AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I love opening my email on Saturday morning to find 3 or 4 comments from you—it really makes my day.
Chapter Thirteen: Where Once Was Love
Aragorn's decision to dine with the court was more about his brothers than Olwen. He knew from their attitude at dinner the previous night that they still believed him in love with Olwen. Many times when he was a youth, Elladan and Elrohir had delighted in reminding him that as his much wiser and more experienced older brothers, they knew what was best. It had been annoying when he was twenty; it was infuriating now that he was ninety.
But now as he looked at the richly carved doors that led to the state banqueting hall, he wondered if perhaps he had been hasty. The voices and laughter he heard from behind the doors reminded him why he had stopped joining the court for meal—the conversation had been inane and the manners obsequious.
Tis too late to turn back. He nodded to the footmen and they threw the doors open. "His Royal Highness King Elessar!" the seneschal announced.
The clatter of the meal died instantly and the entire assemblage rose to their feet. Aragorn nodded to people as he walked down the long room to the place reserved for the King at the head table. Only when he was seated did everyone else sit down, but even then they did not speak. "Please," he said, "I am sure you were all engaged in conversation before I arrived. Pray continue."
The nobles let out a collective breath. He looked then to see who was sitting at his table and nearly groaned. Tarondor and Vénea!
The gleam in Tarondor's eye put Aragorn immediately on edge. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Your Highness," Tarondor said.
"Indeed sire. I thought you said you rarely dined with the Court." Vénea smiled, and for the first time in many years, Aragorn felt woefully out of his depth. Life as a warrior had not trained him to deal with a determined woman, and he had lost his to heart Arwen before he had truly given thought to learning.
"As the winter comes to an end, I thought I should learn more of what concerns my people in the coming year." This was half-true: It was nearly February and the full court would return to Minas Tirith in April. If he wished to get through the pile of requests Faramir had given him the previous night, he would need to devote more time to work and less to his own enjoyment.
Vénea bowed her head slightly. "Again, you honor us King Elessar."
If I am obligated to be here, I should use the time wisely. Aragorn offered the woman a polite smile then turned to her father. "Tarondor, you mentioned border concerns to my lord Steward. Could you elaborate on those please?"
Tarondor blinked and fidgeted with his knife before answering. "Yes of course Your Highness. As you know, my lands are in the northernmost reaches of Gondor, against the former border with Arnor."
He hesitated, and Aragorn understood for the first time why he had been so reticent regarding the reunification with the northern kingdom. "And you are concerned that when we are reunited with Arnor, the claim on your land might be disputed."
It was a statement not a question, but Tarondor nodded nonetheless. "I have tenants working fields that might legitimately belong to a noble of Arnor, should one come forth and claim the land. These people depend on me for their well-being, and I would like to assure them their livelihood will not be interrupted."
"Is this why you have fought against the reunited kingdom?" Tarondor nodded. "You may tell your people that no one will force them to move against their will. What is more, Tarondor, you should remind them that the well-being of every citizen in both Gondor and Arnor now rests on the shoulders of the king. You need not carry that burden any longer."
Aragorn returned Tarondor's smile, If I had listened to his concerns two years ago rather than ignoring him, I might have gained a powerful ally. The thought led him to make an offer he would later regret. "I hope you and your daughter will continue to sit at my table," he offered. "I sense you and I might be more similar than we had first believed."
The next morning, Aragorn rose before the dawn and watched the sun come up from his own balcony. Olwen's enjoyment from this simple act had truly become his own, but he was uncomfortably aware that as he watched Anor's progress over the horizon, he also scanned the garden and courtyard for Olwen. She was not in her usual place by the garden wall, however, and he did not find her along the streets either. Where is she? When the sun was fully risen and the hour of dawn had passed with no appearance from Olwen, he realized she had not come at all.
He drew back from the window, a frown on his face. Those mornings meant to much for her to abandon lightly. He sighed, for the answer was obvious. His heart ached with the knowledge that he had tarnished something she had found so much pleasure in.
Perhaps if I offer just a word of apology, she might be happy again. The idea wormed its way into his consciousness and he grabbed it before he could consider its wisdom. He dressed quickly and left his room with the intent of finding Olwen at breakfast. Perhaps if I offer just a word of apology, she might be happy again.
But when he opened his door, he was greeted instead by someone else. "Lady Vénea!"
"Good morning, Your Highness. Would you care to join me—if you are going to the breakfast room as well, that is?"
"I am afraid not, my lady. I break my fast with Lord Faramir every morning."
Vénea smiled and dropped a curtsy, and Aragorn was forced to abandon his intentions to find Olwen and join Faramir post-haste. His wish to catch Olwen later in the day was denied; the nobles were emboldened by his appearance the night before and he was forced to remain in the small audience chamber for most of the day, hearing their concerns. Over and over again he realized how much of the daily life in Gondor he had missed. "How did I not know any of this?" he asked Faramir when they broke for luncheon.
"I have told you all of these things before, my lord," Faramir said quietly.
Though there was no hint of censure or accusation in his tone or expression, Aragorn felt the weight of guilt. "I did not hear it," he murmured.
"But you are listening now," Faramir countered, his expression open and earnest. "My lord—Aragorn—you have not been a bad king. You have done many good things for the people. They would love you for your part in the destruction of the Shadow even if you never did a single thing more."
Aragorn shook his head. The most recent discovery was still on his mind and he could not be so forgiving of himself. A noble from Anórien had sought aid; the Anduin had overrun its banks in the fall floods and people had been driven from their homes. I should have known this. "You are being more gracious than I deserve, Faramir. I shut my people out."
"You grieved, my lord."
Aragorn looked at him sharply. "You knew?"
Faramir sighed. "My lord Aragorn, you are not the only man who lost someone you love. Did I not lose my brother and father? I could see the sorrow you withheld and knew that when you let it go, you would be the king I had long hoped to serve."
Aragorn grunted. "I have taken my time getting there."
"But I never doubted you would," Faramir said with a smile.
Such faith humbled Aragorn, especially when his own guilt was still sharp. Elrond told me this would be the result of burying my grief and I did not listen. How much trust has been lost with my people, with my councilors, because I closed myself off from everything?
After a short moment of shame, he straightened. "Who are we to see next?"
When he finally finished with his audiences, he barely had time to return to his chamber and dress for dinner. Tarondor again proved to be a worthy dinner companion, and even Vénea rose in his estimation when she offered a concise opinion on the reacquisition of South Gondor.
But all the activity of the day had afforded him no time to seek out Olwen. He chafed at the delay. I will find her tomorrow.
However, when Aragorn passed Olwen in the corridor the next day, she walked by without so much as looking at him. It was the second time in a week that she had left him standing with his mouth open, and he could not deny a slight hint of irritation. What would you have said, had she stopped? he asked himself. Is it not better that we ignore each other now? I cannot hurt her further if we do not speak.
His desire to reassure her diminished, he resolved once more to think no more of her. This was easier said than done however, for every day it seemed brought new reminders of her. One day a noble petitioned for resources to succor the poor and he remembered how Olwen had championed their cause before him. He and Faramir took and afternoon and visited the people of the Pelennor, and they could not stop praising Olwen and Éowyn for all they'd done for them.
The poor were not the only ones who held the ladies in high admiration. In the Master Warden's regular report to the King, the man mentioned the work both had done in the Houses of Healing; indeed, he spoke of them in terms so glowing he knew they would blush to hear it.
If he could not avoid thoughts of Olwen, he could likewise not avoid Vénea's presence. Any time he had a moment to himself, she appeared. He was not sure which bothered him more until one afternoon about two weeks after his first dinner with the nobles.
He and Faramir were taking advantage of a rare lull in the proceedings to discuss the treaty with Harad when the footman at the door knocked to let them know someone approached. The men exchanged puzzled looks, but Faramir took his traditional place to the side and behind Aragorn's seat.
The door opened and Vénea walked to the end of the runner and dropped into a deep curtsey. When she rose, Aragorn said, "My lady, is there something I can do for you?"
She smiled prettily. "Oh no, Your Highness. I simply wondered if I could bring you any refreshments."
Aragorn had not thought he was capable of surprise, but the lady proved him wrong. "Refreshments?"
She nodded. "I know how weary this work can make you. I thought you might like a pot of tea—or perhaps something stronger."
Faramir coughed, but Aragorn was more bewildered than amused. "I thank you for your concern, Lady Vénea, but that is not necessary."
Her dimples disappeared and reappeared in a coquettish smile. "Very well. I will see you at dinner, Your Highness." Another curtsey and she was gone.
Faramir waited until she had left the room to laugh. "I see you were right about her intentions."
Aragorn dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "You cannot imagine! She is everywhere! I begin to suspect she lies in wait outside my room every morning just so she may walk me to breakfast. I cannot understand why she is suddenly behaving thusly."
"I believe, my lord, that she took your change in dining habits as an invitation."
"You must be right, but I cannot stop now. Tarondor would be offended; all the work I have put into mending that relationship would be lost."
Faramir tilted his head. "May I ask a question, my lord?"
Aragorn waved his hand impatiently. "Faramir, you know you need not ask."
"Is there any reason you would not consider Lady Vénea for a wife?" Heedless of Aragorn's gaping mouth, Faramir continued. "She is high born, with Numenorean blood in her veins. She can be clever and witty in conversation, and she understands Gondor's current political situation better than most."
Everything he said was true, a fact which angered Aragorn inordinately. "She is not who I would marry, and that is that," Aragorn growled. Unlike his brothers, Faramir accepted this with a nod and went to call the next noble into the room.
Aragorn however could not so easily ignore the conversation. He found himself thinking about Faramir's words later when he knew he should be dressing for dinner. Why did his rational reasons for marrying Vénea bother me more than Elladan and Elrohir's assertions that I love Olwen? Vénea would be a logical choice for a bride. The council would certainly approve, especially her father.
The sound of footsteps outside his door brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was already late for dinner. With a muttered curse, he tore his day clothes off and quickly replaced them with evening wear.
In a hurry and still lost in thought, Aragorn rounded the corner without looking first and was nearly knocked to his feet by a servant carrying a tray of food. Dishes flew everywhere and his velvet robes were covered in stew. "Your Highness! I am so sorry…"
Aragorn looked down at the mess and chuckled. It appears I will not be able to make supper after all. "Do not worry yourself. The fault was my own—I was not looking where I was going."
He bent down and helped the young man collect the broken pieces of pottery and what food they could easily pick up with their fingers. "There. If you will find someone to take care of this mess, I will ask the kitchen to send another tray for—"
"Lady Olwen, my Lord. Thank you!"
The servant scurried off before Aragorn could ask any of the myriad of questions he now possessed. Why is Olwen eating alone in her chamber? Is she ill? His own less than regal appearance was forgotten as he hastened to the kitchen, sure he could find answers there.
As he approached his destination, the aroma of warm bread reminded him that he had not yet eaten. Perhaps I could ask for a tray of my own. The door was open and he walked in freely. "Good evening."
The scullery maid squeaked and a chef's helper dropped her spoon in a pot of soup. "Your Highness! We did not expect you…"
Aragorn sighed ruefully. This reaction was not unusual from people who were not accustomed to seeing him on a daily basis. "Please, calm yourselves ladies. I have only come to let you know that a new tray will need to be prepared for Lady Olwen. As you can see, I am wearing most of the food intended for her."
The cook glanced down at his tunic and her mouth quirked into a smile. "Aye, that I can."
"And since I am now unforgivably late for my own meal, I was wondering if I might have a tray as well?" Inspiration struck him and he quickly amended his request. "Or perhaps I could simply eat here. It seems I am not to be trusted with trays this evening."
Several servants looked at each other. My presence makes them nervous, he realized, but before he could retract his request, the cook nodded. "Sit down and we'll feed you. And when I get my hands on that young Findegil, I'll wring his neck for running into you like that."
"Nay Rian, I am to blame for our accident. I was busy and did not look as I turned a corner."
The quick way he took the blame on himself won the remaining servants over, and they smiled at him warmly. Aragorn took the seat indicated and soon a bowl of steaming stew was in front of him, with a large piece of crusty bread on a plate beside it. In the warm comfort of the kitchen it would have been easy to forget why he was here, but he clung to his purpose. "Are there very many in the palace who take trays in their rooms rather than join the court for supper?"
The young servant pouring his wine nodded. "I know many who are tired or ill who do not wish to be in company." Aragorn took a swallow of the wine to hide his concern. She waited and refilled his goblet when he set it down. "There are a few we serve every night—like Lady Olwen, for instance."
Aragorn nodded, and the servant backed away. Olwen eats alone every evening… Why? Even if she is still upset with me, she knows I will not be there. Why does she not want to enjoy the company of her friends?
He finished his bread and stew quickly, for his tunic had dried and was now stuck to his skin. With another word of thanks to the kitchen staff, he returned to his room and stripped the offending garment off and replaced it with a clean one. It occurred to him then that the accident with the servant had given him a rare blessing—an evening without any obligations. His steps were light as he walked back to the library.
In the Last Homely House books were valued above jewels and Aragorn had learned from an early age that there were great adventures to be found within their covers. The tales of his ancestors Tuor and Eärendil enchanted him even now. He selected a volume from his shelf and settled into a large, cushioned chair with a glass of wine on the table at his elbow. As always, the words swept him away to a long-distant place and he paid no heed to the swiftly passing hours.
He was more than halfway through the book when he heard the slight snick of the door being opened. His first thought was that Legolas or his brothers had joined him, and he looked up to welcome them.
Lady Vénea stood before him, her dark hair caught in a loose braid that hung to her waist. "Your Highness! I did not expect to see you here. I could not sleep, so I thought to try a book."
Her words were plausible, yet Aragorn knew for a surety that she lied. He took in her attire, again more suited to the bedroom, and rose from his seat. "If you will excuse me…"
"You need not leave on my account, sire!" she protested. "Please stay—I missed speaking with you at dinner tonight."
She took a step closer and the light from the fire shone through her sheer dress. In the instant before his eyes swung back up to her face, Aragorn saw every inch of her figure silhouetted beneath the garment, and he swallowed hard. "I am sorry, my lady," he said firmly. "It simply would not be appropriate for me to remain here when you are clad thusly."
She laughed lightly. "But surely my lord I have nothing to fear from you." She took another step and placed a hand on his chest. "After all, you are the noblest of men, are you not?"
The light in her eyes challenged and tempted him, and he knew he could stay no longer. "And such I would remain." He spun away from her touch and escaped the confines of the room.
He was alone in his chamber for several long moments before he felt his pulse slow to its normal rate. The encounter with Vénea confounded him. Sure she did not mean… He remembered the innocence hidden beneath her false surprise and he knew she had not. He did not know how a lady could be scheming and naïve at the same time, but he knew that somehow, Vénea had thought only that her actions would move him to offer for her—nothing more.
He smiled grimly, for at least now he had an answer to Faramir's question. "I will not marry a woman who hunts a husband as if he were some animal. But how to tell her father?"
The question still plagued him the next afternoon, so he decided to ask the only men he knew who had experience at turning down ladies. "You wished to see us, Estel?" Elrohir asked when he and Elladan joined Aragorn in the library.
"Yes, I seem to have a small problem I do not know how to resolve."
Elladan leaned against a window sill and exchanged a glance with Elrohir. "You refer to Lady Vénea." They both laughed when Aragorn's brows rose. "Brother, the whole palace has noticed the tenacity with which the lady pursues you."
Aragorn shuffled his papers around. "The situation is a bit sticky, politically. I need to know how to tell her—or rather her father—that I have no intention of marrying her."
"Praise the Valar," Elrohir muttered.
Aragorn snorted. "You did not think I would be so easily snared, did you?"
"No… but I do wish you would make your thoughts on the matter plain. I am sure Vénea is not the only one laboring under false impressions."
Aragorn caught the quick look of warning Elladan shot Elrohir and knew what his brother had left unsaid. "You refer to Olwen. I thought we had closed that subject weeks ago."
Either Elrohir had missed the look from Elladan, or he chose to ignore it. He scowled and crossed his arms before he answered. "She is miserable, Aragorn. She had not spoken to us in weeks and we can see this. You were her friend, and you have abandoned her. Now servants and soldiers alike spread gossip about your relationship with Vénea, and she does not know—she does not know—that it will never happen!"
Elrohir's reminder that he had been Olwen's friend stoked Aragorn's guilt. "How is her misery my fault? Did I force her to give up the gardens, or order her to stop dining in the company of friends? If she gives up all she cherished, I cannot be held to account for it."
Instead of chagrin he saw surprise on their faces and he knew he had given away more than he had intended. The twins rose from their seats. "You are right, but think on this Aragorn," Elladan said. "You have noticed much about Olwen for a man who claims not to care for her."
When they reached the door, Elrohir turned back. "As for your original question, I suggest you tell Tarondor you are not prepared to marry just yet. That is certainly the truth."
Aragorn's first thought was to follow them and pick up the argument regarding Olwen. However, Elrohir's advice was sound and he knew that situation needed to be handled first. A servant was dispatched to bring Tarondor to him, and a few minutes later the man walked in.
"How may I be of service, Your Highness?"
Aragorn rose from his seat. "I am glad you could join me, Tarondor. I wish to discuss something with you that may be uncomfortable for both of us—it certainly will be for me," he muttered.
"Sire?"
Aragorn closed the door and moved back to the other side of the desk. "Nothing, Tarondor. Please sit down." He waited until his companion was seated for he took his own chair again.
"I believe you are a man who values plain talk, so I will speak clearly. Am I correct to assume you brought your daughter here this winter hoping she might catch my eye?"
Aragorn marveled at the deep shade of his red his councilor turned. "I… that is, we hoped, but…"
"Peace, Tarondor. I admit I was displeased when I first suspected your intent, but I have come to respect your reasoning, if not your methods." Aragorn steepled his hands in front of him and looked Tarondor squarely in the eye. "However, the King of Gondor is not prepared to take a bride at this time." Olwen invaded his thoughts and it was with effort that he kept his expression neutral. I am not prepared to take a bride at all, he reminded himself.
Tarondor leaned forward. "Sire, if I may ask… When will you be ready? The people want a Queen, but more than that they desire an heir."
The old impatience swept over him, and Aragorn dropped his hands into his lap to hide the way his fingers clenched. "I am aware of my people's longing for an heir, Tarondor, and I will see to the issue when I deem the time is right."
Tarondor nodded reluctantly. "I will leave it to you to explain the matter to your daughter. Please apologize on my behalf if I have given rise to certain expectations—that was certainly not my intent." He paused for a bare minute. "I think, given the circumstances, that it might be better if I avoided dinner for a few weeks. In truth, there are many things to occupy my time with the arrival of the court, but I also would not want Lady Vénea to be at all confused by my actions."
Tarondor's smile was strained but genuine. "I do appreciate that, Your Highness. I trust this has not damaged our new rapport in any way?"
"Not for my part, Tarondor. You are a valued member of the King's Council."
Aragorn stood and his noble mirrored the action. "Thank you, Your Highness." He bowed and exited the room quickly.
Aragorn leaned against an empty stretch of wall. That went better than I had expected. I have truly misjudged the man—more than I realized. He did not just want me for his daughter, he wanted me married for Gondor.
Thoughts of marriage reminded him of his earlier conversation with his brothers, and he began pacing the floor. Once again, they insist on turning everything back around to Olwen. This time they did not even give me the chance for a rebuttal.
And what would you say? Even you cannot deny they speak the truth, a little voice in the back of his mind taunted him. You have sought to ignore Olwen, and yet she has remained in your thoughts every day. You know her routine, you know when she is unhappy or angry. It bothers you when she passes you by in the corridor because you miss talking with her, even though you do not know what you would say to her if she stopped. Lie to yourself no longer, Aragorn—you very much regret the loss of your friendship.
He poured himself a glass of wine and tried to ignore the rising sense of panic as these thoughts piled on top of each other. I do not regret my actions, he countered fiercely. I could not allow her to believe I had feelings for her, I could not let her hope that…
Let her hope what? That you might one day choose her as your bride? You must marry, and you cannot wait much longer. Would it truly be a problem if the woman you chose cared for you? Surely Olwen is a better choice than Vénea.
He slashed through the air with the hand holding his wine glass, narrowly avoiding spilling the ruby liquid on himself. How could he let his mind wander this far down this path? True, he knew what duty required of him and he was prepared to marry and provide an heir to the throne of Gondor. But Olwen…
Unbidden, an image came to him of her heavy with his child. His breath caught for a minute, but then he smashed the goblet down on the mantle. "I will not allow this," he growled out loud. "Olwen has no place in my life, and that is final."
These last words were spoken loudly enough to catch the attention of any who might be passing by the half open door. Olwen gasped and tears sprang to her eyes, for although some might not understand their meaning, it was quite clear to her. "So be it, my lord," she murmured. "So be it."