Chapter 48:
Strength Remembered
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Greetings brief mortals *cough* I mean readers! It is I, your unreliable author coming back to you with the New Year's Update (FINALLY). I offer no excuse, but I will give reasons:
One: I'm working on my own original content and have been really into it for several weeks. There were times when working on COAH was an exercise in futility because of how into the original works I was.
Two: I have child who will be eight months old in a few short days. He's discovered cords and likes to crawl around and hit his head on things, if you're wondering how that impacts my day! XD
Three: I received a review from a reader who DNF'd the story and told me why. Their review was appreciated and, while stating my style just wasn't what they were looking for to begin with (and I totally understand), they let me know certain... issues in the prose had a hand in them losing interest. So, I'm currently on a journey where I edit all forty-or-so chapters of this behemoth (including this one) to correct certain continuity errors, grammatical errors, scene issues, and choices that just don't work (in my opinion). I personally think the changes make the story better, but I'll let you be the judge! The Prologue and the first five chapters have been edited. There are footnotes at the bottom of each edited chapter explaining some of the more obvious changes (at least, obvious changes for you readers who've hung out with me for several years). I'm currently working on editing the next five chapters and will upload the changes when I next update the story as a whole.
So, fair warning, the next update will take some time. I fully intend to edit chapters 6-10 while spitting out a skeleton for the next chapter (which is briefly outlined, so have no fear, I do know where I'm going with this story). Once those edits are finished, I'll write the chapter in full then rinse and repeat until the story's edited. This will be the finial time I edit like this. Chapters always get a cursory once over before posting, but I'm going to attempt to actually sit on them for a while after finishing before posting. That way, upon the pre-update re-read, I'll be able to edit with fresh eyes.
I'll try to stick with monthly updates, but they'll more than likely be bi-monthly updates until the edits are finished.
As always, enjoy this chapter and feel free to tell me if it sucks! I won't bite, I swear ;)!
He couldn't see as far into the East as Ara or Legolas, but he knew the lands beyond. The thread upon which their doom fell was very thin, indeed, made thinner still by the unfortunate turn of his wife's well-being. Where was Frodo in his part of the quest? Had he and Sam evaded the orcs and made it through the swamplands? Aragorn felt keenly the sting of his failure in regards to the Ring-bearer. If he'd been a little more vigilant, handled arguments with more care - the care of a king - would the Company had broken in the way it had? Would they have stood on the steps of Edoras united with his wife unmarked by the curse of her uncles?
There was little doubt in his mind that the very curse which necessitated a hasty marriage had been cast and settled. The signs of her affliction were evident in the Hall and Aragorn knew not what to make of the fact that she seemed to simultaneously wish him near and far away.
Still, as the sun cast its shadows in the late afternoon, his eyes fell from the East and settled on her slight form. She seemed a little thin and gaunt as if sleep alluded her for the past several nights. While elves didn't need much sleep as a general rule, Ara clearly made a habit of keeping a regular sleep schedule for the benefit of they who needed sleep regularly. That coupled with the added stress of what he suspected was the curse likely contributed to her weariness.
His wife wasn't the only one weary. King Theoden grunted and gingerly lowered himself back to the stone seat behind him. He looked at their little group before he fixed his gaze on the great house behind him.
"Alas! That these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned. Alas for the life of my son! The young perish and the old linger, withering," he muttered.
He clutched his knees with his wrinkled hands. Ara moved away from Aragorn and carefully approached the old king. She knelt beside him and grasped his withered hand. The man smiled at her.
"Forgive me, my lady, I did not thank you for ridding us of the blight that was Lady Nyx. I fear I do not know your name," he said.
"I am Aracasse ven Aldura, granddaughter of King Thranduil of Mirkwood and Queen of the Elves," she replied. "And I think you are not so old as certain people have made you believe, your grace."
"Indeed," said Gandalf. "Your fingers would remember their own strength better if they grasped a sword hilt."
Theoden stood once more and grasped at his side. His brow furrowed and he looked about for his sword. Aragorn glanced at where he knew his own weapons rested against the wall, but was interrupted before anything could be said.
"Take this, dear lord! It was ever at your service!"
Aragorn looked and beheld Eomer, the Third Marshal, clad in a simple shirt and briefs with his scabbard in one hand and the hilt of his naked blade in the other. Hama walked beside him and behind them both strode Mafortion without his grey cloak. Ara moved from the king's side and returned to Aragorn's as Eomer knelt before his uncle and laid his sword at the king's feet. He was startled from the moment by the feeling of Ara's small hand grasping his own as if it were a lifeline. At a glance, he saw her pale skin and glassy eyes and frowned. Her grip tightened. He winced.
"How come this?" Asked the king, frowning.
"It is my doing, my lord," replied Hama. "I understood that Eomer was to be set free. Perhaps I erred, but as he is free and Third Marshal, I brought him his sword."
"To lay at your feet," interjected Eomer.
King Theoden looked down at his nephew in silence while his nephew steadily gazed at his uncle. Aragorn held his breath, hoping for good to come of their reunion. Below the steps of the Hall, Edoras' people gathered - soldier and wife - and looked to their king with varying degrees of hope in their eyes. Slowly, the king stretched out his hand and grasped his nephew's sword and carefully lifted it from his hands. All traces of frailty vanished and the king swung the sword and exclaimed:
Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!
Forth Eorlingas!
All started. The guards darted forward, thinking they were called. They drew their swords and lay them at his feet. Below, the gathered crowd cheered and those who would ride with the army hurried into their houses.
"It is a joy to us to see you return into your own. Never again shall it be said, Gandalf, that you come only with grief!" Eomer said, smiling.
The king leveled an amused look at his nephew and ten lifted the sword's hilt towards him. "Take back your sword, Éomer, sister-son! Go, Háma!, and seek my own sword! Gríma has it in his keeping. Bring him to me also. Now, Gandalf, you said that you had counsel to give, if I would hear it. What is your counsel?"
"You've already taken it," Gandalf replied. "Now, we must prepare. Send you men, women and children to your safe holds in the mountains and send your men west. We must uproot the blight that is Saruman and those who conspire with him."
"It shall be done," promised the king, then he looked to Aragorn and those with him. "But you my guests – truly you said, Gandalf, that the courtesy of my hall is lessened. You have ridden through the night, and the morning wears away. You have had neither sleep nor food. A guest-house shall be made ready: there you shall sleep, when you have eaten."
"Nay, lord," said Aragorn. "There is no rest yet for the weary. The men of Rohan must ride forth today, and we will ride with them, axe, sword, and bow. We did not bring them to rest against your wall, Lord of the Mark. And I promised Éomer that my sword and his should be drawn together."
To his surprise, Ara didn't add anything to Aragorn's declaration. At a glance to behold her pale form, he suspected the blight ailing her caused a great deal of pain. Theoden looked to her and studied her for a while before he turned his attention to Mafortion who stood off to the side.
"This is she?" He asked.
The wizard nodded, "Aye, your grace. My apprentice who is also elven queen and wife to Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
The king approached and Aragorn allowed him to take both of her hands and press a kiss to them. His wife, despite her ailment, smiled at the old man and returned the gesture with a bow.
"It truly is an honor to meet, King Theoden. Your niece speaks highly of you and with great love," she said.
"And I will thank her for it, for I know these past months her uncle did little to deserve such praise," he replied, sadly. "You look unwell, if you'd forgive me saying."
"All is forgiven. I am unwell. I bore a previous wound, though I suspect the mode to which it can be healed has come," she glanced at Aragorn. "My enemies conspire with yours and were quite… effective in their methods of subduing me. But still they failed and we will overcome their darkness and banish them to the pits of Sheol where they belong."
Her voice was steel and, as she spoke with the king, color returned to her skin. King Theoden returned his attention to Aragorn.
"Your wife is a credit to you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I look forward to riding out with you - to my fall if need be," he said.
Aragorn inclined his head and replied, "I am ready."
"Your people should not be without a leader," Gandalf reminded the king. "Who will rule in your stead?"
Here, the king frowned, but was prevented from answering by the arrival of Hama. Two guards behind him dragged the bedraggled form of Grima Wormtongue forward. The creature's face was pale and he blinked in the sunlight. Hama stepped up to the king and knelt before him. In his outstretched hands, was a sword sheathed in a scabbard of gilded gold set with green gems.
"Your sword, my king," said Hama, "Grima had it stored in a chest in his room. Loth was he to render up the keys and many things missing were discovered."
"Lies!" spat Grima. "And the sword was given to me by the king for safe-keeping."
"Yes, safe-keeping in your room and not at your side in the king's presence as is proper for his sword-bearer," Mafortion remarked dryly.
Emerald green eyes studied the man with no small amount of contempt mixed with a tinge of rage. Briefly, that gaze met with the questioning one of his wife's. Aragorn watched as she blinked and her passive expression turned dark. She glared at Grima and balled her free hand into a tight fist.
"A safe place in these dark times, master healer," Grima replied, sending a dark look towards the other wizard. "I expect you have little understanding of such things given your station."
Silence descended on the group as all looked between Grima and Mafortion. The wizard's expression was stone though his eyes flashed.
"Such is your opinion, I'm sure," he growled.
Aracasse's brows rose before she sighed and shook her head. Aragorn sent her a questioning look to which she mouthed "later" and inclined her head toward the king who looked on with visible astonishment.
"I hope it does not displease you that your king now requires the use of his sword?" Theoden asked.
"Assuredly not, lord," said Wormtongue. "I care for you and yours as best I may. But do not weary yourself, or tax too heavily your strength. Let others deal with these irksome guests. Your meat is about to be set on the board. Will you not go to it?"
"I will," said Théoden. "And let food for my guests be set on the board beside me. The host rides today. Send the heralds forth! Let them summon all who dwell nigh! Every man and strong lad able to bear arms, all who have horses, let them be ready in the saddle at the gate ere the second hour from noon!"
"Dear lord! It is as I feared! This wizard has bewitched you!" Cried Grima, though Aragorn took note of a falseness to his tone that was previously obscured.
"If this is bewitchment, then it is more wholesome than your leechcraft! Your whisperings would have had me walking on all fours like a beast!" Snapped the king.
The face of Grima Wormtongue paled and Aragorn watched as he slowly sank to his knees. His body shook as the king's tall form moved to tower over the coward.
"The heralds will be sent forth for the host rides today! Every man and strong lad who have horses need be ready in the saddle at the gate ere the second hour from noon!" continued the king with a nod to Hama who quietly ducked away. "And Grima will ride too! No one shall be left!"
"Mercy, my lord! Have pity on one worn out in your service! Do not send away your faithful servant! I, who have loved and served you for many years, would beg you to be spared in your failing years, but I see now others have persuaded you!" Cried the man.
"Failing years make the best of songs and tales," Mafortion remarked. "One Beowulf comes to mind. He slew a dragon for his people. If it is in the heart of King Theoden to fight an ancient evil as an old man, then let him do so. He is not so old and infirm that such a task is rendered impossible. No," and the healer stepped forward no longer looking the part of the peaceful physician, "I know your type of craft, most noble Wormtongue. Your words laced with sorcery creep into the mind to take that which isn't freely given!"
The groveling madness passed from the cowardly creature and Grima sneered, "What would a healer know of it?"
Aragorn beheld the looks of astonishment on all save the Third Marshal whose sword was drawn and pointed at the hissing creature. He glanced to his wife. She looked amused.
"Oh? What would I know if it?" Repeated the wizard with sarcasm coloring his tone. "I'm the bloody leader of the wizard council, the son of Meshech, son of Japheth, son of Noah! My mother is the Elder Laurelie Morelinde of the elven White Council! Don't presume to know the extent of my skill because I appear no older than forty!"
He raised his hand but Aracasse chose that moment to speak, "Peace, Grey Wizard! Grima isn't yours to enact justice. Let King Theoden deal with the wretch."
Mafortion's hand fell and he inclined his head to her. Aragorn looked between them in astonishment. When he first met the man, he'd spoken in exasperation of Ara's movements. The dynamic between them changed in the matter of Wormtongue. She looked to him, expression pained for the briefest moment, before she delivered a forced smile.
"Indeed," Gandalf muttered. "How bold and cunning is the mind of Grima Wormtongue. See this game he plays? He waists hours of my precious time!"
Grima sneered and spat at Gandalf's feet. The white wizard loomed - his face terrible to behold - and the coward shrank.
"Down! On your belly, snake! How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price? When all dead, you take your pick of war's spoils? Have the woman you desire?" Bellowed Gandalf.
Eomer's expression grew dark and he stepped forward, "That was already known to me and, were it not for the laws of this hall, I would have slain him long ago!"
Gandalf placed a hand on Eomer's hand before the man could deliver his desired stroke, "Eowyn is safe now. As for you, worm, you have done what you could for your true master. Best you return to him quickly lest he forget his bargain."
"Lies!" Hissed Wormtongue.
Ara snorted, "Insisting something is a lie doesn't make it so."
"Indeed," agreed Gandalf. "That word comes to oft and easy from your lips. See Theoden? Here grovels your snake! You cannot take it with you nor is it right to leave behind. May I suggest sending him away, back to his master, for his just reward?"
Eomer and Mafortion glowered at the suggestion. The grey wizard stepped forward, but Aracasse settled a pointed look in his direction. She held out her hand and shook her head. Mafortion held up his hands and backed away.
"A heavy choice is before you," Theoden said, studying the snake. "You may ride with me to war, or go and return to your master."
Wormtongue looked as if he wished to reply until a terrible expression overcame him. The wretch bared his teeth and snarled at the king. While others drew back, King Theoden looked on, expression stern. Then, Grima darted down the stair and disappeared into the crowd.
"After him," ordered the king. "Make sure he received a horse if any will have him and take care to hinder him from hurting others in his departure."
The guards did as ordered. Mafortion grunted and settled himself against the nearest wall. Arms crossed, he shook his head.
"Should have killed the bastard," he muttered.
Aragorn glanced at Aracasse who chuckled at the remark, "If I see him in battle, I'll leave him in your capable hands to do what you will. Is that acceptable, King Theoden?"
"I will not order you to stay your hand," Theoden said. "But we have a few hours as the men are gathered. Come, my guests! Let us take refreshments."
"Have some sent to my workroom, your grace. I must see to my queen," requested the grey wizard.
The king nodded and gave the appropriate instructions to Hama who hurried to do as bid. Mafortion pushed himself from the wall and nodded to Ara. His wife inclined her head in answer and pulled away from him. Aragorn made as if to follow, but she shook her head.
"Dine with the king," she instructed.
With that, she left. Aragorn watched, heart heavy, and felt the gap between them widen. A hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts and Aragorn looked to Legolas who came to stand beside him.
"I will go," muttered the elf.
He gave the barest of nods before his oldest friend sped after his niece. Aragorn watched him leave.
I should be with her, he thought. But if Legolas is able to offer wisdom or comfort, then I won't begrudge her of it.
Boromir touched his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. Once Aragorn fixed his full attention on him, the gondorian jerked his head toward the retreating king and Gandalf. They followed.
Aracasse followed Maf to his workroom. She felt exhausted, but a small glimmer of triumph stirred. Aragorn's presence made all the difference and allowed her to carry a clear head throughout the aftermath of Gandalf breaking King Theoden from his dark cloud. Upon arriving at her teacher's workroom, Maf motioned for her to sit on the table directly opposite of his herb cubbard.
"How are you feeling?" He asked.
She grimaced and replied, "I feel steady, but the smallest incident can send me over the edge."
He grunted and pulled out a vial of clear liquid. Maf studied it for a moment before uncorking the stopper and grabbing a small cup. Carefully, he measured a few drops into the cup before re-corking the bottled and grabbing another.
"Tell me everything," he ordered.
It was a loaded command, but Ara began from the moment The Morrighan pushed her through the arch. He listened, lips pursing at the important parts; especially when she told him exactly what Hades' meant for her. When she reached the moment the curse took hold, Maf cursed.
"We were so close," he told her. "I regret being so cautious. It may have saved you."
Ara shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not."
"And you regain your grip on reality when you think of your… husband?" asked Maf.
She nodded. "I should have known Aragorn would help," she muttered. "The curse kept muddling my thoughts, playing on my insecurities and turning them to bitterness for him. Seeing him, feeling him, hearing him… I feel more like myself than I have in days."
Tension left his shoulders and Maf nodded as if he expected - or hoped - such would be her answer. Aracasse watching him finish his concoction feeling the cloud of melancholy return to her heart.
"That lust for… him still lingers," she muttered. "It likes to mimic what I feel for my husband and catches me unawares. Sometimes I don't realize the thought has formed until…" she closed her eyes and shuddered. "I feel dirty."
Maf looked at her, eyes pitying as he mixed the concoction with a silver spoon.
"You're not dirty, Aracasse," he muttered. "The curse is dirty - nasty even - but not you."
"Doesn't change how I feel," she mumbled.
He sighed and handed her the cup, "Drink this. It'll help keep your mind clear."
Ara accepted the cup and sipped. She pulled a face. Why did Maf insist on bitter-tasting concoctions? She was about to give voice to the thought when Legolas entered the room. His searching eyes quickly found hers and he quickly crossed the room to snuggly envelop her in his arms. The musical tones of his light tenor voice breathed elvish words in a dialect Are barely understood, but the sentiment was clear enough.
He was relieved to see her.
Hesitant arms returned his embrace. It was more affection than Ara ever received from any of her relatives. Then again, he was a closer uncle - the younger brother of her grandfather - and she was one of the last few members of their family alive. Legolas pulled back and kissed her brow before stepping away from her and nodding to the visibly stunned Maf.
"Thank you for bringing her to safety," he said.
Maf blinked, "It's what I do." Then he shook his head and cast a confused look to Ara and asked, "Forgive me, your grace, but who is this elf to you?"
Ara raised a single bronze brow and felt the shadow of a smirk slip across her lips. Oh! She was going to enjoy this!
"Don't tell me you can't see the resemblance?" She asked, barely able to control her glee.
It wasn't every day she could completely blindside the man. Mafortion's emerald eyes darted between Ara and Legolas. Long moments of silence stretched between them as the wizard connected what she insinuated. Once realization dawned, he slowly released a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Bloody hell! You would have a relative tucked away in this god-forsaken place!" He muttered then looked at Legolas. "Who's your mother?"
"Athena," Legolas replied, amusement coloring his tone.
Maf actually seemed surprised. Ara chuckled at his expression, though she felt sympathy for him. Her reaction was similar once everything came to light.
"I am interested in the tale, once I'm in a position to hear it, but until then I think its best I take both of you at your words and leave the subject be," he said and then began gathering his used vials and discarding them or placing half-used ones back into his cubbard.
Ara smiled, pinched her nose, and finished the bitter medicine. She stood and made her way to the room she occupied for the past few days. Her uncle followed her and observed her small room as Ara bustled about. She grabbed the tunic, mail and leggings gifted to her by the galadhrim and studied them. Dirt, black orc blood, and general grime coated the fabric. She sighed and pushed them aside, but kept the mail. The cloak, she was glad to see, seemed little worse for wear.
Gingerly, she bent to retrieve it from the floor and closely inspected it. No tear in the seam, no speck of dirt or blood… nothing? Ara frowned. The power infused in the garment was special and would take many years to wane. She placed the cloak on her bed and moved to inspect her boots - a pair commissioned as a wedding gift by Aragorn - and found them to her satisfaction. A shirt, tunic and leggings were needed if she were to join them on the hunt, but battle-armor of any sort was preferred.
"You intend to accompany us?" Asked Legolas.
"It isn't the best plan, but I must," she replied.
Legolas remained silent as she reached out to rub the metal of the Ring of Barahir against her thumb and forefinger. The thick leather string which bound it together remained in perfect condition. Ara smiled sadly. A few months were typically a small part of a minute to an elf, yet she felt the passage of time weigh heavily on her heart.
"Our uncle succeeded in his curse," he guessed.
Ara winced, "In a manner of speaking. It has the possibility of working in his favor, but it can still be defeated. I've tried banishing it on my own, but with no luck. Aragorn will ride with Theoden and so does his wife. I…" she stopped herself, unsure of how she could adequately articulate the utter relief she felt in his presence.
Even their current distance - as short as it was - proved a strain.
"I can accept it," Legolas conceded. "It will be difficult to convince him as you are noticeably ill."
Ara winced and nodded as she replied, "I know. I feel just as bad as I look, if not worse."
The door to her room opened and Maf entered with a pair of leggings and a leather bag. He set both on her bed and tapped the bag with his forefinger. A muted ting sounded in the air. Ara raised a questioning eyebrow to her uncle who looked just as confused as she felt before looking at her instructor for an explanation.
"I know you're unable to stay behind, so I brought your armor from earth in case you needed it," he said.
Ara blinked, surprised, and reached into the bag and drew out her breastplate molded for a woman's body. Under the plate were folded leather and linen. This wasn't the typical armor she wore during her days trying criminals in the court. This armor wasn't even the one she used when she personally went to find particular traitors amongst the gentry. Ara placed the plate on her mattress and drew out the royal blue linen shirt and leather vest. She set them down and fished out gleaming silver grieves, vambraces, and shoulder plates. No helm accompanied it. Helms weren't the style of modern day armor; especially among the elves. Usually, a circlet or head dress accompanied it.
I lost mine, she thought. I'll have to whip something up before we leave.
She wasn't good at molding metal - not with the skill and ease of Karen - so the exercise would be a challenge. With a shake of her head she case a questioning glance at Maf who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a smug smile on his lips. Ara found herself answering it despite herself.
"I had this one commissioned. You've worn Athena's armor for too long. It was time you had your own," he said.
Her uncle approached the bed and bent to select one of the vambraces. His eyes narrowed as he inspected it. Ara watched him silently. It was surreal to find herself in the presence of both her uncle and instructor. Maf was the closest thing she had to a father. Legolas, while holding a familial relation to her, didn't have a particular place in her life other than a traveling companion.
"This is well crafted," Legolas remarked. "I see runes on the metal though I know not what they mean."
"General protection," Ara explained. "Some of them allow for the quick healing of minor wounds. Anything that will help me in the war to come."
"It'll stop a bullet," Maf said, smirking.
Ara bit back a groan as Legolas sent the wizard a confused look and asked, "What is a bullet?"
"Nothing you need worry about!" She responded before Maf could explain.
I hope, she added privately.
Guns in a medieval world would be a terrible idea and Ara intended to allow them time to figure out machinery on their own. A knock startled her from her thoughts and she joined the men in looking to the door.
"Enter!" She called.
Aragorn entered carrying a plate of armor and round helm. He was no longer clad in the traveling leathers of Lothlorien, but instead wore the plate and mail of Rohan.
"I've brought some of King Theoden's hoard for you, my friend," he told Legolas. "We leave in two hours."
Her uncle bowed, "Thank you, my friend. I will don them now."
He took the offered armor from Aragorn and left the room. Maf followed shortly after, citing a need to make sure his traveling pack was adequately stocked with herbs and pre-made poultices. Ara was left truly alone with her husband for the first time since Lothlorien. Aragorn studied her - his blue eyes intense and searching - before he crossed the room and placed her pack on her mattress next to the pieces of armor. In one swift motion, he pulled her into his arms and buried his head in the crook of her neck.
Ara stiffened. The feel of his touch sent conflicting emotions running through her. The curse - ever present - conjured disgust, but the rest of her felt euphoria. She closed her eyes and gave into the second feeling. Slender arms tentatively slipped around his armored back and returned his embrace. The wall around her heart erected in an attempt to belay the curse's effects crumbled and Ara leaned into him and breathed in his scent. Never did she think such a pungent odor would become a source of comfort.
Sorrow coursed through her and the tears she spent days holding at bay fell.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
All of this was her fault.
Aragorn tightened his embrace at her words, but couldn't bring himself to disengage from her warmth. The scent of her - long missed - invaded his senses and helped reassure him of her presence. Even with this reassurance, Aragorn knew better than to assume all was well. King Theoden's observation of her physical appearance was accurate. She looked ill, though a bit of color returned to her after their brief parting.
"No, it is I who must ask for forgiveness," he whispered. "I led the company. I should have been vigilant."
"I should have told you about Boromir instead of following him on my own," Ara insisted.
Aragorn pulled away just enough to look into her tear-stained eyes. He cupped her cheek and pressed a long kiss to her lips. She stiffened in his arms and several moments passed before she responded. When they parted, her expression was pained. She averted her eyes to his chest and refused to look at him again.
He sighed. Less than two hours wasn't sufficient time to conduct this conversation, but it must be had.
"Ara, what happened?" He asked.
Her jaw tensed. She still refused to look at him, but she stepped away from him and tugged the sleeve of her dress off her shoulder to reveal…
Aragorn released a strangled cry as he beheld the black and red mark of what he knew to be the thrice damned curse they'd tried so hard to protect her from. Their efforts - his efforts - hadn't been enough. The curse took hold.
His heart and soul hurt and he stepped away from her. Ara closed her eyes. A few stray tears slid down her cheeks.
"Truly," he said, voice thick, "I have failed you."
She shook her head, still refusing to look at him, "No, I… I failed. I'm the fool you said I was."
He turned from her to lean heavily against the wall. The rims of his eyes burned with unshed tears and he breathed through them to better compose himself. Would that terrible argument never have happened! If he only kept his temper and fear in check and spoke to her differently!
When he faced her once more, he found her back was to him and arms folded protectively across her chest.
"How did it take hold?" He asked.
"Our argument," she replied tersely. "We said many regrettable things. There was one in particular we never reconciled. It… I avoided it; especially as you never brought it up. Initially I assumed…"
She shook her head and fell silent. Aragorn thought back to that day and wished he hadn't the need to remember. Many things were said that haunted him on his hunt for her. One in particular…
His breath caught.
The end, when the argument turned from a desperate bid to make her see reason to an onslaught of hurtful words and insinuations, came to mind. His last words - the ones he most regretted - had been said with every intention to hurt her. Shame coursed through him and he covered his eyes to wipe away the few tears that escaped his attempts to keep them at bay.
"You believe I do not want you," he concluded.
If only she could reassure him such wasn't the case and that she knew he'd spoken those cursed words out of anger alone. Ara's shoulders were as tense as a drawn bow and she still refused to look his way.
"Yes. Yes I do," she replied, her tone wavered. "Why else would you agree with me? Why else would you tell me that a docile wife would be preferable to a stubborn, foul-mouthed fool such as I?"
At the beginning of this conversation, Aragorn hadn't thought the matter could hurt anymore. He was wrong. Every word she spoke was a dagger repeatedly being thrust into his heart. Hades was a cruel one to exploit such an insecurity and Aragorn was the fool who placed it in her mind in the first place.
"Those words were said in anger and mean nothing," he said.
Ara glared at him and her teal eyes dimmed to shadowed blue. Her hand grasped the sleeve of her dress and hoisted it back over her shoulder. The curse's offensive mark obscured from view. She stepped up to him, eyes blazing.
"I know you! You don't speak words you don't mean. You regret marrying me as I'm not what you wanted," she insisted.
"And what do you think I want, my lady? A completely docile woman who's mind is turned to duty rather than love? Someone who has not a lick of sense nor a shred of wisdom? I do not need a brood mare as you said, but a queen. Like it or not, a queen is what you are and forever shall be!" He snapped.
For a moment, she looked stunned. The darkness flickered and Aragorn suspected this anger stemmed from the influence of the curse.
This insecurity was placed in her heart by my words. I can't forget, he thought.
She spun and crossed the room to the single window overlooking the rolling hills. Her arms slung across her waist and small shoulder trembled. Aragorn frowned.
"I am a broken, bitter, and vengeful creature! I'm not worthy to be queen of my people, let alone Gondor! I tried to abdicate my throne, Aragorn! I had power in my hands and, instead of using it for good, I used it to facilitate acts of revenge on the people who betrayed a family I can't even remember! I'm not worth the dirt beneath your feet let alone the throne of Gondor!" She said softly. "I hate myself!"
Aragorn watched her back too stricken to move or speak. He suspected a degree of self-loathing lingered and he didn't know how much of it was magnified by the effects of the curse. His own tears fell silently into his beard.
"If it were in my power, I would banish your pain," he finally said, voice cracking.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, "Then I'm well and truly fucked."
Foul language aside, her assessment of their situation was accurate. Aragorn observed her in the light of the sun as it positioned itself due west. Its rays danced across her loose waves as they cascaded past her shoulders.
"There's little I can do, if you refuse to trust me," he said. "I know I ask much, but I ask you to trust me with your heart. Even if I can't take your pain, I can bear it with you."
She shook her head, "A woman who hates herself isn't worth such devotion."
Aragorn narrowed his eyes. She didn't wear self-pity well. In fact, such a mental state was something she rarely donned. He knew her well enough to know she abhorred its display and would hate to be further allowed to do so. He approached her. The armor gifted him by the king clanked in the still air doing little to masquerade his approach. She didn't look at him, even with the noise.
"Ara, look at me," he said.
Several breaths passed before she finally turned and met his gaze. He smiled and cupped her cheeks. They were smooth against his skin and her familiar warmth lightened his heart once again.
"I did not give you my ring as a meaningless token of admiration," he said, caressing her skin with his thumbs. "It was a gift of intent. My heart, my love, even my kingdom should I acquire it, is yours. My life is yours and no others. Words said in anger do not change the truth."
The darkness in her eyes cleared and Ara's teal irises gaped at him. Plump pink lips parted and her cheeks grew warm under his touch. Aragorn, unable to resist, kissed her and was gratified to feel little hesitation as she returned the gesture.
"I know you," he whispered. "I know you to be a kind, compassionate woman who loves her people and stepped away from the throne when she believed herself unfit. The woman I love showed compassion to Boromir in the face of his failure. She loves strong and fierce to her own detriment. That is you, my love, and I want all of it for the rest of my long days," he said.
Her lips found his, desperate and seeking, and Aragorn moved to fully embrace her. They parted a few minutes later and Aragorn felt his need strain against his breeches. The calculating expression in Ara's eyes assured she was of a similar thought.
"I don't believe we have the time," he muttered.
Ara smiled, "No? I need help donning my armor and I believe we have an hour and a half before we must depart. Besides," her hands dusted across the lacings of his breeches, "you need not remove everything."
He reached for the tied lacings in the back of her dress and tugged the knot free. As they basked in the brief time they had before the army left for war, Aragorn made a point of defiantly kissing the skin darkened by the veins of the curse. She was his, Aries' curse be damned.