is a waste of time.
The words rang true, and she sank into the closest chair. "What would have made him say such a thing?" she wondered. "He is not usually so cold—at least he has not been of late."
She traced the brocade pattern on the chair with her fingers for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the king's strange actions. The repetitious action grounded her thoughts and her anger soon faded away. Able to think clearly for the first time since her conversation with Aragorn that morning, an answer soon presented itself—he had somehow become aware of her feelings and wished her to know he did not share them.
Her eyes snapped shut and she sagged against the back of the chair. She remembered his unease at dinner, his uncharacteristic haughtiness, and she knew she was right.
She lay in bed for a few extra minutes the next morning, at first uncertain if she wanted to watch the sunrise. The time and place were now more associated with Aragorn than anything or anyone else. Will it be the same without him?
In the end, habit forced her to go but her hesitation nearly caused her to miss the sunrise. When she reached the garden wall she was slightly out of breath from her unladylike dash across the courtyard. The clouds hung low over the city this morning, and Olwen was not even sure of the exact moment when the sun truly rose. When the light changed from silver to grey she sighed and turned away.
You are being silly, Olwen, she chided herself. How many grey mornings did you share with Aragorn? It is February, you cannot expect clear skies everyday. But she knew part of the greyness came from her own upset, and she knew she would not return. Even the sunrise had lost its appeal.
When Éowyn came to her that afternoon and suggested a ride, she eagerly agreed. "I confess, the walls have been close round me today," she told her friend when they were out on the open plain of the Pelennor.
"You seemed unusually tense at dinner last night," Éowyn observed.
Olwen's horse shifted beneath her and she relaxed her grip on the reins. "Did I?"
"Yes, even Faramir commented on it when we were alone later." Olwen shrugged, but Éowyn would not be put off. "My lady… Olwen, I would like to think we are friends."
Éowyn's uncertainty broke through Olwen's own disquiet. "We are, my lady!"
"And do friends not share confidences? I am not much used to having a female friend," she admitted and laughed, "but I am sure I heard this somewhere."
Olwen sighed. How can I possibly explain what bothers me, when I do not truly know myself? "Have you never borne a hurt that was too deep to share?"
Éowyn did not reply immediately. Have I said too much? What is she thinking? She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see what thoughts might be going through her friend's mind.
"Olwen."
She heard her name, knew Éowyn wished to speak with her, but could not move. A moment later she felt hands covering her own as Éowyn reached for the reins and pulled both of their horses to a halt.
As if all her energy had been gained through the movement of the animal beneath her, Olwen slumped forward. She felt Éowyn's hand on her back and knew the other woman was trying to offer support, but she did not know how to accept it.
"Does your memory loss still trouble you so much?" Éowyn asked a minute later.
The words caught Olwen completely by surprise, as did the pain they caused. I thought this was in the past… She nodded and blinked back tears. "Can you not understand why, Éowyn? You know your history, both good and bad. You know what made you, and so you understand yourself."
Éowyn nodded with a faraway look in her eyes, and Olwen knew she was remembering important moments in her past. Jealousy choked her for a moment and she had to swallow before she could continue. "I know none of that. I know I ride, but I do not know who taught me. I know I speak three languages, but I cannot explain why. Everything that might tell me who I am is lost."
Éowyn's eyes widened, and for the first time since she had arrived in Minas Tirith Olwen felt like someone truly understood her pain. "Does nothing seem familiar?"
She shifted in her saddle to take in her surroundings, as if the veil on her memories would suddenly life and she would recognize something. The Great River twinkled on her right and behind her the White City rose above the plain. She knew them now, but… "Familiar, no. These last few months in Minas Tirith have felt right, but that could easily be because it is all I know."
Éowyn pursed her lips. "It need not remain so."
"What do you mean?"
Éowyn moved the reins from one hand to the other and effortlessly directed her mount back toward the city. "Faramir and I will finally be leaving for Ithilien in the spring. If the walls of Minas Tirith still seem more of a cage when we leave, you are welcome to join us."
The offer of a home outside of Minas Tirith opened a world to Olwen, and yet there was a part of her heart that warned her she would never feel at home anywhere else. "I am not sure," she answered finally.
"You have many weeks yet to decide," Éowyn assure her. "In truth, the people of Gondor would miss you greatly. They have come to love you as their lady—though I guess they will have someone new when King Elessar marries."
Cold hands clutched Olwen's heart. "I was not aware the king intended to marry."
Éowyn laughed. "Oh, he does not. His nobles intend it for him. Faramir tells me they have been subtly pushing for a Queen to bear the next King of Gondor for many months. Of course that is why Vénea has wintered with us."
"Of course," Olwen said through numb lips.
The rest of their ride passed in a haze for Olwen. Finally she was alone in her room with an hour to spare before dinner.
There was a fire burning, and she curled up in the large chair in front of it. Aragorn and Vénea! Her few interactions with the woman had left her with the impression that she was as vain as she was beautiful. Why would Aragorn choose her over me, if choose he must?
The answer came to her in a flash. For all her short-comings, Vénea had the bloodlines necessary to bear a child who would wear the Crown of Men. Olwen's eyes drifted shut and she allowed herself to imagine for just one moment that she was Aragorn's wife. She pictured him bent over explaining something to their son with that intense look in his eyes that she loved so much.
A rumble in her belly cut through her musings, and blinked back a few tears. It is nearly dinner time, and I have not changed out of my riding clothes. She had just finished dressing when a familiar voice called, "Lady Olwen, may I escort you to supper?"
She smiled briefly—despite her protests that she was perfectly able to walk the short distance to the dining parlor on her own, Legolas remained insistent that a lady should have an escort for the meal, and in truth she enjoyed the chivalry behind the gesture.
With one final appraisal of her appearance in the mirror, she opened the door. "Thank you, Legolas," she said, taking the arm he offered.
She held her breath when they approached the dining room, but Aragorn was not there. Good—at least I have some time to enjoy the conversation before he arrives. But instead Faramir immediately signaled for the footman to begin bringing the food. "Should we not wait for the king?"
The twins glanced at each other and she realized the truth before Elladan spoke. "Aragorn sends his regrets, there are many nobles requesting some of his time. He will be dining with them in the evenings to discuss various affairs of state."
From the moment she had met the twins, she had possessed an uncanny ability to tell when they were obscuring the truth. She looked at them now and recognized the secret in their eyes. She did not doubt that Aragorn was indeed dining in the state dining hall tonight, or that he had done so to meet with his nobles, but she knew there was more than what they were saying.
Why would he go to such lengths to avoid me? Surely… Then she remembered that Vénea would be dining with her father. Perhaps he wishes to become better acquainted with one more suited to the throne of Gondor. She forced her smile to stay in place. "We will simply have to enjoy this fine food without him then."
She spotted the tension lines on their foreheads and knew they could see through her just as easily as she could them. She smiled brightly and changed the subject. "Faramir, Éowyn told me of your plans to leave for Ithilien this spring. Tell me, what is that country like."
She could not have chosen a better topic Faramir set his goblet down and leaned forward slightly, and excited gleam in his eyes. "The green hills you see when you look across the river are the Emyn Arnen. We will make our home there among the trees and vales, and soon farmers will spread out in the fertile land below us. Ithilien was once the garden of Gondor, and soon it will be once more."
Legolas interjected with a question, and Olwen quietly sat back and ignored them all. Aragorn's empty seat mocked her from across the table, and she found she had no appetite. Still, she choked down enough to avoid notice—or so she thought.
"Lady Olwen, are you not hungry?"
"Hmmm?" She looked up at Elladan and saw the concern in his eyes. "I fear I ate too much at tea and ruined my supper," she lied.
He raised an eyebrow but did not contradict her. "Will you join us in the parlor this evening?"
She shook her head. "Again, I must decline."
The twins rose when she did. "May we escort you to your room then, my lady?"
Although she knew she did not want to hear what they had to say, she could see the determination in their eyes and knew they would not accept her refusal. "Very well." Rather than take either arm offered her, she walked slightly ahead of the brothers, forcing them to follow and avoiding any conversation they might want to have.
Before she could retreat into her room, Elrohir took a quick step and placed himself in front of the door. "Lady Olwen, I pray we are not intruding too far into your personal affairs, but my brother and I wish to apologize." She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "We spoke with Aragorn earlier this week, and… he did not care for our interference. I fear…"
He looked to Elladan, who finished the thought. "We are sorry if the changes in his behavior have hurt you."
She took in the way they both shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. They look as if they would rather walk across hot coals than have this conversation. Her amusement quickly faded to anger when she realized what they must mean. This is what they spoke to Aragorn about the other night. They told him I care for him… did they tell him to discourage me?
She narrowed her eyes and glared at them both. After a moment they dropped their gazes and rubbed the backs of their necks in identical motions. Then, in a voice colder than the snows of Caradhras, she said, "I am afraid I do not comprehend your meaning."
Angry as she was, she was still impressed by the speed with which they schooled their features into formal impassivity. "We are sorry, my lady, if we intruded unnecessarily." She gave them a curt nod then retreated inside her room without saying good night.
Once the door was shut, the full import of their words sank in. They had told Aragorn that she cared for him, and his response had been to back away. She had suspected that her feelings had become known to him and she had guessed that was why he avoided her—why then did it hurt so much to have that confirmed?
Her chest tightened and her vision blurred. She wiped the tears away impatiently and moved quickly to draw the curtains, stumbling and almost tripping over a rug in her haste to shut out the world. Though it was dark outside, she felt exposed, as if all of Gondor or at least Minas Tirith knew exactly how she felt about their king.
Once she was secure in her privacy, she prepared for bed. The ache in her heart made her weary, and she longed to return to the kinder world of her dreams. It was with a feeling of relief that she pulled the covers back and laid down, but she quickly found this would be no refuge.
When she closed her eyes, instead of falling into the blissful abyss of sleep, she saw again the expression on Aragorn's face when he had said spending time with her was a frivolity he could no longer afford. A single tear tracked down her cheek, leaving a damp spot on her pillow.
She choked back the rest of her tears, and finally sleep claimed her. Even this offered no respite for her however, for once again her slumber was troubled with dreams of people and places she did not know. All around her were figures reaching out to her, begging her to remember, to love them once more. Now however there was an additional face hidden by the mist, one whose identity she was certain of—Aragorn.