Chapter Twenty-five: Matters of the Heart
The sun was just peeking through the leaves when the wedding party, along with a dozen or so new additions, departed from beneath the emerald trees. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien rode alongside the lords Elrond and Glorfindel with Erestor, chief counselor of Imladris, and several others trailing behind. Somewhere in the middle rode Arwen, Áine, and a very uncomfortable Faelwyn, who very much disliked horseback riding of any variation. To a Rohirric native who had ridden since childhood, Áine was equal parts aghast and amused as she watched Faelwyn shift in the sidesaddle and stare nervously at her steed, whose placid nature defied her suspicions. Áine, who had only ridden sidesaddle at Arwen's insistence (she was so accustomed to being astride a horse that it seemed a foreign concept to be perched atop its spine), felt a little unsettled herself but chalked it up to being apprehensive about returning to Rohan, even though it would be under entirely different circumstances than once believed. Never thought I would go back…always thought it would be forward until I died or got terribly bored.
The first day was rather short, due in large part to spirits being high. Áine could hear laughter and singing interspersed throughout, coming from all directions. Snatches of songs mingled with others, all the voices strangely melodic despite the disjointedness. While she felt uplifted by the Elves' singing, Áine found it difficult to join in; Arwen's words lingered in a dark, distant corner of her mind, quietly whittling away at her resolve. Where once she had been resolute, now she was unsure, hesitant even. If she dared to venture back to her journey with the twins and the captain, there were memories of stuttered heartbeats, flushed glances, and frenzied thoughts…but he never returned any similar affections, not once, Áine argued silently, deep in thought. I might have entertained some notion of a whirlwind romance, but…he was always more like the elder brother. And he was a nobleman. No chance Denethor would have approved of me. She snickered at the idea of being presented to the former Steward of Gondor as the secret bride from the Wold. Regardless of how much love he harbored for his eldest, I would not have stayed alive long. Death by poison to make way for a more suitable marriage – I shudder at the thought. Not for the first time, Áine was grateful for the formal yet comfortable presence of the Elves; they were often distant and could be stuffy, but beneath all the trappings of etherealness, there was a childlike tendency towards mischief and gaiety.
"What are you muttering under your breath?" Arwen's soft voice broke Áine's concentration as the She-Elf rode up alongside her.
"Just thanking the stars that I get along with Elves so splendidly," Áine shrugged, much to Arwen's amusement. "Being the wife of a farmer never suited my fancy."
"So you spoke to Father?"
That brought Áine to a stammering halt. "I – uh, well, no, but he…that is, Elrohir told me to wait…"
"I jest of course," Arwen giggled with a gentle shove. "Though I do think Father would take it far better than you fear. He is not one prone to outbursts of anger or fits."
"No, but that still does not dispel the fact that I stole his son."
The She-Elf laughed at that, turning in her saddle to face Áine. "If you had 'stolen' him, my dear sister, you would have done well to fear me, not Father."
"It's true, though," Áine argued, feeling awkward. "He expected to give you away, but…as you said, Elrohir is practical to a fault. He would not marry on impulse."
"Indeed…but you are not just anyone." Arwen's grey eyes became solemn. "You are his beloved. You are his bride, the woman he would move the earth for if you asked." Her head tilted, gaze suddenly pensive. "Father spoke of your time with my brothers and Captain Boromir ere you reached Imladris."
"It was…tumultuous." A sharp hook of anxiety found purchase deep within her chest.
"While giving their account of the adventure, Elrohir said when they were attacking the Uruk-hai camp, he was the one who went looking for you while Elladan and Boromir engaged the enemy in combat. Why do you think he did that?"
The hook began to pull down, making her lightheaded. "I…I suppose he wanted to make sure I hadn't perished."
"And?"
"And he wanted to…to rescue me," Áine finished with a sigh, smiling despite herself.
"Indeed. He did not abandon his brother and comrade in battle in order to just secure his companion – he went after you because he wanted to save you." Arwen leaned forward, further emphasizing the importance of her statement. "It has been said by me and others alike, but it merits repeating: Elrohir does not act without first thinking. If he does something, he has determined it to be the path best suited for him. When he raced after you, he chose that; when he sought you out on that fateful October night," Arwen paused to cast an impish smile at Áine, who blushed furiously, "it was not by accident. When he came back and you two started a courtship, he had planned that out to the letter."
"It almost wasn't a courtship," Áine interrupted.
Arwen nodded with a deep sigh. "Yes, for that, I apologize for him. He is often so careful that he overthinks himself into a panic. Regardless, he had already decided that he loved you and wanted to pursue you."
Elrohir's words from the past echoed in Áine's mind: "…Did it not occur to you, child, that I make that choice of my own free will? Before I even confessed to myself that I was in love with you, I meditated on the idea. Contrary to what you believe, this is not a decision made on a whim…" She looked down at the reins in her hands, mulling over her words. "I do not doubt his love anymore. It still makes little sense to me, but I no longer distrust his intentions."
"Then why this pensiveness?"
"I…was thinking of Boromir and what…could have been." Shame darkened her cheeks.
If Arwen was surprised by this, she did not show it. "Do you regret it?"
"No." The finality in her voice said more than her words; with that, Áine rode forward, leaving Arwen behind.
The days quickly became tiresome and tedious, not only because of the crowd's mutual exhaustion but also because of the lack of scenery change. Once they had left the forests of Lothlórien behind and crossed the River Limlight on their way due south, the Wold opened up to them – and stretched on for miles and miles. Flat grasslands with the odd rock outcropping and the faint outline of mountains to the west welcomed everyone upon waking and bade everyone goodnight. For the Elves, who spent a good amount of time under the trees, this monotony was a special sort of madness. Both Faelwyn and Arwen were trying their hardest not to seem uncomfortable, but Áine's practiced eye saw through the ruse. To her surprise, even she was getting on edge with the open landscape. I'm becoming more and more Elf-like with each passing day, she wondered to herself. Elrohir will be pleased.
Her thoughts often drifted to her long-away husband during the eighteen day journey to Rohan's capital, though she made a valiant effort not to think overmuch of him. Arwen knew precious little about her brothers, save that they were safe, well, and on their way to intercept them before reaching Edoras. "Father does not know much more than you or I because they were not overly informative in their missives to him," Arwen explained to a very frustrated Áine. "There was a concern that their letters might fall into the wrong hands, thus they were brief and as vague as possible." Áine understood the need for secrecy all too well, but in this case, she was about to go mad from curiosity.
When she was not keeping herself from boredom by talking with her friends or reading, her mind returned to two specific issues: the first being her strange guilt over Boromir's death, and the second being her unresolved spat with Galadriel. The latter hung over her like a raincloud, hampering her joy and making her head ache. Many a night she retired early just to escape the fact that she had not asked forgiveness of Galadriel; what made matters worse was that she was still trying to understand why she even needed to ask the Lady in the first place. After all, she was the one who lied about everything and acted as though his death were no major thing. If she had cared, I would have been told…or did she not see in her precious mirror that I would be angry with her? The last thought gave her pause. It had never occurred to her that Galadriel might not have foreseen Áine's response to the news of Boromir's death. Even still, she was not ready to approach the Elf-queen.
On the matter of Arwen's allegations towards her supposed feelings for Boromir, Áine was less convicted. She had revisited the notion over and again, but there was still a mental shield of sorts, keeping her from seeing the full picture. Half of her wondered if it was fear of some kind, while another larger part welcomed the numbness. Like anyone, she shied away from reopening freshly healed wounds, even if it would mean she would be healthier for it. It matters little anyways, Áine rationalized halfheartedly. I am married to Elrohir. Unfortunately, that only spawned further questions tinged with fear and anxiety:
What if he regrets that night? Could he annul the marriage?
No, silly, that's not how marriages work. Once you've done it, you can't get it annulled.
But Elves do things differently…they might have a marital trial period of sorts that I don't know about. Also, only Arwen and Faelwyn know about that night, and since they weren't witnesses, he could get it annulled and no one could challenge it.
If that were even possible, Elrohir would have mentioned that.
Elrohir did not do a whole lot of talking that night.
I meant before.
What if he was just trying to make me not angry at him in case he died?
And what if the sky were chartreuse instead of blue?! Worrying yourself sick will only make things worse! Perhaps he will be overjoyed to see you after six months of absence – did that even occur to you!?
On and on the internal debate raged until Áine was too tired to think any longer. She was still arguing with herself when they stopped for the night and tasks were being handed out for tent-pitching, horse care, and meal assembly.
Without warning, a gentle prodding snapped her to attention. Go away! Get out of my head! Her teeth clenched as she viciously massaged her temples. The quiet pressure faded just a bit. I SAID GET OUT!
"…Áine? Áine." Faelwyn gently shook her friend, dark brows knitted together.
"Sorry, yes?"
"Áine, you were supposed to go grab tent pegs. Are you well?" Faelwyn pressed the back of her hand against the woman's forehead.
"I am well, just tired. Forgive me, I shall go fetch them." Áine ducked away from Faelwyn and made her way to the cart, face burning. To her relief, the pressure had gone, leaving her more agitated and on edge than before. Up until her head hit the pillow, she was almost hoping the Lady would attempt contact again; when no such request came, Áine closed her eyes and let herself fade into the heaviness of sleep.
The Great Hall of Meduseld stretched out atop the hill, a beacon of hope to the weary party. Many sent up joyful shouts at the sight of it, while others breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Up ahead, Áine could see three riders, all dark-haired and clad in grey. She nudged her horse forward, but no matter how hard she rode, she could not get close enough to ascertain their identities.
Upon reaching Edoras, the wedding party rode through the massive gates and up the winding streets. At long last, Áine was within arm's reach of the mysterious riders. "Elrohir?" she called out hesitantly. Embarrassment flooded her when every eye turned towards her.
The first of the riders turned in the saddle, revealing Elladan. He looked solemnly at her before wordlessly turning back to face the road.
"Elrohir?" she asked again, concern coloring her voice.
The second also glanced over his shoulder – Elrond with a critical stare and downturned mouth. His eyes narrowed before looking away.
"Elrohir!" She was now shouting, tears filling her eyes.
The last rider turned his horse around to face her…and her heart broke. Boromir trotted his warhorse towards her, cocky grin transforming him into the man she once knew. He came up alongside her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her onto the saddle with him. "I missed you, little one," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.
Though she felt a twinge of emotion at his tender display, the panic had not dissipated. "Boromir, where is Elrohir?" she repeated forcefully.
His smile faded a bit. "They didn't tell you?" He nodded over to her left, eyes on something outside her field of vision.
She followed his stare and a cry of pain ripped from her throat. Elrohir's body lay on a cart, littered with black arrows and deep cuts from shoulder to hip. His eyes, cloudy and sunken in, stared lifelessly at the sky as he jolted along behind a mournful grey mare. Clenched in his right hand was a necklace, a simple chain with a ring. As she watched, his head lolled over to her and his colorless lips parted. "You loved me," the corpse said in a voice void of emotion. "Why did you not tell me? Why did you never say?"
"I did!" she wailed. "I married you!"
"No you didn't." The voice near her ear had changed. Elrohir now held her in his arms, brow furrowed and eyes concerned.
Frantic, Áine looked back at the cart, only to realize she was staring at Boromir's arrow-riddled corpse which looked back with an unyielding intensity. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" it intoned without ceasing until all she could hear was that voice, flat and accusatory, duplicating itself and tearing at her conscience. She covered her ears and screamed to drown out the questions, but it was to no avail. It engulfed her, choking her with guilt and agony. She closed her eyes, yet still she saw his rotting form, sprawled out carelessly as he were nothing. She wanted to die…
Without warning, the overlapping voices stopped, leaving her suspended in the void of her own pain. Áine opened her eyes and saw the entire scene was frozen in motion; some were in mid-conversation, others mid-action. She slipped out of the saddle, away from a motionless Elrohir, and started walking amongst the life-like statues. "Hello?" Her own voice echoed in the stillness. A few more hesitant calls produced nothing but an unsettling quiet.
From behind, a breathy sigh. "Forgive me, but I had to stop this."
Áine whipped around to behold Galadriel standing beside Arwen and Faelwyn, both with arms extending as though gesturing while speaking. "Wh…what?" she stuttered.
"Your guilt is consuming you, Fíriel of Rohan, bleeding into your dreams from your sleeping mind. You must confront it if you ever hope to be free of it."
Áine laughed coarsely, still looking around her. "What guilt? I'm not the guilty party here, my lady – I did not lie to someone I professed to love."
"Lying and loving are not exclusive, young Fíriel," Galadriel chided softly as she walked around the statues. "Many lie to protect those they love, while others love so much they lie to themselves."
"Which one are you, then?" Áine retorted.
"I chose to keep Boromir's death from you not because I deemed you unworthy of such knowledge…but because I knew it would only harm you further."
"How is this any better than the alternative?!" Áine shouted, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "I could have been over it by now if you'd just told me!"
"The path was one and the same." Galadriel continued, unperturbed by the redhead's accusations. "If I told you when it happened, all your progress towards finding yourself would have been stunted, possibly destroyed. If I waited until a more opportune moment, you would be still just as grieved but with less of a permanent mark. It would not define you as it might have."
"This is pretty fucking defining!"
"Silence." The Elf-queen's icy stare hardened. "I know you are angry, but there is no need for vulgarities. You are smart enough to express yourself without having to result to shock value."
Áine recoiled at Galadriel's coldness, feeling properly chastened. She swallowed and tried again. "You tried to control how I would handle this, and that wasn't your right."
"Perhaps not, but as it was told to me, not you, it was well within my power to decide whether or not to inform you as well." Her words, though blunt, were not unkind. "Since it was in my control, I did what I believed to be right."
"So you're no better than my parents."
"On the contrary. I am myself. I cannot be them anymore than they can be me."
"You know what I meant."
"I do, but like your statement, it is simply a diversion from the truth."
Áine sighed and threw up her hands. "And what, pray tell, is the truth?"
"You are not angry at me, Fíriel." Galadriel lifted her chin and looked down at the young mortal with ancient eyes.
"Apologies, but Arwen already spoke to me about that," Áine quipped humorlessly, waving a dismissive hand at the Elf-queen.
"Spoke to you about what?"
"How I'm really angry at myself and I must forgive myself because 'I loved Boromir' and I won't escape the pain if I don't admit it to myself."
"Did you?"
Áine gave a frustrated sigh and took a step forward. "Like I told her, NO!I do not and did not love Boromir!"
"You will have to do better than that, dear one," Galadriel observed, shaking her head slightly.
Anger blossomed in Áine's chest, making her see red. "I. Did. NOT. Love. Boromir!" she shrieked through clenched teeth.
"Yes, you did."
With a howl of rage, Áine grabbed a rock and threw it off to the Lady's left, screaming at the top of her lungs, "I DIDN'T I DIDN'T I DIDN'T I DIDN'T!" She fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically as she heard Boromir's voice filter into her mind: "…You are no longer that red-headed stray who managed to jump me in the woods; you have become someone I very much care for…I know not what would have become of me had I not met you, but I am certain that I would have been a lesser person for it…I have wondered about what could have been…If only I had met you sooner…" Every word pierced her heart and crushed her resolve. She could barely breathe, the pain was so great. Sobs wracked her body, leaving her a crumpled mess on the dry grass.
A quiet shuffle of footsteps, and the Lady was kneeling next to her, gathering the broken woman into her arms and cradling her like a child. She stroked her crimson tresses and skimmed her fingers along her wet face. She did not speak; there was no need. She simply comforted her granddaughter.
Hours or minutes later, Áine murmured something, but because she was facing Galadriel, it was lost. "Say it again, little one," the Elf-queen encouraged softly, pressing her lips to Áine's hairline. "Not for me, not for Arwen – just you."
"…I loved him," she repeated louder. "I loved him so much that it caused me pain at first." She shook with sobs, though she had cried herself dry. "He saw me as his little sister, I was sure of it. That made it easier to accept that there would be nothing. Then…then that night when Elrohir left…that stupid Elf complicated things in the most beautiful way." A wistful smile stretched her cracked lips. "I had thought about speaking with Boromir at first. 'He could help me,' I naively thought, 'for I know nothing of men.' It was only weeks later when I started to realize that the captain did not see me as his little sister – quite the opposite, as that wine-filled night in late autumn taught me. I refused to believe it, fearing it would only bring back the pain when the illusion was dispelled. I wanted Elrohir more than air, yet…here was this wonderful man, pursuing me so deftly that I knew not the extent of it until much later. Were it not for that dream," she shuddered, "that dream which still boasts fractures within me, I would have answered his call. I think…in my heart of hearts, I knew that my love for him was not enough to keep us together, no matter how much I wanted it to be enough." A broken sob, more akin to a violent hiccup, interrupted the confession. "Now he is gone and I made him believe I never cared, that I never knew. I knew…every almost-kiss, every warm embrace, every precious laugh, I knew. I knew and I let him believe thelie." She finished with a shudder, turning into Galadriel and wrapping her arms around her slender waist.
Galadriel sighed deeply as she combed cool fingers through Áine's hair. "You let him believe the lie because you knew, in the end, it was kinder than telling the truth."
"How is it better to let someone believe they aren't loved?"
"How is it better to tell someone they are loved when you have given your heart to another? If the situation were reversed, would you have wanted to know how close you were to being chosen in lieu of someone else?"
A quiet whimper. "…No."
"Love and lying often go hand in hand, though not always for the right reasons. You lied to protect Boromir – and yourself – from further grief. Because you loved him, and you did not wish to see him in any more pain, you crafted a very deep-seated lie to convince him…and it worked. Unfortunately, it was so well-conceived that you willingly swallowed it as well."
"I did not want to hurt anymore," Áine murmured listlessly. "I had harbored hope during our journey that it might become something, but I soon realized that a nobleman could never love a nobody; thus, I shuffled off the crush and moved on. It was painless, really – I had not expected that."
"But those feelings only grew with the passing days."
"Yes. He was so charming and so kind that I wondered if I had made an error in dismissing him so quickly. I knew deep down that my heart was already Elrohir's, but…I did not want to hurt him…"
"You have a kind spirit, and the curse of that is you are easily wounded." Galadriel gently rubbed Áine's arms. "But this wound can be healed. You can be free of this pain now that you have stopped believing the lie."
Áine looked up at her, eyes bloodshot and fearful. "Will you tell Elrohir?"
Galadriel chuckled lightly. "It is not mine to tell, dear one; when you are ready…if you are ready, you will tell him. I will say this much: his love is not selfish or envious. As I am sure Arwen has told you, Narmeleth once held his heart, but in the end, it was not enough. He knows that while he may not have been the first or only love in your life, you will always be his wife." She smiled and kissed her granddaughter's tear-stained cheek. "Sleep now, my dear child." As she spoke, her voice started to fade, covering the weary woman in a blanket of darkness.
The next morning dawned bright and warm. Summer set in quickly in the Wold, bringing with it a relentless sun which rose early and set late. The Elves slowly got up and moved about, preparing breakfast and talking quietly amongst themselves. In a tent off to the left, Áine opened her eyes and stretched. Her stomach growled as delicious smells filled the small space. A glance to her right revealed a still sleeping Faelwyn.
"You are awake early." Arwen sat in the corner, gathering her hair into a messy bun. "Did you sleep well?"
"Not at first, but eventually yes," Áine shrugged, yawning hugely.
"Wake Faelwyn before you go, if you would."
"No need," the She-Elf in question grumbled, pushing herself up with a sigh.
Áine got to her feet and grabbed her shawl before stumbling out into the bright morning. She squinted against the light, looking across the camp for someone in particular. Once found, she weaved her way through the tents towards them, shawl wrapped tightly around her. "My lady!"
Galadriel turned away from her husband and met Áine's bleary stare with a serene smile. "My dear," she welcomed, pulling her into an embrace. "Did you rest well?"
"Yes, I did," Áine answered honestly. "Thank you…and forgive me for hurting you."
The Elf-queen simply nodded, smile still in place, and touched her cheek. "You were forgiven a long time ago, dear heart." She inclined her head towards the low table resting on the grass. "Will you join me for morningmeal?"
Once breakfast was served to all and tents were expediently broken down, the troupe was on their way again, one step closer than before to their destination.
A/N: Goodness! I don't think I've ever been this efficient when it comes to writing! Even though I've had a throbbing headache for the past three hours and I've got work at 8 (it's ten to 1 am as I write this), I was hellbent on getting this chapter done. I had originally feared this would be harder to write simply because I didn't know how or when to resolve Áine's problems; I didn't want them to be too soon, but I also am not one to drag things out. She is over the hump, so to say, with her issues with Boromir, but as it is with real life, grief takes time to fade. She's not riddled with guilt anymore, but she's not ready to say goodbye just yet.
Regardless, we're that much closer to Edoras! Hope y'all have enjoyed this story so far! I'll try to keep up consistency with posting chapters, but I won't make any hard promises so as to avoid as much disappointment as possible. Thanks for keeping up with me, and for those who have just joined the madness, welcome!