47 – THE HAPPY ENDING
The hours flew by.
Tíniel had never felt happier. She had her husband – her husband – by her side, and she was surrounded by friends. The people of the city revelled like they hadn't in years, rejoicing in the long-sought peace.
But at last, the sun sank below the horizon, and the crowds slowly began to thin.
"I think you could afford to slip away now, if you wanted," Faramir muttered to them. "You've seen everyone you ought to have seen, done everything you needed to. Everyone is becoming too drunk to notice your absence anyway." He frowned. "Or maybe I'm too sober to be able to deal with spending more time with you."
Aragorn shot her a sidelong glance. "What do you think? Do you want to go?"
"I think we've been here long enough," she said, smiling wryly. "I'm happy to leave if you are."
"I am tired too," he said. "It's been a long day. Faramir, if you can cover for us, we'll go."
"Tired?" Faramir snorted. "I hope you're not too tired, for you are about to spend all night –"
"Faramir!" Tíniel exclaimed. "Some decorum, if you please! You're speaking to the King!"
"Exactly, and that very lucky King is about to spend all night putting –"
"Faramir!"
"Right, right, sorry," he said. "I'm shutting up. But while you're enjoying yourselves tonight, please remember to keep it down. It has been a long day, and some of us need to sleep."
She groaned, burying her face in her hands, and Aragorn chuckled as he wheeled her away.
He pushed her through the the Great Hall and then through another door that Tíniel had never ventured through, winding through the corridors until they reached a room that she'd never even knew existed. He pushed open the door, and she caught her breath. There was a fire roaring in an enormous hearth. A table and chairs occupied the main room, whose windows looked West. There was a door through which she could see a washroom, and another which she surmised was the bedroom.
"This is huge!"
"And it hasn't been occupied for nearly a thousand years."
"I hope they changed the bedsheets."
He laughed and scooped her up out of the chair. "You're ridiculous."
"Well, you're the one who married me," she smiled.
He kissed her nose. "Yes," he said, his voice suddenly low. "I did."
Tíniel's heart began to race as she held his gaze, her arms fixed around his neck and their faces inches away from each other.
Aragorn stepped over the threshold and kicked the door shut behind them. Then he crossed the room and went straight into the bedchamber. It was lit by dozens of candles which illuminated the sizeable bed, draped with an unnecessary number of animal skins.
Gently, Aragorn laid her on her back on the bed and stood before her, looking down.
"You're beautiful," he said with a wide smile. "And I'm going to tell you every day that I love you."
"I love you too," she said. "I loved you when you were a dirty, smelly ranger from the North, and I'll love you when you're a tall, beautiful King of Gondor."
He laughed at that. "I can't believe you're mine," he said. Then his voice lowered, as though he was afraid that he'd be overheard. "And you wouldn't believe how long I've been thinking about this moment."
She couldn't help it; she giggled. "You're like a teenager," she said, covering her mouth with her hand. "Just like a teenage boy, only ever thinking about one thing…"
He grinned. "Shut up and help me get out of this armour."
She pushed herself upright and helped him pull the chainmail over his head and unbuckle the sword from his waist, so that he was only wearing his white undershirt over his trousers. He did the same for her, pulling the leather gauntlets over her hands and unbuckling her belt. He pulled the tunic over her head, being careful not to hurt her, and leaving her wearing only a thin white shirt. His hands lingered at her waist, and despite herself, Tíniel's breath hitched.
"Is it me," she whispered, "or does this room smell like old dead kings?"
"I told you to shut up," Aragorn said, and he kissed her.
All thoughts immediately fled Tíniel's head. They were replaced by intense warmth and a desire, the like of which she'd never experienced before. Aragorn's mouth was hungry and persistent on hers, and she pulled him down towards her until they both lay on the bed.
She could feel the heat of his hands as they drifted down her torso, growing more and more insistent. She tugged him closer still, their kiss deepening further, and his hand slipped beneath the cloth of her shirt. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her belly, and she gasped into his mouth.
But suddenly, there was a knock at the door. They jerked back from each other and froze, both breathing hard.
"Surely not," she whispered.
"They'll go away," Aragorn breathed back, his voice low and his eyes dark. "Whoever they are, they'll go away."
They waited another second, and all was silent. Aragorn grinned and bent his head again, but the second their lips touched, another knock came. He dropped his head into her shoulder and sighed heavily.
"You don't have to go to the door," she said. "You really don't. Not tonight. You can be a king tomorrow, but tonight you're supposed to be mine."
He stared at her, considering her words, but a third knock came and he sighed in irritation and shot her an apologetic look as he got up.
"I'll send them away," he promised, and left the bedroom.
Tíniel sat up as she waited for him to return. She could hear his footsteps in the main room. She could hear the door open and the sound of low voices that followed, but she couldn't make out what was said. After about a minute, Aragorn re-entered the bedroom, his jaw fixed and a frown creasing his brows.
"Who was it?" she asked curiously.
"Someone I'm not sure you'll want to see," he replied.
She frowned. "No speaking in riddles, Aragorn, who was there?"
"The Elf," he said, looking up to gauge her reaction. "Remuil."
Tíniel sat up straighter. "Oh…"
"Should I have sent him away?"
She hesitated. On the one hand, she very much did not want to be disturbed. She felt she deserved a moment of peace after everything. But on the other hand…
"Curse him to Mordor and back, the vorukhi," she swore, punching the mattress in frustration. "Aragorn, my love, will you fetch him back for me?"
He groaned, but a small smile played at his lips. "I should have known that even when we were married things wouldn't go to plan," he said. "I'll be back. Oh, and I would advise that you… cover yourself somewhat."
He disappeared from the room. Tíniel glanced down at herself and blushed; the undershirt she wore was doing exceedingly little to conceal anything.
Leaning over and grabbing a dark blue blanket from the end of the bed, she draped it over her shoulders. Then she grabbed her stick, and she laboriously began making her way back out to the fireplace in the main room.
There were three chairs there, as though whoever had set the room had prepared for this exact situation. Wincing a little, she lowered herself into one that faced the windows, its back to the door. She heard it open and shut, and she heard one set of footsteps approach. But two men walked into the circle of firelight and seated themselves in the armchairs.
"Your Highness," Remuil said softly, his keen eyes taking in her appearance. She felt herself blush again. "I apologise for my intrusion at this time." He was still dressed in the black cloak, she saw, but his hood was lowered.
"It's about time you came to me," she said. "But you'd be hard pressed to choose a worse moment."
He looked faintly as though he was trying to suppress a laugh. "My most sincere and abject apologies to you. And to your husband."
"Why now, Remuil?" she asked. "I know you've been in the city since the battle at the Morannon, so why did you not come and find me before? Why wait?"
"Because it was not until now that I had decided," he said evenly. "For the weeks since we last spoke, I have been debating whether or not to reveal myself, whether or not to come forth."
"And I suppose this means you have decided to do so?" she asked cautiously. He nodded once.
"I did not plan to intrude on your… wedding night. But you left the celebrations earlier than I had expected."
"What is going on here?" Aragorn asked, glancing between them. Tíniel shook her head.
"I know little more than you," she said. "Remuil, if you have made your decision, then I think it is time you explained yourself. You promised me your true name if you were to return and now you've returned. Who are you?"
"It is a story in itself," he said.
"Then begin at the beginning," she said, settling back into the chair. "You have interrupted. Now you might as well make the interruption worth it." He smiled slightly at her words and began to speak.
"The Haedannen was a place for people who needed a place to hide," he said. "But it wasn't just for the crew. I was hiding too."
"Hiding from what?" Aragorn asked.
"From what I once was," Remuil answered. "What do you know about the sons of Fëanor?"
Aragorn frowned, but played along. "That they swore an oath that was their undoing," he said.
"And that the oath killed them all," Tíniel added. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It didn't kill them all," Remuil said stiffly, staring into the fire. His back was ramrod straight, and his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. "It didn't kill me."
There was a long, heavy silence. Tíniel's mouth hung slightly open, and Aragorn drew in a deep breath.
"No," he said. "Surely you are lying."
"Why would I?" Remuil said. "My real name is Maglor. I am the second son of Fëanor, the greatest Elf who ever lived. Once, my brothers and I swore an oath that the Silmarils, the stones my father created, would never belong to anyone who was not of our blood."
"Maglor?" Tíniel murmured, barely understanding what she was hearing.
"Because of that oath, I, with my father and brothers, began the kinslaying that tore my kind apart. Because of that oath, I watched my father and every one of my brothers die. And when at last I regained one of the jewels I had sworn to protect, it burned through my skin, rejecting the hands that had spilled so much blood just to hold it."
He turned his hands palms-up so that the red firelight flickered over his scarred, burned palms.
"So I abandoned the world I had known and ran away. I hid while ages of time passed, while the shape of the land changed, while the world went from flat to round. There are few left now who recognise me."
"But those who do know you are gathered here, in Minas Tirith," Aragorn said, his eyes wide. "Galadriel is here, your cousin. And Elrond, whose life you spared and who you raised as a son."
Tíniel's eyes widened. "You?" she said disbelievingly. "It was you who was Elrond's second father?"
"It was me," Remuil – or Maglor – said, the expression in his eyes growing distant and sad. "But then, he was young, and did not comprehend the magnitude of what I had done. Now, he is wiser. Wise enough to reject me and renounce any love he once had for me. Wise enough to end, for once and for all, the tale of Fëanor and his sons."
"If you really think that," Aragorn said, frowning, "if you really think Elrond would reject you, even kill you for revealing yourself, then why have you come forth? What do you have to gain?"
"Your wife gave me a message, a few weeks ago," Maglor said. "A flicker of hope. A sign that there was at least a possibility that I may be able to return to the Undying Lands. To my home."
"And so you are taking the risk," Tíniel said quietly. "You have decided to tell the truth, though it may be the last thing you do."
"If I die for this, at least I will die as Fëanor's son, not as a nameless captain on a far-off sea," Maglor said gravely. "And frankly, by now I would prefer death to spending another age alone and alienated in this world."
"So what do you ask of us?" Aragorn asked. "Should we let you escape again into anonymity, knowing what we know? Or shall we summon the Wise, so that they may execute judgement on you?"
"Not all of them," Tíniel said. "Just bring one." Both of them looked at her, and she smiled slightly at Maglor before turning to her husband. "Aragorn, would you go find Elrond?"
He hesitated slightly, his eyes flicking between her and the Elf, before nodding and rising from his chair. "I will return as soon as I may."
When the door closed behind him, Tíniel and Maglor sat in silence for a few minutes. She took the opportunity to study him. his face was fair, as it had always been; his cheekbones high, his eyes piercing blue, his hair long and jet black.
But now that she knew, she felt that she could see something more in his face, something that had always been there but that had been hidden from her. Something in her thrilled at the realisation that when she looked at him, she was looking at the face of Fëanor.
"I am not sorry for what I did to you," he said, breaking the silence.
"What?"
"I am not sorry for brewing the potion that sent you to sleep for a day and a half."
"Oh," she said, looking down at her hands. "Well, I don't need you to be sorry."
"You are not angry?" he asked. "I thought you would be. That is something else that kept me from seeking you out these past few days."
"I was," she admitted. "I was furious, at first. But my anger is spent now." She sighed, shifting in her seat and feeling the painful twinge in her back that came with the movement. "I have forgiven everyone else who left me behind, and I forgive you too. The truth is, you were all right. If I had gone, I would not have survived the battle. And I see now that I was meant to survive. Because of you, I can fulfil my purpose."
"Wise words coming from a mortal," he said.
"Well, I was made to understand the situation by those who are decidedly not mortal," she replied wryly.
"I suppose we have our uses."
She smiled. "Sometimes."
There was another short silence, and this time it was him watching her. "You will make a good queen," he said. "Of that, I have no doubt. It will be a shame that, one way or another, I will not be here to see it."
Her smile faded. "You need to have some faith, Maglor," she said. His name sounded strange to her when she spoke it. "Did you love Elrond?"
"Of course I did. I never loved anything more than I loved him and his brother. It was only duty that tore me away from them, and I have no greater regret."
"And did he love you?"
At this, Maglor paused. "I think he did," he said at last. "He loved me in the way that children love – unconditionally, idolisingly."
"So you are afraid that now that he is no longer a child, he will no longer love you?" she guessed.
He stared into the fire. "I cannot tell. I do not know."
"Unwise words for an immortal," she said. He looked up at her, his face shadowed with surprise, and she smiled. "Children often love unconditionally, yes, but they are not foolish. A child will not love what is bad or evil or rotten."
"But if they cannot see it to be so –"
"You loved Elrond and Elros, cared for them, protected them, taught them," she said. "Nothing else that you have done has changed that. And Elrond will remember it. Because the love of a child is unconditional. It is one of the strongest kinds of love that exists, and, in my short, mortal experience, it lasts a lifetime."
Maglor stared at her, silently clenching and clenching his burned hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when the door opened. Tíniel painfully got to her feet and turned to see Aragorn and Elrond enter the room, the door swinging shut behind them. Elrond took one step forward, saw Maglor and froze.
"Impossible," he whispered.
Maglor slowly rose from the chair, his eyes wide. Tíniel felt she could see his heart breaking and mending at once. "My boy," he breathed, and suddenly Elrond had crossed the room and they were embracing, both of them crying and clinging to the other.
Aragorn slowly made his way over to Tíniel and they watched in awe, side by side. The Elves had begun speaking to each other in a language she didn't understand, and Maglor pulled back to cup Elrond's face and study him, wiping away his tears and smiling with an ethereal joy on his face, the like of which she'd never seen.
"The last chapter of The Tragedy of Fëanor and his Sons," she murmured to Aragorn. "And it's a happy ending."
"Thanks to you," he said, wrapping his arm around her and allowing her to lean on him. "I think we have witnessed something truly special tonight."
"Not usually what people envision witnessing on their wedding nights," she said with a smile.
He grinned and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "My love, the night has barely begun. I hope you don't plan on sleeping too much."
She cringed. "Would you keep your voice down? Elves have a habit of hearing far too much for comfort."
"I don't think either of them are under any illusions as to what we planned on doing here tonight."
'But you don't need to announce it, I mean –"
"Why not? I am the King now, I might as well."
"Really? You want to play that card? You're as bad as Faramir."
He kissed her hard on the mouth right there in the open, and when he pulled back, she was dizzier than she cared to admit. She blinked quickly a few times.
"Right," she breathed. "I don't care who's in our quarters – they can stay at their own peril. Bedroom, now."
And so, while Elrond and Maglor had a reunion that had been centuries in the making, Aragorn bent and lifted Tíniel into his arms, took her into the bedroom and shut the door – very firmly – behind them.