As the evening had unexpectedly ended so turbulent, both of them had needed silence all the more; so Thondrar did indeed only see Glorfindel again the next morning when his father was just finishing loading his bags onto the small cart that Asfaloth would pull to Mithlond, as his last job in these realms before leaving.
Which he was visibly not being enthusiastic about. The huge stallion unwillingly leaned into the unfamiliar leather harness, again and again, but Thondrar knew, he wouldn't give his Lord any trouble. Glorfindel had hardly ever had a more loyal companion. It hurt that Thondrar would probably never see the animal again. Even in the infinity of Aman, mortal life was still bound to the paths of fate. Asfaloth would of course get a little older than other members of his species, maybe even older than many a Mearh. But someday, he would fall asleep at one of the white beaches, with Glorfindel cushioning his head in his lap. Probably not without pinching his master's thigh playfully one last time to make him laugh.
This, at least, was hopefully a good-bye still long in the coming. For the moment, Glorfindel had already been exposed to enough pain, especially given that he'd actually owed nothing to this world at all anymore. Even now that he already had one foot out of Imladris, his thoughts were still with one of his recent charges. "Will you tell her, ion?"
"As soon as I get back to Gondor. This is not a message I want to deliver by letter. Are you sure, you want to leave now of all times?" Though Thondrar did already have an idea, it was useless: Especially after last night, in a treacherous little corner of his heart, he wished for his father to be available to him on Middle-earth for another while after all. "We could talk to her together, you know. Don't you want to learn more about all this too?"
Waiting for an answer that he already knew, he caught himself fidgeting with the chains of the new jewelry on his arm that had lay outside his door in the morning, wrapped in one of the precious, gold-enwrought cloths of Eryn Lasgalen.
A gift without any message attached. Thranduil had apparently suffered enough sentimentalism for one trip. He'd left already, without even giving the two of them a chance to say goodbye.
That was alright. From now on, they would meet more often than that grumpy old bear would care for it.
But Glorfindel wouldn't complete their circle. "I cannot. You know, I already wanted to leave after the war. If I delay again, I will not go before there is no one of us left here. I have to untangle myself from this place, no matter how much it hurts. And a certain elf in Aman can probably tell me more about all of this." He somehow managed an askew smile. No, neither of them had quite stomached yesterday's revelations yet.
"Besides, there is someone I have neglected far too often in the last few Ages. Though it will probably take some time: When Erestor leaves the Halls, I want to be there for him. The same goes for your mother. The three of us have a lot to talk about."
"I hope you can do so as soon as possible." His own rationality had Thondrar grimace a little. That in some way or another, Erestor would keep on being part of his father's complicated love life was not really a surprise, only something he had to get used to. Love was something, no one should ever try to control, except for the people involved, even if some decisions disconcerted even the Valar and made them try and prevent them.
This whole thing was a mess that Glorfindel and Erestor would primarily have to straighten out together with Thondrar's mother, and maybe with Manwë. As long as this weird, rare constellation did not harm the third party involved in any way, Thondrar couldn't be paid enough to interfere with all that. And after yesterday at the latest, he knew his father well enough to know that Glorfindel would rather have personally stomped into the Halls to get his wife out of there than bow to rules that could simply not be applied to every single elf unchecked.
"If she's there already … Tell nana … I'll follow you soon. And that I miss her." When Glorfindel put his hand on his cheek, for a warm moment, it became impossible for Thondrar, at last, to swallow the hoarse croak in his throat. "And I'll miss you too." Now he'd said it, after all, a completely unnecessary remark that couldn't change anything about the facts anyway. Even at this early hour, the sun was already shining from the sky especially brightly. Thondrar had no other explanation for his eyes suddenly burning like this.
Glorfindel gave him a moment to get himself together. With his usual calmness, he closed the cart's rear hatch, spread one of his robes on the coach box, and then came to stand opposite him again, grabbing his arms, just as composed but with the same sadness in his eyes. "I am always with you, ion nín. Whenever you look at the sky. Your job is now to let your wounds heal and fill your heart with the experiences of doing very honorable work. And if war should shake these realms once again, against all expectations, nothing could stop me from coming back to help you. I do happen to know the way." Today, not even Glorfindel's somewhat odd humor regarding his resurrection could bother Thondrar.
"But I know that will not be necessary. You have long created your own legend."
They hugged firmly, for the last time in a while. It had never felt so good, so right. "Le melin, ada. Thank you for bringing her back to me."
"She keeps a weather eye on both of us until you will join me. And until all of us will be reunited one day. Le melin, ion." This time with a promise that he would keep, Glorfindel left his only child alone in foreign realms once more. But this time, he did it because they both wanted it that way.
As Thondrar watched the cart depart slowly, the sun shone down on hair undimmed, making it glow in the same color as his father's almost thrice as long strands. No longer were they covered by one of his large hoods that had long stopped being necessary. Thondrar no longer was ashamed of his ancestry or begrudged anyone for it. He was the only one to stand upright when the strange team moved towards the gate whereas all the other elves who had gathered in Elrond's courtyard for a last goodbye reverently bowed to their hero when he passed them by.
It wasn't a lack of respect that kept Thondrar from lowering his head, on the contrary. The two of them were finally on the same level, which was the only thing he'd always wished for regarding this often so difficult relationship. And no matter, how many unspoken words might still stand between them, and though neither of them might ever be completely without regret about how much they had missed in each other's life … Thondrar would count every single day until he could take his father in his arms next.
He could only hope that the pride that he had been allowed to see in Glorfindel's eyes, could numb some of the pain about him actually not being supposed to go on this journey alone.
Typical. The one night, you managed to sleep for more than a few hours at a stretch, and for a change without the nightmares that never seemed to end no less, and then you were woken up by a guard in the middle of the night. The man ceaselessly knocked at the door of the royal chambers, ever until Aragorn finally forced himself to get up.
While he was aware that a couple of chiefs of villages located on the outmost edge of Gondor had asked for an audience … Who by the Valar could have expected these men to leave home in the middle of a winter that had only just begun, without enough provisions and not sufficiently warmly clothed? Sometimes Aragorn wondered if he was the only man on Middle-earth who know how to prepare for a longer trip outdoors.
Upon the visitor's arrival, they had got Tarisilya immediately since the men were not only running a high fever but had also suffered one or two injuries, falling on their face on a ground covered with hard ice several times. And the she-elf had apparently talked the soldier into realizing, she needed the King's support.
When Aragorn showed up in the Houses of Healing sleepily, Ioreth nagged that she could have helped just as well and went away with a pout because her arts were apparently not being trusted in her own house anymore. The healer's pointed comments tomorrow were not exactly something Aragorn was looking forward to.
He had actually better things to do than listen to exaggerated complaints from people close to him, be it either Ioreth's or Tarisilya's, whose mood had already been so lousy in the last few weeks and had been significantly worsened by the nightly disturbance. And still, Aragorn spent the next few hours exclusively taking well care of the visitors so that they would hopefully be strong enough soon to even bring him their requests. They were the least responsible for the tense situation at court; if the King personally looked after them, they would hopefully be kinder about these talks which had probably been Tarisilya's ulterior motive.
Before his daily routine though, Aragorn wanted to keep his beloved company at least at breakfast. After spending long hours by the side of another heavily pregnant she-elf, a short break would do him good.
When he entered his chambers, the usual tray with bread and spread had already been prepared in the living room, but his wife was nowhere to be seen.
He finally found her on a bench in the snowed-in garden, wrapped in a cloak adorned with white fur, a piece of bread in her hand. Since she'd pulled the hood low over her face to protect herself from the light snowfall, Aragorn couldn't tell immediately if she was feeling any better than in the last few days. That there were two pigeons next to the bench, jumping back and forth impatiently, loudly cooing for crumbs, gave him a vague idea though.
Arwen's physical grievances had unfortunately never really vanished but become worse recently. That by now, even the hardened Ioreth often remarked with pity that the she-elf had a hard time with her pregnancy, was very telling.
"Are you alright, Nauriel?"
"It wasn't a good morning." Smiling faintly, his wife pulled back her hood and wiped a few snowflakes off Aragorn's hair when he sat down beside her. "The nausea hasn't been that bad in a while. I don't even need to try and eat something. And the child has been very restless the whole time." She crumbled the bread without even looking at it and threw it to the pigeons who darted for it greedily. Then Arwen pushed her cloak aside a little, took Aragorn's hand, and put it on her belly. She startled noticeably when the child made their presence known by a strong kick as if they wanted to say hello to him.
"They already have your temper, that much is for sure." Aragorn put his free arm around her and pulled her close, whispering soothing words in her ear as if they could reach the child's mind, too.
It did indeed seem to help at least a little bit. At least Arwen's stiff back relaxed slightly. It seemed another massage was in order there later.
Well, there were worse punishments to endure after a long day of meetings …
Unfortunately, the moment of relaxation didn't last for long. "Have Ranír instruct the cook to make soup for you. Or try to drink some milk with honey. You two need the strength." While Aragorn had fortunately understood by now that Arwen hated it when he was treating her like a patient, he couldn't completely ignore his protective instinct.
Arwen nodded, with little enthusiasm, because otherwise, her husband wouldn't have left her alone anyway. For a moment, she considered trying to have at least a small piece of breakfast for him, but another hard kick from the child quickly made her forget that idea again. She looked down at her belly with a little grimace. "I hope you'll stop being so defiant when you're born. Or the two of us won't have a say about anything soon."
"If it's a girl, she will soon be the secret leader around here anyway, especially if she has your smile. No one can resist that, you know. We should better come up with some bribing methods." Aragorn pretended to do some hard thinking. "In any case, we should request a foal in Edoras in time. Given who their parents are, the child will find their way to the stables as soon as they can crawl."
"I can already see myself getting them from Brego's box every day. The old charmer will cuddle with them all day because he thinks that will get him an apple." Arwen was only too happy to lose herself in these beautiful fantasies for a while that distracted her from her condition.
"By the way … We should start talking names, Estel."
Aragorn snorted and rolled his eyes a little. "Don't remind me. People have been asking me since the announcement already. We better not name the baby for anyone we know or the others will be offended. No matter how much I like the dwarf, my son will not be called Gimli."
"Over my dead body." Arwen caught a few of the white flakes still eagerly falling in her palm and watched them melt. "I hope the snow still sticks when I give birth. When I was an elfling, I always loved it when we traveled to cold-winter areas."
It was only when her ears started to ring from the usual dulled silence of this time of the year again that Arwen realized, Aragorn was no longer even listening to her. "Mîl nín?"
"Did you really not eat anything, Arwen?"
Startled by the sudden coldness in his voice, she needed a moment before she could give him an – admittedly snooty – answer. He'd never snarled at her like that for no reason before. "No, and this is surely not a way for you to suddenly make me!" She tried to cross her arms with a pout, but her bust and the baby bump were in the way.
Aragorn grabbed her arm unexpectedly and pulled her with him towards the house before she knew what was happening. "Good. And you won't before I tell you that you can. No! Come with me!" He sharply cut her completely confused protest short; his eyes went past her to the garden again.
"What by the Valar has got into you?" Arwen tore away from him harshly. Only now did she notice the deep shock, the almost panicked fear in her husband's expression. "What …?"
"Tell me, you didn't touch that breakfast, no matter what. Not even the water." It took Aragorn a lot of effort to lower his voice. It didn't stop trembling though.
And he didn't manage to tear his eyes away from a spot somewhere behind them. "Nauriel, don't."
When he tried to stop her from looking there, too, Arwen ignored him. No matter what was wrong suddenly, she couldn't support him if he tried to keep it away from her.
At first, the facility, shielded from curious eyes by high hedges and the protection of the mountains, seemed as peaceful as ever to Arwen. Everything was completely quiet … too quiet. The pigeons had stopped making noise. She spotted the animals again a few feet away from the bench she'd been sitting on.
One of the birds lay on the ground unmoving. Blood colored the snow around its beak. The other animal was still alive, but the sight of it immediately made you want to put an end to its suffering. It lay on its back and twitched with bad spasms. Small drops of red were staining the snow next to that creature as well.
Arwen hardly even realized her legs giving in, or that Aragorn made it just in time to catch her. As if in a cruel trance, she watched the animal's death struggle. Her mind was only just starting to accept what was happening there. The terribly sober voice in her head, whispering to her that it could have been her just as well, laying there right now, was still very quiet. Whoever it was that had poisoned the bread, they had wanted for her to writhe on the ground in pain and spit blood. Her and the child …
Her body refused to obey. When she broke away from Aragorn, she collapsed again immediately. Paralyzing helplessness had taken hold of her, something she'd last felt in the war when her elvish body had started to lose its special powers. When she had been on the brink of death for a while, thanks to the burden of millennia of memories. Only the sandy sensation of salt on her almost numbed skin made her realize she was crying.
This poison would have killed her within minutes; no one would have been able to rescue her. Or Aragorn, if he'd come here a little earlier. It was nothing but chance that had saved both - the three - of them. This would never end. Barhit might be dead, but the rest of these madmen would never give up …
How was she ever supposed to spend even one calm second within this city's walls?
Aragorn tried in vain to get through to his wife, to help her recover from her shock before her body could act up even more.
Arwen was frighteningly pale already. A violent tremble had taken hold of her. Her breathing was going far too quickly.
The thought of what had almost just happened tried to drive Aragorn insane too, but the urge to get Arwen inside was stronger, to get her out of sight of the carcasses and away from the place that she should have died in. To take her somewhere where no one trying to harm her and his child could get to her again.
Carefully pushing his arms under her, he helped her out of the cloak that the fall had almost made her lose. Murmuring soothing words in her language to her, he started to lift her off the ground but paused abruptly.
His hand upon her thighs came into contact with warm wetness on the fabric of her dress that didn't belong there. A shiver, a feeling like pure ice ran through him, at the memory of how Tarisilya had noticed blood on her legs, similar to the one now staining his skin, after the attack of these Uruk-hai on their common journey back to Minas Tirith last spring. That just couldn't have happened again …
That he'd frozen, was dragging Arwen from her apathy now as well. Still completely distraught, she looked up at him and apparently felt the blood then as well. If he thought that what he'd just seen in her eyes had been a kind of fear that she'd seldom even allowed in the past, now he couldn't bear the look in them anymore at all. This combination of disbelief and shattered hope robbed him of all of his strength.
But somehow, it helped him get himself back under control and finally get Arwen inside.
Only at the second attempt was his voice more than a breath, could he order one of the guards outside to get the healers immediately.
He couldn't run off himself; he was being needed here with his wife, on his bed, with one arm stiffly put around her shoulders, the empty assurance on his lips that the baby was surely doing alright.
Given her blank expression, he didn't even know if she could hear him.
Aragorn felt unbelievably guilty when he left his bedroom some time later, but he needed some distance from the shocked silence there for a moment that was only broken by Ioreth's words every now and then, and by the words of another elderly healer. And by the sound of Arwen's agitated, shallow breathing.
He wasn't sure if Arwen had even realized he'd left. Never before had Aragorn seen her so speechless, so beside herself. To examine her, the healers almost had to move her like a doll. The only answers Ioreth got to her questions were jerky headshakes or nods. And until they would have certainty, nothing might change about this reclusiveness.
Aragorn didn't exactly feel like making speeches to the people either. The waiting was unbearable already.
Upon arrival in the living room, he promptly spotted the breakfast still standing there like an accusation. With an expression of loathing, he stared down at the food and then jerkily wiped one of the plates off of the table, together with the goblet of water standing next to it. The splintering noise of dishes breaking didn't bother him, on the contrary. It kept him awake and sharp. He heavily braced himself on the table with both hands and took a few deep breaths to keep himself from hurling the rest of this stuff away as well to hide it from his view.
Now he did at least no longer feel like wanting to try and find the guy immediately who had done this to Arwen and his child. It was only the knowledge that he did still have no hints on said offender at all that kept him from it. But being alone for a while sounded very tempting right now. It would have helped to fight the temptation of getting Brego from his stall to ride at least into the woods, just to scream, to clean his soul of everything. Of all the self-blame, of all the questions to the Valar, about why they loaded burdens on Arwen and him again and again, and of how much they would still have to endure.
He didn't even need the memory of Arwen's hand clenching around his earlier, trembling, to stay right where he was. He couldn't leave her alone even if he didn't find the strength to comfort her.
When someone outside yanked the door of his chambers open, he startled, but it was only Tarisilya storming inside, alarmed by the noise. So far, the healers hadn't allowed the other she-elf to see Arwen. Not only because they wanted to go easy on her but also because Tarisilya didn't have much knowledge able to help them out here, except for her miscarriage that should all the more be a good reason for her to keep out of this. Due to their family history, pregnancy was a topic her father had largely ignored during her healer training. Tarisilya had had to treat mothers-to-be before, but never a patient in such a situation.
So she'd nervously paced the hallway until now; something she was obviously sick of. "So?"
It took Aragorn a moment to straighten up, to square his shoulders. His voice sounded hollow. "After a while, the healers could stop the bleeding but there's nothing they can tell for certain for now. Bleedings in the eight month … No matter if the child is still alive or if Arwen will possibly have to deal with a stillbirth on top of everything else, we won't know for a while." He paused, covering his eyes with his hands.
"Alright, that's enough." With her hands on her hips, Tarisilya marched past him.
Ioreth and her colleague looked up in irritation when Tarisilya entered. Ioreth got up immediately. "Please leave, Your Highness. The Lord of Cair Andros instructed me personally to keep every trouble of this kind away from you. It's dangerous for you …"
"Why don't you let Her Highness decide that for herself?" Tarisilya's jaw clenched. She really liked that woman, but right now, she didn't need her in here.
"You said it yourself, Princess: This is not your expertise." The similarly experienced healer standing at the dresser hardly took his eyes off of his work that included a variety of herbs. The sight of the blood-smeared tunic on his haggard body had Tarisilya shudder instinctively. "We need silence in here."
"Exactly. Get out of here, both of you." Tarisilya didn't let them intimidate her. She let herself sink onto the bed, that impressive piece of art with the huge carved eagle at the headend, that the patient almost seemed to drown in.
Crossing her arms on her own bump, she took a prompting look around. "The tea doesn't need you to brew. But I need a few minutes. In the meantime, someone could find the Queen a new dress. How is she supposed to regain her composure when she's sitting in her own blood? Maybe I can't stop what's happening here, but I can at least tell how the child is doing. Or is there someone else here with elvish ears?"
That helped, fortunately. The others withdrew wordlessly albeit still very skeptical.
Only now could Tarisilya admit at least to herself how much the situation burdened her. She almost was glad that Arwen was hardly regarding her with more than an absent-minded nod for the moment. Unpleasant memories of blood on her own body, of hours of bad cramps, flooded her soul and wanted to make it hard to treat Arwen like any other patient. She needed a few seconds before she could focus on the noises in the room, in particular, pushing them into the background one by one. Grabbing Arwen's hand, she caressed it until a little bit of warmth returned to it.
"Try to breathe as quietly as possible. The same goes for you, Aragorn." She had registered only vaguely that the King must have followed her. Only when his jerky breathing behind her became annoying, she had to ask him, too, to let her do her work.
It wasn't the first time for her to be annoyed at how exhausting moving had become. She was in her own way when she leaned over her friend. At the beginning of a pregnancy, you were happy about every smallest visible sign of it, but after 10 months, everything lost its appeal. It took her a moment to find a comfortable position. She caressed Arwen's belly for a brief moment before carefully putting her ear against it. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on nothing but the new life in there, in a way her friend no longer could, due to her elvish senses having been quite numb for some time now.
It was difficult. Every smallest rustling of the sheets tried to distract her. Her own heart was beating far too loud, and that other throbbing came solely from Arwen's chest. And in the background, the almost inaudible heartbeat in Aragorn's chest on top … Her stomach dropped, and not only because her own child used the chance to kick, as if they were feeling the bad mood. Maybe this couldn't even work. Technically, nothing but the despair that such a disaster should not have happened again, was driving her. Maybe it didn't even mean anything that there was nothing for her to hear. Who could say how loudly an unborn's heart was beating? That even sharp elvish ears could really catch such a noise?
Tarisilya only realized that she was holding her breath when another weak throbbing suddenly interrupted these thoughts. Fast and a little erratic … but doubtlessly existent.
So, everything had turned out to be alright for the moment. Hopefully, it would stay that way. The next few weeks would tell. Arwen's health situation hadn't exactly got easier today, and Tarisilya wasn't sure if either her friend or her husband had already realized that.
They could talk about that later. Tarisilya wanted to sit up in relief but had to admit, it wasn't even that easy. Instead, frustrated, she braced herself on the mattress next to Arwen and nodded at her calmly. "It shares your fear. Its heart is almost racing. But it's alive."
Arwen stared at her so unbelieving as if she'd only just realized what Tarisilya had done there. Then she suddenly wrapped her arms around her neck. "Thank you …"
She probably didn't even feel Tarisilya freeze, that she was fighting the usual urge to gently push her friend away before carefully caressing Arwen's back. "Your baby is just as stubborn as you."
Arwen couldn't answer; she was still too busy getting herself together again.
When Aragorn sat down next to her, she sought purchase against him immediately. Her hand already lay on her belly again; the color returned to her far rounder-looking cheeks.
Tarisilya returned Aragorn's brief, grateful squeeze of her shoulder just as embarrassed as relieved. At least for once in this whole crisis, she'd really been able to make herself useful.