Chapter 37: Silence is Broken

Indeed, the Man who was striding down the road towards the trio bore a striking resemblance to the fallen captain. Dark hair fell over broad shoulders, and kind grey eyes stared out from an angular, ruddy face. He was clad in the same dark blue and silver palette she had seen other high-ranking members of Gondor wear and wore a sword on his hip. His gaze flitted over to the guards' backs as he took in the situation, speaking once he grew closer. "What seems to be the issue at hand, soldiers?"

Both Sevren and Thorley whirled about and immediately stood at attention. "My lord, I – sir, we…"

"Were accosting a lady in the streets?" the Man finished for them, halting within arms' reach and leaning on the hilt of his sheathed blade.

"Sir, there's been a misunderstanding. The lady here is off her head, and we were trying to calm her, lest she hurts herself!" Sevren explained, looking slightly unnerved.

The Man snorted and turned his pale gaze back to the rattled woman. "I see no flush in her cheeks nor a glassy stare in her eyes. Pray tell, how did you come to believe that she was a drunkard?"

Thorley chafed a bit but his voice was steady. "She claims she's with the Elves, sir, and she wouldn't leave well enough alone when we told her to go on."

"Sir, we weren't abusive," Sevren insisted.

The Man arched a dark brow and addressed Áine, though his grey stare was now fixed upon the two guards. "Are you unharmed, my lady?"

Áine nodded haltingly, still shaken. "Yes, my lord."

"Lord Steward, I swear we did not hurt her! Like Thorley said, she said she was part of Lord Elrond's company and we – "

"It's ludicrous, sir!" Thorley interjected with a nervous laugh. "There's no mortal 'mongst them!"

"And yet here we are, standing in the street with a young woman in fine dress whom, moments prior, cursed you both in what I believe was Dwarvish and Elvish. I know not of any lady of Gondor who could that, drunk or no." The man smirked in a very Boromir-like fashion and walked towards her. "Exercise a kinder hand with the people, Thorley, or the next time I see a display of this sort again, there will be repercussions for all involved." Both men nodded and returned to their posts on either side of the walkway.

The Gondorian reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "My most profound apologies, Lady…?"

"Áine," she stammered, unable to look away. It's not him. He looks just like him…but it's not him.

His lips curled into a half smirk as he nodded. "Lady Áine. I ask your pardon on their behalf. They meant naught by it, though that does not excuse their behavior."

"It is forgotten," Áine murmured with a furtive nod, lip caught in her teeth.

"Please," he insisted, gently tucking her arm into his, "May I escort you back to…where was it you said you were staying?"

"I didn't. It…all I know is that it was somewhere near the Citadel and it was on the eastern wall." She winced in apology.

"Ah yes, I recall! I helped select the lodgings. We can find someone in your group, and then they could show you where you are staying. Does that sound reasonable?" The Gondorian smiled amicably as they began to walk up the path. She bobbed her head in affirmation. "Excellent! Fret not, for it is a few steps up ahead."

"If you please, sir…are you Lord Denethor?"

The Man's smile instantly disappeared. He turned his gaze towards her, confused and vaguely surprised. "No, Lady Áine, I'm afraid not. Why do you ask?"

"B-because those men back there called you 'Lord Steward', and I thought…"

"Oh no!" he laughed, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "No, I am Faramir, second son of the late Lord Denethor. I became the Steward of Gondor when King Elessar elected me for the position."

So you're his brother…

"If I might ask a question of my own, Lady Áine?"

She pried herself out of her tumultuous thoughts and cleared her throat. "Of course, my lord."

"Back there, when I first arrived, you looked as though you had seen a ghost. Was it due to the circumstances or…?" He trailed off, head tilted towards her.

"Forgive me, but I thought you to be someone I once knew, and it startled me greatly." The hole in her chest sang with pain at the allusion to his memory.

"It was not a good reverie, then?"

"No! No, it – that is, he was a very dear friend." Tears began to cloud her vision, and she hurriedly moved to wipe them away. "I only learned of his passing a month ago, though he had been gone for three prior. The wound is still fresh, as I was anticipating his presence here in the city."

Faramir was looking more and more perturbed as he listened to her speak. "Who was it, if I might ask? Perhaps I knew him."

"Captain Boromir." The sound of his name forced her eyes closed as her heart stuttered. "Forgive me, it is still difficult to speak about."

"You knew my brother?" Faramir asked, brows raised high in surprise.

Áine glanced up at him and smiled through her tears. "Aye, I did. He and I became friends while in Rivendell, as we were the only two mortals in a city of Elves. We grew close during that time, and it grieved me when he departed."

"Were you…quite close?" There was a strange note in his tone.

"He was like the elder brother I never had. He looked out for me and provided a means of escape when life became too overwhelming or hectic." She knew what he was asking, and it hurt her even still to deny it. He would not understand…

"I see. I am sorry that you have only now learned of his death. If I may, how was it that you came to Rivendell? Were you a ward to Lord Elrond, or was it a diplomatic arrangem–"

"My lady!" A female voice interrupted the Steward and drew their attention ahead. Lagorwen raced towards them, silver hair flying and pale eyes wide. She skidded to a stop in front of Áine and grasped her free hand. "Oh my lady, thank the Valar you are safe!" The She-Elf began looking her over, frenzied. "Are you hurt? Where were you? What happened?"

Faramir spoke up on Áine's behalf. "She was found wandering the streets looking for Lord Elrond's entourage. Do you know where they are?"

Lagorwen turned to the Steward and nodded. "Yes, of course. We have been looking for her. Thank you for retrieving her, my lord, but I can return her."

"Nonsense!" Faramir insisted. "I am in charge of everyone's well-being in this city, and I intend to see this through until the end."

"If you wish," Lagorwen conceded with pursed lips. "This way, my lord." She turned on her heel and marched up the road, both mortals following closely behind.

As the trio reached the housing quarter, Áine saw the twins standing on the front porch speaking animatedly to a distraught Faelwyn. The Elven handmaiden looked over at the approaching Galadhrim, and, upon seeing Áine and Faramir, pressed a hand to her mouth with a stifled cry. Both Elf-lords looked over their shoulder, and Elrohir's face, initially drawn and grim, was abruptly awash with a gut-wrenching relief. He leaped down to the street and was at her side in the span of a breath, holding her face in his hands as his intense grey stare looked her over. "Na nahtach*?" he murmured.

Something about the simple question, coupled with all that had transpired in the last month, broke Áine. She threw her arms around her husband and buried her face in his chest, sobbing quietly. He returned the embrace while gently stroking her hair and whispering just to her. "Beriachnin, dîmîw. Máranach…máranach*…" He repeated those words over and again, even as his gaze flitted up over her head to look upon the startled Gondorian in their midst.

Elladan came up alongside the reunited pair and smiled. "My brother and I thank you, Lord Faramir, for finding her. We feared the worst when she went missing a few hours prior."

"Indeed, we owe you a great debt, my lord." Faelwyn descended the steps gracefully and floated over to the elder prince's side.

"But of course, my lord, my lady," Faramir nodded to each. "It was fortuitous, truly, that I came upon her. I shall take my leave, then. Sleep well, and I will see you on the morrow." He gave a polite smile and one more glance at Áine before walking on towards the Citadel.

Once the Steward was out of earshot, Elrohir pulled away and kissed her brow, combing a hand through her loose hair. "What happened, little one?"

Áine sniffled and wiped her eyes with a thin chuckle. "It's rather embarrassing, really. I was helping unload the carts when the attendant mistook me for one of the help and gave me a load for the launders. Once I had finished, I didn't know where I was and I was so tired…" She trailed off as she watched a strange look cross the Elf-lord's scarred visage.

"Were you hurt? Did anyone accost you?" He ran his piercing gaze over her once more, searching for any signs of abuse.

"No, I found a bench within a garden and…I fell asleep."

He frowned. "How did Lord Faramir find you, then?"

"Well, I awoke and realized how late it was, which prompted me to seek out someone who could guide me back here. The Steward came upon me as I was defending myself against two guards."

"They confronted you?" Faelwyn spoke up, looking alarmed.

"No, they merely thought me inebriated because I said I was with the Lady Arwen's wedding party. Thankfully, Lord Faramir believed me and brought me back here." She finished with a lopsided smile, still deeply humiliated by the fuss she had inadvertently caused.

As if sensing her distress, Elladan shook his head. "Do not apologize, Áine. We are all immensely relieved that you are safe."

"Indeed, my dear," Faelwyn agreed, stepping up to embrace her friend. "You should go get some rest. Tomorrow is drawing swiftly nearer."

"But…am I not staying here?"

Elladan chuckled. "No, you two have rooms in the Citadel with the rest of the family. Really, who would force a husband and wife to sleep apart? They are human, but they're not barbaric."

Áine looked up at Elrohir, who nodded. "I…but what about…?" She turned her gaze back to Faelwyn.

"Fret not, I shall attend you in the morning. Off with you, now, and sleep well." She smiled reassuringly and hooked an arm around Elladan's. "I, however, need to be escorted." The pair smirked and began walking back up to the porch.

Elrohir cleared his throat and slipped an arm about her waist. "It is not far from here."

The walk to their quarters was a quiet one, the only sounds being the wind gently whistling by and their soft footfalls on the stone. She had desperately wanted to talk, to laugh, to spill her heart to her long-away spouse, yet found herself unable to muster up the courage. His demeanor was that of someone deeply perturbed: dark brows knitted low over steely eyes, and jaw clenched so that she saw a muscle twinge. His hand was pressed against her lower back, still and unyielding, almost propelling her forward. What little she could construct from a single, furtive look betrayed anger, disgust, and perhaps…loathing? Has it finally happened? Have I made him regret his decision at long last? A mirthless laugh threatened to break forth, but she suppressed it.

After several eternal minutes of walking through stark-white hallways, Elrohir halted in front of a wooden door facing the brooding east. With a push, he opened it and all but pushed her inside. She let out a soft gasp.

It was not nearly as white as the rest of the city, as velvet tapestries of deep indigo and silver hanging on the walls and covering the floor offered some relief from the usual monochromatic display. Even the bed boasted some color: swaths of ebony cloth covered the headboard, the coverlet a dark blue shot with silver stitching. Light coming from the sconces on the wall cast the room in a soothing glow that reminded her of sunset. To the left of the bed was a large arch window that looked out along the mountainside. Tucked neatly away in the corner were their belongings along with a vanity set complete with wash basin and pitcher.

The door closed with a click behind her, and Áine braced herself for whatever came next. A soft sigh and she pivoted to face him, already preparing a more thorough apology.

All fight and preparation vanished from her at the sight of him, standing before her, looking so utterly weary and lackluster. It seemed that in the span of a few precious moments, he had aged fifty (human) years. Her heart went out to him, as did her hand. His eyes closed at her touch, and a small shudder went through him; with that gesture, the brief display of vulnerability was replaced with his usual stoicism, though he did nuzzle her hand.

With a soft sigh, Áine drew slightly closer. She wanted to speak, to relieve her heart of pain and burden, but found that she had no words. There was a strange power in their shared contact that started at that first embrace a few heartbeats before and culminated now, behaving as a sort of balm that soothed the sting of absence. The aches of the past seemed less important in light of this long-awaited moment. For now, this…this was enough.

"Why did you leave?" His voice, low and rough, brought her hurtling back to reality.

"I…what?"

Eyes of cold grey looked down at her, suspicious."Why did you leave the group?" Elrohir repeated, a strange timber in his voice hinting at barely assumed control.

"Well, I – surely, you realize I didn't mean to!" This display was both puzzling and deeply disturbing.

"Indeed?" His ashen gaze roved over her almost frantically, seeking something unknown.

Áine huffed in frustration as she moved near flush with him, hand sliding down his face to rest at his throat. "Elrohir, what – ?" To her surprise, he shifted away from her, still staring at her with a haunted expression. Her insides suddenly turned to lead.

"You were to stay with the rest of the entourage. Why did you not?"

"I got lost! It was all a whirl, and I'm deeply sorry, Elrohir, but –"

"This city is nothing like Imladris," he interrupted once more, voice abruptly sharp. "Minas Tirith is full of dangers, both foreign and domestic. Wandering off here is gambling with your life – a gamble you foolishly accepted with little thought as to how it would affect others."

"That is unfair, and you know it well!" Áine snapped, giving in to the waxing anxiety.

He ignored her interjection. "Aragorn may be king but he does not know everything that goes on in this city. As his guest, your well-being reflects upon him. Had any harm befallen you, he would have been blamed!" The scars on his jaw were livid against his pale face.

Amidst the rush of icy rage that coursed through her, there came a clarity of mind, and suddenly, she understood. "I see."

"Oh?"

"I embarrassed you, and now you're angry."

He recoiled as if struck, aghast. "What – how – how could you – "

Her hand pressed against his chest, forcing him backwards and she moving forward to keep within arm's length. "Would it then be remiss of me to assume that this is also why you fled my bedside?" Another step and nudge. "Why you have avoided me since I came back from death's edge?" Another step. Elrohir halted as the bed blocked any further progress. "Why, before a mere half hour past, you had looked at me ONCE since we left Rohan? Because you're embarrassed of me?!" Her voice rose into a shout, tears filling her eyes.

Where once there was anger and wariness in the eyes of the Elf-lord, now panic and confusion resided. He straightened up and reached out to grasp her arms. "Áine, I –"

"NO!" It was her turn to pull away, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing. "You have made your position perfectly clear! Gods, I should have seen it sooner! You never really trusted me…I see that now." She laughed hollowly and took to pacing the room.

Elrohir looked deeply offended. "Áine, not once have I lied to you!"

"No, you have not, but you have cleverly avoided giving me the truth."

He threw up his hands. "In what way!?"

She stopped right in front of him, eyes bloodshot but keen. "It was not you who told me about Narmeleth or your mother."

His jaw clenched. "I see you have been speaking with Faelwyn."

"At least she does speak with me! I cannot say the same about you!' Áine bit back, not caring one whit for the way he spoke of her friend.

"And I assume she is able to recount my past better than I?" His voice had become cool and brittle.

"I did not go to her for information!" Áine retorted. "She was advising me on how best to approach you!"

Elrohir looked incredulous. "Why on earth would you need to know how to approach me?"

"Because, as I see it, you fled from me out of shame! Out of regret!" Áine whirled about, hands clenched tightly at her sides. "You...you're waiting for me to die because I will, in the end!"

"Of course you will, but that is hardly the issue here!"

"No, indeed! My only complaint with this arrangement is having to have seen your true feelings on the matter prematurely."

Elrohir balked slightly at the naked anguish in his wife's pale gaze. "My true feelings?" he echoed, incredulous.

Áine took a breath to calm herself before continuing. "While I was lying abed, drenched in sweat and being assaulted at all sides by demons only I could see, you did not stay and help. You fled. You ran and pretended that it was of no consequence whether I lived or died."

Unadulterated revulsion and disbelief colored his alabaster face a lush pink. "You…she said that I…"

She trudged on, unable to stop the flow of feelings and fears arranged into words. "You kept to yourself and grieved, though I was still yet living. You loathed the sight of my mortality, hated its very obvious existence, and thought to rid yourself –"

"Silence." The word was uttered with such authority that Áine found herself obeying without a second thought. He stared her down, body trembling slightly and eyes flashing dangerously. She had seen him angry before; she had never seen him overcome with wrath.

"You…think...that I left you…because I…" His breath came in staccatoed gasps, "because I…loathed you?!"

Now that she was free of the suffocating silence between them, she realized that, in her pain, she had misrepresented Faelwyn's original intent. The memory had been twisted by her own crippling insecurities and made into something quite different. She knew this – and yet still put voice to her innermost demon:

"You left because in taking me as your wife, you only served to be reminded of your mother and what befell her because of your love."

Until that moment, she had never imagined that an Elf-lord was capable of shock. Elrohir goggled at her mutely, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. His breath stilled, leaving only her stifled whimpers and the sputtering from the candles scattered across the room. They stood in tense silence for an eternity, staring at each other, each wallowing in their own pain.

Without a word, Elrohir strode right past her, opened the door, and slammed it behind him, leaving Áine standing in the middle of the room.

The resounding clang of the handle against the wood pierced her chest and drove her to her knees, face in her hands. Her heart was tearing itself apart. She was a fool. She knew – knew this would not have worked, but in her selfishness and pride, she let him convince her otherwise. She let him in. And now he was gone.

Sniffling quietly, Áine crawled to the bed and clambered up onto it. The surge of energy that fighting had brought was quickly fading, and she remembered that she was still not fully well; her arms lay unmoving over her head, and her breath came in short, strained gasps. Fatigue pulled her eyes closed and welcomed her to a warm abyss devoid of pain and thought.

A/N: Whooooo...this was fun to write. Haven't had our two lovebirds fight in a while, and with all the dirty laundry they've got stored up, it was high time they had a moment to themselves - a married moment, that is, though unfortunately, this isn't a euphemism for "sex". Don't fret - I'm already working on the next chapter, which contains the elusive wedding! Always wondered what it looked like, and since we were never given a description of how weddings were performed in the books, I'm going to be taking some creative license with how it proceeds. Hope it meets expectations to some degree. Happy reading, and thank you for the lovely reviews!

Elvish translations

~Na nahtach?: Are you hurt?

~Beriachnin, dîmîw. Máranach...máranach: You are safe, little one. You are all right...you are all right...