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36. Fountains of Tears

The window was thrown wide open, letting the cold air avalanche into the small room and clash with the heat from the crackling fire in the hearth. Faramir had just left, after paying his respects to her and wishing her the quickest recovery, but he had barely touched her thoughts, not even tossing them or turning her mind upside down as Legolas did whenever he visited. Arwen was afraid of when he would visit her again. He knew more than he put into words.

Arwen leant back against the window frame and looked out on the hard frost which coated the herbaceous gardens of the Houses of Healing. Earlier on she had watched someone try to dig up a particular plant, but the ground was completely solid. Now hardly anyone was outside, even on the streets. It was quiet for Minas Tirith. It was as if Arda was reflecting the desolation and despair occurring in Arwen's heart.

The coldness was so bitter that it hurt to breathe in the air from outside, but Arwen felt encaged in this room. She had not left it since she walked in. But she was more afraid of going outside for fear of who she would encounter.

Aragorn had come, everyday, as he had promised. But Arwen could not bring herself to open the door. Far from helping her sift through her troubled thoughts and settling them, his presence so close by plagued her like a violent disease. On hearing the edge of alarm rise in his voice as he realised that she would not see him, Arwen could see it just as clearly as rage, and anger. Would she see Sauron in his eyes, as she did in her nightmares, the curse for not giving up her life for him?

Arwen had sat there, sobbing, on a chair facing the locked door, hearing Aragorn plead and reason with her on the other side of the wood. His notes of panic hurt her deeply, and her own pain was made raw once more. Such agony made her wonder whether she had done something to deserve such punishment. Perhaps she had disgraced herself and offended the Valar, by casting off her precious immortality and marrying a mortal. It could be that the Valar sent the flood to cause the Dark Elves to plague her, and now that they were dead Aragorn had taken over that role. But whether he had done that intentionally or not, Arwen did not know.

Since her entrapment in Minas Morgul, Arwen's memory had been blocked. Now she looked back on everything fearfully, noticing any hint that Aragorn was the character the Dark Elves had believed in. She knew she had loved him truly for many years, but the Dark Elves had laid down a barrier in her way. Now there was only fear and mistrust. Fear that he was seeking to dominate Middle-Earth like another Dark Lord, and doubt that he had tricked her into loving him so that he could satisfy his own selfish fantasies. They seemed so implausible, but in the whirlwind of confusion that was her thoughts, locked inside that room they kept returning.

Arwen pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to the mantelpiece. Underneath a glass phial containing cloudy orange medicine were some small strips of parchment, which Arwen traced her fingertips over and brushed them into the palm of her other hand. She slowly sat down in the chair by the fire, reading each of the messages Aragorn had pushed under the door. Recently he had resigned himself to banishment in the hallway and he had not pleaded much vocally. He wrote to her, she knew, sitting on the floor outside. She heard the scratching of a quill and the sniff from tears catching in his throat.

Arwen jumped, thinking she heard him outside the door, but moments later she realised it was just the sound of parchment grazing over other pieces in her hand. Calming her breaths, Arwen looked down and read in Aragorn's sweeping script:

Do not forget.

Arwen swallowed guiltily, turning over another leaf.

It is not too late.

Her pulse was racing as she sifted through the scraps of parchment.

Your Estel is always there with you.

Arwen lingered on that piece. What did he mean? Did he mean that she should look to hope, or that she should look to him for help, or that he was inextricably bound to her? Would she never escape from him?

Arwen read the last message:

Arwen, meleth nín, I love you…

And then at the bottom he signed his name: Aragorn. It was simple, but was a perfect portrayal of him just as he was, with the stylish swooping down-stroke of the A and the elegance he had acquired from his elven upbringing. Many times she had seen his name which he had written, most of them in love letters to her. It was his true name, strong and kingly. And there it was, causing her to think about him in that tender way which she had not been able to for such a long time.

Arwen rubbed the edge of the parchment pensively. Right at that moment, she felt how empty she was inside, devoid of the loving care she used to bear for so many things. It was as if she had suddenly stepped out into a blowing gale, and she felt a rush of longing to experience love again, not just a hint, but powerfully, warmly.

What was it that was causing her to die from the inside? Was it as Aragorn kept trying to get through to her, that the Dark Elves had cast Sauron's Shadow over her? Arwen didn't know. She didn't know much anymore. But she did feel as if there was a black weight sitting on her heart, little by little squeezing her life and soul out. Soon there would be nothing left… no love… and no hope… and no Aragorn.

Suddenly, words she had spoken came echoing back to her. She remembered speaking them to a Dark Elf, but now they meant much more when she murmured them to herself.

"If I die, then Estel's love goes with me and all his hope for the future. Without me or an heir, the kingdom of men will fall, and his life will be in vain. He will be defenceless and broken… I know then you will easily kill him."

Arwen closed her eyes and pressed the handful of messages to her lips. All of a sudden she felt like a murderer, and she was terrified. Maybe the Dark Elves were right in one way; though what they said about Aragorn was lies, what they said about her was true. She was worse, far worse. She was totally undeserving of her elven lineage, her beauty, her respect as Queen, her power and her life… She was ruining Aragorn.

So, consumed by this false web of thoughts, she believed that by removing herself from Aragorn, she would protect him.

xxxxxx

"Is everything alright?"

Aragorn looked across the table at Gimli and fingered his wine glass, exhaling noisily.

"Yes," he said bleakly. "I am fine." He casually leant forward to take a sip of wine and promptly choked on it, breaking into a coughing fit.

"That is the worst lie I have ever heard," said Legolas glibly. Through tearful eyes Aragorn looked up at his friend who was piercing him with his blue stare.

"Okay, okay," Aragorn admitted with his hands up in the air. "I have had enough of pretence," he said more quietly.

Legolas pursed his lips anxiously and slid his glance down the table to make sure they would not be overheard. "You may have fooled most people in this city, but you have certainly not fooled me, Aragorn son of Arathorn," he murmured.

Aragorn gave a wince and rubbed his lined face, where all the creases seemed deeper and heavier, especially around his purple-lidded eyes. Now as Legolas examined his friend, Aragorn's eyes looked red around the rims, as if he had been crying.

"What wounds are left inside, when the physical ones have healed?" Legolas muttered.

"Can your elves not help, Legolas?" Gimli asked, turning to the elf. Legolas grimaced and turned towards the dwarf.

"There are some elven healers staying in the Houses of Healing, but they…" he glanced hesitantly at Aragorn before continuing, "they have not helped," he surmised.

"But she is well, and her child?"

"Yes," Aragorn interrupted. "But what happened to her with the Dark Elves has scarred her mind. They have cast the Shadow over her, but I cannot save her from it."

"Why not?" Gimli said incredulously. "You saved Éowyn, and Pippin, when they were overcome by the Shadow."

Aragorn waved a hand casually at Gimli's comment. "They let me," he simply said.

"I'm sorry?" Legolas leant across the table, confusion riddling his eyes.

Aragorn sighed and buried his face in his hands. A small voice trickled out. "She will not let me. The Dark Elves have made her afraid of me, and so she will not let me help her."

Legolas' eyes widened and he recoiled sharply back across the table, shooting a meaningful glance at Gimli. Aragorn continued to knead his eyes with the palms of his hands. Gimli opened his mouth but refrained from speaking, not knowing quite what to say. The atmosphere was tense.

Suddenly Aragorn gave a groan and pushed his chair back, rising abruptly to his feet.

"It doesn't matter anymore; there is nothing I can do… There is nothing to live for now." He spoke loudly in a harsh tone, but as if to himself, without looking at his friends. He turned and strode out of the hall and up the stairs to his bedchamber, still muttering feverishly. Legolas and Gimli stared transfixed where he had disappeared before meeting each other's eyes worriedly.

xxxxxx

Night filtered the room into shades of dark grey and no other colour. Aragorn turned his weary head to watch a dying candle left on the washstand as it guttered and choked, flashing out a few final bursts of light around the room before finally the flame disappeared in a puff of hissing smoke. Everything imploded into complete, cold blackness.

Aragorn sighed shakily and cast his head to the side. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut but the menacing emptiness did not evade him. It was hard to ignore the emptiness in the room, how cold and unfilled the bed was. He was absolutely shattered, so mentally drained that he had lost all colour in his face, but he could not rest. He could not be comfortable. Not without Arwen back.

Aragorn rolled onto his side, stretching out into the blank space where she should be. He reached out with his large arm-span, fingers prying under the blankets, straining to grasp the dream which he so faintly held. But she wasn't there. And that vast gap was expanded infinitely in his heart so much that it hurt. Everything hurt. He was fed up with pretending that everything was normal. How could it be, when he was dying inside? His dreams were shattered before his feet, and all he had believed in the one elf-maiden he loved was reduced to absolutely nothing. The love and future which had before seemed certain now seemed certain not to be true. How could it? He had no faith any longer. It was hopeless.

Aragorn tossed over onto his other side. This was unbearable, feeling himself being torn apart and not being able to stop it. There was a gap eating him up from the inside, consuming all happiness in life which he had. Living in a dying world of broken dreams, he wanted to drown in his sorrow; he wanted to feel the sharp sting of tears on the raw space Arwen had filled in his heart for so many years; he wanted to have the comforting drip of sadness into his heart to blot out the world. Without Arwen, there was nothing for him to live for.

As Aragorn collapsed onto his back his face crumpled. Why was a broken heart so beautiful? In that moment, he loved her so much that it hurt to try to quantify it. She was as stunning as ever, as revered as when they first met, but augmenting all of this allure was her sadness. That made him feel compelled to embrace her and tear her fears away, something which he was now not able to do, and even worse, he was prevented by Arwen herself. That struck to the very core.

Tears were springing into his eyes, both bidden and unbidden. It didn't matter any more, whether he cried or not. It didn't matter if he tried to save Arwen or if he caved in. It made no difference. He could not understand why everything good had to have an end, but now he saw how true it was, and how it could not be stopped. He had been living in a reverie which could never become reality – life could never be as good as he had naively thought it would be. He had been a fool to believe he was not alone in the world. He had always been alone. Utterly empty.

Aragorn found himself crying at his own condemning thoughts. He could not lie to himself: he loved Arwen with all his heart. It was losing her that hurt. He felt vulnerable and open, and he was afraid. There was nothing to resist or protest with. Arwen was hurting him so badly, but he could never, and would never, hurt her back. She hurt from the inside out, but Aragorn would not try to stifle the pain. For the pain was Arwen, and he loved her so completely. She belonged in his heart. He could never lose her, and if her pain was all he ever had, he would willingly keep it and suffer.

All the everyday memories he had of her now seemed to be of the highest significance, and every moment he remembered spending with her was divine. If only they could share each breath as they once had, the moment would be beautiful, and each kiss he imagined beyond hope was paradise, making him perfectly whole.

Tears streamed down the raw lines on his hot stinging cheeks. His facial muscles were painful as he winced, being tired from the continual crying each night. The tears dropped with patters onto the cool saturated pillow.

Without Arwen, he was hollow. Nothing else could save him, only she could make him whole once more. She had been away for far too long already, and the wounds she was making in his heart were now beginning to scar him forever. She needed to come back, and equally he needed her to come back. But how could she?

Aragorn groaned and buried himself under his shaking pillow. For her to be happy, must he forsake his own happiness?

xxxxxx

A rustle of the dry leaves scattered across the road to the Houses of Healing, but the healers on watch at the door did not turn their heads. For in winter it was known for a cold wind to stir through the city before the downpour of rain, and the night was dark with the stampede of cloud pressing down tightly from the mountains. None of the doors to the rooms had opened, and who should suspect an ill patient of climbing out of their window? Clearly they did not know elves well.

Concealed in her twilight cloak, Arwen swept up the streets unseen by anyone. She was only hesitant on the final pass up to the citadel, but away from the lights of houses it was an even more solid darkness. The two Fountain Guards on either side of the court each held a small lamp, but they illuminated nothing. She was invisible to all eyes. Yet though she could escape from them, Arwen could never escape from her emotions. Fear and bewilderment plagued her every second that she breathed, and there was no visible helping hand to pull her out of this consuming whirlpool.

Arwen paused by the edge of the fountain and contemplatively sat down on its low wall. The stone was cold and she looked around cautiously at the guards. With her elven eyes, Arwen saw from their outlines that they stared out of the city and down at the road; they had not noticed her presence. Furthermore, even if she was not hidden by elven magic, she would still not be seen. Not even if Aragorn by some chance looked out from the doors of the High Court would his eyes detect her in the darkness.

Arwen trembled, thinking over what had brought her here. She had begun to understand that the Shadow Aragorn had discerned was taking hold on her. She slowly began to see that Aragorn was not trying to hurt her, and never had been. But she was afraid of what she had thought and what she had done. Her need for him had magnetised her closer to his presence, but fear of herself now prevented her from going any nearer. She yearned to feel him heal her, yet she was unhappy to contaminate him with what beleaguered her. The terrible mix of love and hate for the same things was hard to bear. Arwen chose her own solution.

Upon rising to her feet, Arwen dropped the cloak from her shoulders and carefully climbed onto the rim of the pool. There was a distant hiss, from rain falling on the mountainside, but she could not wait for the rain-cloud to break here. Arwen turned her thoughts to the Fountain, and looked up at the lofty grey stream of continuous water. How far and plentiful the water was, just as her inner grief stretched beyond being able to contain it within. She longed to cry, she longed to express herself openly, but she was afraid of what Aragorn would do if he found out.

She did not need her cloak; the night was a cloak enough. Arwen plied up her skirts into her long fingers and bared a pale foot. Slowly she stepped down and broke through the surface of the water. It was very cold and the shock broke a gasp from her lips. But Arwen held her tongue and resolutely slid the other foot down onto the base of the pool. It was smooth and slippery, but perfectly clean, for it dimly glimmered a grey-blue colour. She felt the cold rings of water climb up her legs and the gnawing ache in her feet, but she stayed where she was.

Arwen lowered her skirts and they ebbed to and fro gently around her knees in the soft current from the fountain. Then she waded slowly towards it, the white foaming water, and felt the tiny patter of spray upon her cheeks. She closed her eyes and outstretched her arms, opening up her palms to the larger droplets and gathered pools in her hands. Waves skipped up her thighs and the night air nipped at her bare skin, but the strong sensations were precisely what Arwen desired: they blocked out her thoughts.

A smile crept up her wearied lips and she strode calmly into the rainfall ahead. The cold water splashed upon her stomach and chest and shoulders, and Arwen quivered involuntarily. But it was not painful, not like the rest of the world she was leaving behind this dream, where all her thoughts and worries waited outside the basin. Within this circle of stone, she was free.

Arwen stole a breath through her clammy lips and stepped into the tumbling shower. Her breaths tumbled out as she gasped from her total enclosure in the cold wet blanket of water, but she remained rooted to the spot.

Gradually the coldness became numbing, and with it so was her mind numbed. She was totally absorbed in the present, all the sensations upon her body, and all thoughts and troubles were repelled from her mind. Sucking in deep rattling breaths, Arwen let all the emotion she had blocked up break out, and as if from behind a dam suddenly all her tears leaked out and she found herself crying inconsolably, arms raised up into the fountain welcomingly.

A sinuous wave passed down through her fluid hair and descended her acutely shivering back before enveloping her entire body. The constant stream of water clamoured pleasantly upon her shoulders and its gentle hands caressed her brow. The coolness bathed her wearied eyes and the drops of water from the fountain stroked the tenseness beneath them. The drops of water wiped her tears away while laying its own there. The fountain's watery embrace anaesthetised the rest of Arwen's exhausted body. She felt completely lost from the world, and found with herself, drowning her sorrow in such beauty.

Now she did not know whether she was crying at all, or whether the whole of Arda was crying with her. But this was what she wanted. In that moment, she was free.

xxxxxx

From the top of the steps, under the cover of the palace battlements, Aragorn looked out into the hazy twilight. Utter sorrow filled his heart, minute after minute, as he watched Arwen weeping to no avail. Out in the cold night just before daybreak, all colours had faded into dull shades of grey behind the film of rain. Aragorn knew his own skin would look grey in daylight, being drained of all blood due to lack of sleep. The white stone paving appeared to be tarnished beneath a stretching blue-grey cloud all above, reflecting how he felt his long life now stretched out before him. Empty and depressing.

Arwen had almost merged into the water now, her pale grey dress soaked to the skin, just the hue of the bark of the White Tree. Her hair was a streaming shadow, like a dark wave overwhelming her. The white skin of her arms was paler than it all, whiter than the hazy moon vainly attempting to shine through the clouds. He could not see her face, but Aragorn could not even bear to imagine it. The weakness that ensued made his bones crumble and his mind fade to dust. But what was worse was the endless patter of water. The fountain's continual tinkling, the falling teardrops pattering into the pool, never ceased - just always weeping. The musicality filled his ears, and the water dappled under his wearied eyes. Before he knew it, Aragorn found himself in tears too.

Why did seeing her so broken have to arouse such beautiful and tender emotions in his heart?

xxxxxx

It was daybreak when Legolas and Gimli found Aragorn sitting on the steps to the High Court in the loose scarlet clothes he had worn in bed, now drenched a dark brown by the slanting rain. They were both surprised to say the least, but not surprised that Aragorn had not been asleep. That was why they had checked his room, to make sure that he was well.

"No, he is not well," Gimli muttered to Legolas, who had just asked the King that question. Legolas scowled at the dwarf and lowered himself down next to Aragorn, who was either purposefully ignoring his friends or so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not actually realise that they were there. His usually blue-grey eyes were almost black and stared out emptily, with his chin resting in his hand, while his elbow was propped up on his knee.

Legolas' expression softened but a terrible frown settled on his eyebrows. He followed Aragorn's line of sight, but for a long while he could not for the life of him work out what Aragorn was looking at or exactly what he was thinking, and so he could not say anything constructive.

"It is cold and wet, of course he will not be well after sitting out here," Gimli defended himself. Legolas still ignored him.

Then his lips curved into an O-shape. He noticed, her shape almost woven in with the black-and-white colours of the White Tree, Arwen half-hidden by the sheen of water from the Fountain. In the grey light and coated in the foaming water she was not easily seen. But with the sunrise about to come, she would soon be drawing much attention.

"Aragorn…" Legolas shook his friend's arm and jolted him out of his daze. Aragorn turned his eyes towards the elf, somewhat menacingly. Legolas was not put off. "You have to help her out," he told him, "now, before the guards see." He indicated with his eyes towards the guards over by the walls, who were changing shifts. Thankfully, none of them were looking up towards the Fountain or the High Courts. After all, it was not expected that anyone else would be up at this hour, and certainly not outside in the blizzard-like rain.

"I- I can't," Aragorn stuttered, now shaking. Legolas looked at him in concern.

"Yes, you can," he said robustly.

"Legolas and I will go and distract the guards," Gimli proposed, walking down the steps and meeting Legolas' eyes. "You can't just let her freeze to death, Aragorn!"

At that Aragorn's face crumpled with sadness and his eyes melted with concern. Legolas must have realised that his friend had been won over, for he took Aragorn's arm and pulled him carefully to his feet.

"Fetch her and bring her inside. Then I am having words with you, Aragorn." Aragorn turned alarmed eyes to the elf who looked back meaningfully before going to Gimli's side. The pair then walked off towards the guards.

Aragorn sighed and descended the steps, his whole body feeling leaden and lifeless. It dawned on him how relieving it must be to feel the cold water rushing down upon one's body and a great empathy with Arwen grew within him. He walked solemnly across the Court which was more exposed and so he was pelted with icy rain that chilled him to the bone. He caught sight of Arwen's dark cloak to one side of the Fountain, and as he came near he picked it up before analysing what he ought to do.

Gimli and Legolas had each engaged a guard. Aragorn had a window of time in which he had to rescue Arwen before everyone in Minas Tirith got wind of the problems he and Arwen were having. So far, they had covered it up well. Aragorn knew if his people found out, everything in his life would fall to utter ruin.

Aragorn climbed over the wall around the pool and stepped into the water. It was cold and a shudder rippled up through his body. But he gritted his teeth and strode through the pool towards Arwen's image, shimmering like a mirage in the column of water.

He opened his mouth to call her name, but the singing roar of the Fountain would prevent her from hearing his voice, so he did not speak. Instead, Aragorn walked around where the water fell, gradually becoming accustomed to the chill, and came face to face with Arwen.

She looked up at him with blue eyes that seemed like wet pebbles behind the stream of water. The incomprehension was visible on her face; she did not know whether the dream-like image of him was real or in her mind.

Aragorn reached out into the cold water and felt for her hand. At first he did not realise he was touching it, for her flesh was as cold as the fountain, but then he closed his hand around hers. He gently pulled her towards him, out of the water, and all her features sharpened and became clearer as she materialised before him. White spray and grey rain drops flew between them as they stared at each other, but for the first time in a long while they saw each other clearly.

Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, trying not to crack in front of Arwen. He sucked back his tears and when he opened his gaze upon her again, he managed to breathe steadily on looking at her deathly white skin and blue lips. Her black hair snaked around her hollow neck and small shoulders and drips ran down her body, seemingly from her eyes. She was completely coated in tears.

Suddenly a loud toll rang out and Aragorn jumped, glancing up at the High Court. The bell was singing out for the first hour of day. Aragorn controlled his panic and turned back to Arwen. He noticed her prominent knuckles on her free hand, as she rested it on her rounded stomach.

Aragorn swallowed and moved his arm around her waist, before guiding her to the edge of the pool and lifting her out. She was as wet as a seal, pressed close to him, and while he had felt cold earlier, he now felt hot-blooded compared to Arwen's cold body locked to his arm. The temperature difference seemed to act as a barrier, preventing him from picking up her thoughts. Her face was frozen, as if she was too cold to think, or too stunned at what was happening to her.

He led her up the steps to the High Court, when her knees gave way and she sagged in his embrace. Instantly Aragorn caught her and lifted her up into both arms, seeing her eyelids shut and her arms limp. As he walked down the Great Hall, he heard two sets of footsteps behind him, and Legolas and Gimli joined his journey up to his bedroom. He put her in a chair next to the fireplace, where Gimli began to light a fire, and Legolas went to fetch hot water for a bath. Aragorn knelt beside Arwen and set about reviving her, but of her own accord she opened shining eyes on him.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice feeble and thin. Gimli looked up in surprise from the stoked fire.

"You fainted," Aragorn answered, smiling gently and stroking her cheek. "It's okay now, you are safe." Arwen's eyelids fell down and her head tipped as it rested weakly against the edge of the chair. Aragorn was sighing heavily when he heard Legolas hurry into the room, carrying two huge jugs of steaming water, with two servants behind him carrying more. Aragorn protectively turned Arwen's chair a little, so that they would not be able to see her.

Aragorn wondered where he was now. With Arwen back here, would it herald the start of the Shadow's departure, or Arwen's? He bit his lip, not sure.

"It's okay now," Gimli said behind his ear, and a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Gimli repeated what he had said to Arwen. "You are safe."

The servants came out of the bath room and hurried out of the bedchamber, nervously glancing at Aragorn. Aragorn turned his eyes away. The secret was safe from Minas Tirith. But something had to be done. He and Arwen could not live this way forever.