Chapter 40:
The Breaking of the Fellowship
Author's Note: I waited on posting this chapter until I'd written the one directly after this. One reason is because I wasn't sure if I was happy with the direction I took the characters (I have concluded that I am) and the other is because I've unknowingly written the fate of a certain character to go a particular direction I hadn't originally intended him to go and needed to stew on the idea for a while before fully committing. This direction will change the nature of the story somewhat, though I haven't quite worked out the details of the extent those changes will take place. As Aracasse/Brianna's presence in Arda changes the course of the general LOTR plot to some extent anyway I figured that there wouldn't be any harm in allowing the change to take place. Well, there's harm for me because now I have to work out the kinks and re-plan some key scenes and features, but I think the change will work out in the end.
So, anyway, enjoy! Is everyone enjoying the frequency of updates? Hope you are because I definitely can't keep this up for much longer before the sweet call of a writing break comes upon me. With that being said, I think I'm going to commit myself to weekly updates after NaNoWriMo ends just so I can keep up the momentum of finishing this story once and for all.
Silence settled in the company for the remainder of the night as everyone fell into an uneasy sleep. Ara remained awake, unable to give her mind over to a night's rest, and she mulled over the argument between herself and her husband. Guilt ate at her as the gravity of her part in it began to play over in her head. His expression - anger, fear, hurt all in one - as she denied him, insulted him, and rejected him. Whether she agreed with everything he said and did didn't matter. Aragorn was correct in reminding her that he was her husband and leader. Arda's attitude towards marriage was patriarchal and, while she doubted he believed himself her owner, he certainly held an authority over her as she did him. Needless to say, a proper wife would have submitted to his authority; especially since the order that precipitated the argument was made not only for her benefit, but for the benefit of the rest of the company. In defying and denying him, she'd rejected them as well.
She failed them because she was too stubborn and prideful to admit fault. Aragorn was right in saying she didn't deserve a queenship. Ara never believed she ever had to begin with.
Yet… she held up her hand and observed it in the moonlight. Yet I'm still marked for it, I still hold the power for it, and everyone acts as if I'll eventually just fall into it.
Wasn't this proof enough of her lack of worth for the role? She'd barely been married a full two months before reverting to her old self-destructive tendencies. What made the situation worse was that part of her nature served only to hurt the man who was not only her destined one, but had submitted to a hasty marriage for the purpose of protecting her. As the night waned, she heard talking amongst the members of the Fellowship. Aracasse remained behind her rock, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. How could she face them after that? She'd have to, eventually, but she could put it off like the coward she was until morning all the same.
Aracasse stared blankly at the rocky cliff wall before her as the new day dawned. She watched a dense white fog roll in during the final hours of the night. The company stirred once more and she heard them speak softly amongst themselves. Footsteps broke away from the rest of them and tread carefully towards her hiding place. Ara sighed, but didn't move from her position.
"Lass?"
She looked at Gimli and smiled sadly. The dwarf looked sympathetic and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Would you like a bit of breakfast? I'm sorry to say its only lembas this morning, but its sweetness makes up for the little variety," he offered her a partially eaten wafer.
Gratefully, Ara took the offered bit of food, broke off a piece and began to nibble on it. The dwarf watched her silently for a time before he sighed and shuffled to sit in front of her against the cliff wall.
"I won't pretend we weren't concerned for you when you dashed into the wilderness without telling us what you were about," he said gently.
Her smile turned bitter, "Yes, and I'm sure you all heard about it."
"Aye, though I don't remember you making much of an attempt to keep the conversation private," his rebuke was gently made, but she still visibly winced at the truth of it.
"You're right," she conceded. "Aragorn is right to worry and maybe I overreacted."
Gimli shrugged, "Mayhaps you did, but from the way I saw it, a gentler hand could have been applied."
Ara shrugged. She wasn't sure she would have responded well in either case.
"It's difficult to be a leader married to a woman who currently outranks you; especially when said woman is used to giving orders instead of taking them," Gimli said - another rebuke that served to offer perspective.
She sighed and placed her partially eaten wafer back with the original block and rewrapped its leaf packaging. Gimli's tactic was a good one. She would know. The amount of times she'd applied that mode of rhetoric in conversation with senior history students who thought their worldview was the best way to interpret recent historical facts could have numbered the stars. All that was needed to understand any situation was a bit of perspective. She was very good at offering it to everyone else except herself.
"I'm sorry, Gimli," she whispered.
"No need to apologize to me, I'm not a wronged party."
"Yes you are," she said thickly. "Aragorn is right to think I placed everyone in danger. My temper placed you in danger. I should have stayed."
"Well, if it gives you some solace, I am glad you care enough to not wish harm to the company. You're quite the brilliant tactician. Only, I think your enemies are catching on and have adjusted accordingly."
"If I was brilliant, I would have recognized what was going on and reacted accordingly," she said. "I didn't."
"None of us are infallible - not Aragorn or you. If I may, Queen of Elves, ask a small thing?"
She nodded wordlessly and Gimli went on, "May the company have your trust in battle, that we may bring our enemies to their knees?"
Ara smiled. That expression was as dwarfish as they came.
"I can't promise to perfectly apply that trust, but know I'll endeavor to try with all my heart," she said, affectionately.
Gimli returned her affection with a gracious bow of his bearded head and then rose to his feet. Wordlessly, Ara grabbed her pack and followed the dwarf out of her hiding place and met the quiet conversation of the Fellowship. The current topic, it seemed, was the direction of the company.
"We can, if we are making for Minas Tirith," said Aragorn, his back faced her and his attention was locked completely on Boromir who looked visibly frustrated at the direction the conversation had turned. "But that is not yet agreed. Such a course may be more perilous than it sounds. The vale of Entwash is flat and fenny, and fog is a deadly peril there for those on foot and laden. I would not abandon our boats until we must. The River is at least a path that cannot be missed."
"But the Enemy holds the eastern bank!" objected Boromir. "Even if you pass the Gates of Argonath and come unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the Falls and land in the marshes?"
Aragorn crossed his arms, shoulders tensed even more than they had been when she first beheld him. Aracasse felt guilty knowing she caused a part of it. Without directly meaning to, her insistence that she take on her enemies alone made her more of a burden to him than before.
"No!" answered Aragorn, patiently. "Say rather that we will bear our boats by the ancient way to Rauros-foot, and there take to the water again. Do you not know, Boromir, or do you choose to forget the North Stair, and the high seat upon Amon Hen, that were made in the days of the great kings? I at least have a mind to stand in that high place again, before I decide my further course. There, maybe, we shall see some sign that will guide us."
Boromir looked exasperated and Ara suspected the argument would have gone on longer had not Frodo intervened just then. The little hobbit had been searching the area surrounding the camp for a path they could use to travel around the rapids while the men spoke.
"I will go where Aragorn thinks is best," he interjected, silencing any further argument. "I trust his judgment as he has yet to lead us astray."
Boromir looked at Frodo and Ara saw a spark of hunger in his eyes that faded to betrayal and severe disappointment. She sighed. Had Gandalf not died this conversation wouldn't be an issue of contention between the gondorian and his king. The wizard's death changed many things, including Aragorn's initial reason for joining the quest. An idea formed in her mind. Well, not so much an idea as a certainty. The idea had floated in and out of her mind for several nights, but with the advent of their current intended destination drawing nigh Aracasse began to see it as possibly the best option.
"It is not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need," he said, "and you will need my strength, if ever you are to reach the Tindrock. To the tall isle I will go, but no further. There I shall turn to my home, alone if my help has not earned the reward of any companionship."
She sighed. Boromir had a point. Aragorn had a point. She approached the men, resolved steeled. Her husband wasn't going to like this.
"I'll go with you, Boromir," she said. "I need to go to Mordor, yes, but if Aragorn must go the route of the ring, I will go the route of Gondor."
He looked at her and seemed as if he would protest. Aragorn turned, stunned and angry.
"Ara -," she cut him off.
"You need to guide Frodo to Mordor in Gandalf's stead," she said. "I don't have this obligation. Going to Gondor then to Mordor or straight to Mordor won't make much of a difference to me."
She looked at Boromir who looked a smidge hopeful and smiled, "I am elven queen. I'm sure my presence will offer a boost in the morale of your men."
"That it might," Boromir conceded, "though I must insist you stick with me the entire way. I'd rather my liege have a wife to return to at the end of this."
Ara glanced at Aragorn. He looked torn, hurt and angry once more, but she noticed he didn't attempt to argue further.
"I'll try, friend," she conceded.
She didn't miss Aragorn's expression. He wasn't happy about this turn of events. The man didn't attempt to argue; however, and simply nodded before turning away to look for a path around the rapids.
"Are you sure of the wisdom of this notion, my niece?" Legolas asked, standing beside her.
Ara stared resolutely ahead and replied, "If Aragorn wants to be king of Gondor, it can't look as if he's abandoned it."
"Even so, your going won't serve to lessen his burdens, but only to increase them," her uncle reminded her.
She sighed and closed her eyes. Of course he'd worry! She fully expected him to.
"I know, uncle. I know this makes everything worse for him, but I can't see a better option in this case," she said.
Legolas sighed, "You must do what you think is best, little niece, but keep in mind the ones who hurt when decisions are made without their consent?"
With that, he approached Aragorn and began to speak with him about finding the best path long the river bank past the rapids. Ara watched them, but offered no aid. She could, she supposed, help them in their efforts, but the past several hours left her feeling drained. Her uncle was right offer his own rebuke in this matter. She hadn't really considered Aragorn's feelings in this matter or breeched the topic with him when the idea first came to her.
Soon after their conversation, Aragorn and Legolas left the company for a time to search ahead for the best way to traverse the terrain hauling the boats along. Boromir - who was in a much better mood - and Gimli regaled the hobbits of their personal escapades as children growing up in their respective homes. Ara listened, amused, but didn't offer any stories of her own. She didn't remember her early childhood and her time as an apprenticed huntress hadn't been filled with childlike wonder.
The fact that her argument with Aragorn killed her good humor was another factor that she'd rather not think about.
Only a few hours passed before Legolas and Aragorn returned. The mists remained enshrouding the company with its thick white tendrils so even Ara was startled when they appeared like disembodied wraiths.
"There is a way," Aragorn said, clamoring down in front of the small fire erected by Sam. "An old portage-way rests downstream. The way isn't long, but it will be difficult to move the boats and baggage there."
"It won't be easy, even if we were all men," Boromir said, glancing at the hobbits, Gimli, and Ara.
She shrugged, "I'm stronger than I look."
"I believe you," Boromir answered seriously. "Even so, I can't imagine the way will be easy for you."
"Believe me, boats and baggage are the least heavy thing I've trudged up and down hill and dale with. Ancient artifacts can become quite fragile," she said, smiling.
Aragorn grunted, "We have little time to waist before nightfall. It's best we make our way there now."
Ara frowned. The tone he'd taken was borderline hostile, though she wasn't sure why. His quarrel was with her and not Boromir. With a sigh, she shook her head and decided to let him be. If Aragorn was going to be passive aggressive towards Boromir over her deciding to accompany the man to Gondor should the rest of them journey to Mordor a different way, then she wasn't going to correct him. Their discussion from the night before proved to her that she wasn't what he'd expected or wanted.
Such would be preferable to a foul-mouthed fool.
Shit, I am a foul-mouthed fool, she thought. A demure little maiden doing her duty as a good little lady should would be a better fit for a king of Gondor. As I am now, I'm not fit to be queen of anything. If I ever was, that part of me had been destroyed.
Stop! She ordered herself. You've gone down that path before. Don't take yourself there. It'll only lead to more heartache.
She sighed and stood with the rest of them and began organizing and distributing the packs as fairly as possible among the company. They took them over the pathway first before returning to the river's bank to deal with the boats. Each craft proved lighter than originally thought and Ara discovered that her help wasn't needed. Instead, she made sure that the men carrying the boats didn't slip and fall on anything worrying.
One instance she was forced to directly intervene. It was during their second trip to the portage-way. Aragorn was in the lead as per usual when his foot - typically sure of himself in the wild - encountered a newly fallen rock. He slipped, dropping the boat, and nearly plummeted down the side of the cliff face to the stone bank below. Ara darted forward and grabbed his outstretched arm in one hand while her other summoned a tree root to her palm. Thankfully the land actually listened to her in this instance and she stopped his decent before Aragorn disappeared over the edge. With her help, he pulled himself back to their trail.
"Thank you, my lady," he said softly, stood, and took his place once more among the company.
Ara stared after him, feeling the dismissal keenly. She still followed them - still remained close to him - should anyone else take a similar fall. No other incident met them and they arrived safely to their destination. The already short afternoon gave way to dim, mist-filled twilight. The company rearranged the packs back into their respective places in the boats and ate a light meal. Once that bit was finished, Boromir and Aragorn came to a swift agreement to not continue on that night.
The company stood from their small circle and began to fetch their bedrolls. Ara hung back, looking at Aragorn, to the ground then back to him trying to bring herself to swallow her pride and call a truce. In truth, she'd missed his embrace the previous night and wanted to erode the bad feeling between them. Even if his words had hurt her just as much as she knew hers did him. Then there was that morning where she boldly declared herself a traveling companion to Boromir without clearing the idea with Aragorn first. She knew how that looked to him - as if she was choosing Boromir out of spite instead of duty - and she feared he could have been right.
Which was why she needed him, to make things better to…
His eyes met hers.
Ara felt the request for him to join her in the bedding that night on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite force it out. The surety she felt for a small moment faded and was replaced by the fear that had taken root under her breast. She wasn't sure what her expression was, but she knew by his own that it hadn't been encouraging. Disappointment flared and was soon joined by annoyance before Aragorn turned away from her and sat wordlessly on the other side of the camp taking first watch for himself and far away from her. She swallowed and blinked away the urge to cry. A hand touched her arm and Ara looked down to meet Gimli's somber green ones.
"Give 'im time, lass," he said and patted her arm before trudging off to an empty spot on the bank and rolled out his bedroll.
Ara sighed and slipped over to a place on the other side of the camp as far away from him as she could get. If he wanted to avoid her then she'd respect his choice. Even if that choice resurrected the old sense of self-hate plaguing her since Judah's death.
"Oi, Bri?"
She looked up from her work and forced a smile as she beheld Merry and Pippin.
"We were wondering if we can sleep near you tonight?" Pippin asked.
That smile turned natural and she nodded, "Of course."
They rolled their beds near hers and the three sat in silence for several moments before Pippin turned to her, eyes wide and asked, "Could you tell us about those air-o-planes again?"
She laughed for the first time since the argument and obliged. The heaviness of her heart lightened for just a little while; especially when Legolas approached upon hearing her description of an airplane and wanted to inquire further.
Night had long settled and the company drifted into varying degrees of slumber. All except Aragorn who couldn't find it in himself to even attempt such a feat. He remained on watch instead and didn't bother the rest of the Fellowship. He wouldn't wake her in particular. That would necessitate going to her and Aragorn had no desire to look into her beautiful eyes and feel the sting of her rejection as keenly as the first moment she'd given it.
The part of the disagreement that bothered him the most was he'd known she hadn't fully trusted him with her safety. He'd known - or at least suspected - attempts to keep her as far away from the enemy as possible would result in her wrath. What he hadn't expected was her blatant denial of him, nor had he expected her to use words in a way she knew would deeply wound him.
I should have, he thought. She is a scholar. She is as good at finding words as I.
He'd used words to hurt her. At first, all he'd wanted to do was break enough of her pride to bring her to understanding. When that hadn't worked, the discussion devolved until he'd insinuated he didn't want her.
And I call her a fool, he thought bitterly.
A fool she might be, but Aragorn proved himself just as much of one. Lord Elrond would be very disappointed in him. Footsteps stirred him from his thoughts and Aragorn looked up from his musings to see Boromir cautiously approach.
"It is near midnight, my friend," Boromir said, ceasing his approach by a few feet.
Aragorn inclined his head, "Aye, I need not sleep this night. Return to yours."
Boromir frowned, but didn't move. This annoyed Aragorn, though he took great pains to keep that annoyance hidden. He didn't want an argument with the man - something that had become a usual occurrence when they spoke lately - and he most certainly didn't want a reminder of what he could lose very soon if he listened to his misgivings about Gondor's Steward and the Ring.
"As leader, is not rest important?" Boromir asked.
"It is, but I fear rest will not come for me this night," Aragorn replied.
"Forgive me for the part I've played in your sleepless nights," Boromir whispered, eyes downcast.
Aragorn sighed and covered his face with a calloused hand, "It isn't only you, my friend. The enormity of this quest resting on my shoulders has taken its toll. I fear what I lack will reflect badly on me as king should I take that mantle."
The gondorian frowned and then moved to join Aragorn against the outcropping he leaned against. The fog continued its hold on the land. Once more, his eyes fell on the still form of his wife as she breathed slowly in whatever level of sleep she managed. He watched the rise and fall of her chest and felt an ache for her once more. Last night had been the first full night they'd spent apart since their wedding.
"The tension between you and the lady," Boromir observed.
Aragorn glanced at him, frowning, but allowed himself to respond, "It will pass. Such things usually do."
He'd told himself this frequently throughout the day. The anger that existed between them would pass and he would be allowed close to her once again. He could ask of her reasoning behind deciding to accompany Boromir to Minas Tirith and she would calmly explain it to him. It was a big decision to make and he doubted it was one she'd made lightly. Aragorn suspected the idea had settled in her head long ago, though he did worry about the mode to which she'd declared her final intentions: without consulting him about them first.
The man glanced at him, eyebrows raised and asked, "Is that so, Aragorn? Do you think she'll recognize the error of her ways and correct coarse?"
Aragorn pressed his lips together. He didn't want to discuss his wife with this man. The gondorian shook his head.
"If this had been a summary of an argument I'd heard secondhand from your mouth, I would have thought the same. If you'd permit me to offer some advice?"
Aragorn sighed and nodded, "If you have a perspective to offer, by all means say it."
"Do not meet me with incredulousness. I may not be a married man, but I have a betrothed who has quite the fiery personalty. I have argued with her once before in a similar manner you did with your wife. Know this: it isn't the words spoken between you which cause her resentment, but the fact that you said them to her before the rest of the company. For all her virtue, I can say with certainty that you hurt her pride."
"That shouldn't matter!" Aragorn snapped, then stopped and took a deep breath before continuing in a more even tone, "She should take correction when it is warranted. How can I trust her to follow my decisions when she openly disregards me and defies me before my own men."
"Well," Boromir said slowly looking more amused than grave, "you may wish to take into account that she's currently the highest ranking official in our group. Even if that thought doesn't live in the forefront of her interactions with the rest of us - including you - the manner of your demands offended the part of her that is queen all the same."
Aragorn glanced away from the darkness and took in the sleeping form of his wife once more. He clenched his jaw and thought, once again, of the tale Gimli had told upon their return. Aracasse had been battered, but otherwise unscathed. A number of things could have gone wrong during that raid, yet they hadn't. She was safe. As his initial anger towards her died, Aragorn was only left with a desperate longing to hold her in his arms.
"She was in the wrong, you are right to censure her on that front, but remember our journey is perilous - hers all the more. Don't let anger be the last thing between you should the worst happen," Boromir said and rose to his feet.
Aragorn didn't watch him depart for sleep. He continued to stare at his wife. She shifted in her sleep, brow furrowed in unease. Things had been simpler when they'd been reluctant to speak of what was between them all those months ago. Yes, the marriage had been hasty. He'd been correct in his fears, but the deed was done and their fates forever intertwined. Unless circumstances changed, Aragorn had a long time to help her overcome that which she feared most.
Light rain pecked her cheeks and eyelids, waking her from an uneasy dream. Ara couldn't quite remember its contents in their entirety, but one component stood out to her. The blue eyes of Aragorn watched her, pained but determined, as they spoke to her. She'd felt the lips of a great, muscular elf press against her ear and heard his fell command. Her hand raised and fire streamed forth and consumed the body of her husband. No time to scream, no time for any reaction, just fire and ashes. Ara had no idea what happened after that - it was all a blur - but that singular moment continued to haunt her waking thoughts.
She blinked at the thick fog obscuring the pre-dawn sky and shivered. With a shudder, Ara rose from her makeshift pallet - she didn't want to take their main one from Aragorn - and touched her hair and winced. Once, the strands were tightly pulled into a simple braid, but had clearly broken free of restraint at some point during the night. She sighed and untied the small chord that kept the rest of her hair tied back and slowly worked the bronze locks free of the tangled mess they'd become.
It was longer work than normal. During her time in Arda, her hair never met the fate of a trim at the hands of a competent stylist and had grown to a length much longer than she'd ever allowed it in the past. Her hair was normally kept long, but no longer than her mid-back. Now it trailed halfway to her knees and would grow longer still. Arda didn't have a concept of women cutting their hair; especially among the elves.
As her fingers worked their way through her tresses, Ara remembered the ornate band on her head and paused her work to carefully work the thing out of her hair. To her luck, the vines and leaves of the crown clung to her hair. A particularly frustrated tug pulled sharply at her hair and finally pulled a small part of the thing free. She winced and picked long strands of her hair out of the freed silver vine. Absorbed as she was in her work, Ara didn't notice footsteps approaching behind her. She did feel a pair of familiar calloused hands cover her small soft ones and froze at their touch.
"May I?" Aragorn asked quietly.
She closed her eyes. He'd made the first move. She hadn't expected that. Too prideful to verbally consent to his help, Ara allowed her hands to drop to her lap and clasp together. His fingers slipped through her hair and carefully picked the crown from their tangles. Once that was free he moved on to the rest of her hair and ran his fingers through her long tresses. Ara closed her eyes and shivered in pleasure at the feeling.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I should have consulted you about joining Boromir on his journey to Gondor. I hadn't given it much thought until yesterday during your argument with him."
His hands paused for a second, but carefully resumed their task a moment later. Silence settled between them thicker than the light rain presently coating them. Ara felt the question on the tip of his tongue and it didn't surprise her when he finally asked it.
"Have you come to this decision to spite me?"
His voice was soft and measured. To anyone else's ear, Aragorn would sound perfectly calm and collected. Even his hands never faltered in their genteel manner as they combed through her hair.
"This decision was concluded out of want to help a friend," she said. "The mode to which I announced my intention… I'm afraid it might have been made out of spite."
Silence settled between them once more. After a while, he set the crown back in her hair and began to pull her bronze strands into a single long braid. Before anything else could be said, the rest of the company began to stir and Aragorn quickly finished his work and moved away. Aracasse watched him go, biting her lip. She could go after him. She could spew forth the apology threatening to explode out of her. She could have done a lot of things.
She didn't.
Instead, she shook off her cloak, dusted pebbles off her pack, and placed both over her shoulders before following the rest of men to their boats for a light breakfast of lembas as they rode the river's current further south. It rained again later in the day. It was much heavier than the gentle mist of the morning and the company were forced to draw skin-covers over their boats to keep them from flooding. Thankfully, the rain didn't last too long and the clouds broke and trailed northward up the river taking the fog and rain with it.
They were in a wide ravine and drifted swiftly down the river with no hope of turning back. Aracasse peered ahead and saw two great pillars in the distance framing the west and east banks of the river. Beyond were the black hills of the Emyn Muil and the possible route of everyone in the company but she and Boromir. She frowned, thinking on this eventual separation with little pleasure. The argument between herself and Aragorn needed to be resolved before she left if such was her fate and she resolved to approach him when they made bank.
"Behold the Argonath, the pillars of kings!" Aragorn called. "Keep the boats in line as far apart as you can and keep to the middle of the stream!"
Ara lifted her ore and helped Legolas keep the boat steered steady. As they passed through she saw a change in her husband that reminded her very much of the moment at Weathertop when he'd recited the part of the tale of Beren and Luthien. The cares of the past several weeks left him for just a moment and his back and shoulders were straight and proud.
"This is the likeness of Isildur and Anarion," Legolas informed them, shouting over the noise of the rushing current.
The great pillars loomed over them as they passed through their gate. Ara continued to watch her husband in awe. For a moment she saw the truth of him - the king returning to his people - and felt great love and shame. She looked away, blinking back tears. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was more a king than she could ever hope to be a queen.
And she'd the gall to defy him.
Late afternoon met the company when they fully passed through the monoliths of his forebears. Their little crafts shot into a grand river-made lake and they drifted along the lazy current for a time. When Aragorn signaled for them to make for the western shore of Parth Galen, twilight blanketed the sky and the evening stars already made their appearance. He had the company make their pallets, but didn't allow for a fire. While there was no sign of Gollum, he felt uneasy.
The company drifted off to sleep on by one until he - the one to take first watch - and Aracasse remained awake. She held her pack to her chest and looked at him with solum eyes and frowning lips. Aragorn felt a ghost of a smile dust his lips when he saw the way her head tilted just a little away from him and her eyes flickered between him and what he suspected was a very interesting tree. Her cheeks dusted pink.
Aragorn took pity on her and held out his hand from where he sat against his own slim tree and asked, "Come and join me?"
She looked at his hand and her cheeks flushed from pink to red. Her arms hugged her pack to her chest a moment longer before she slowly approached. In a moment, her hand was in his and she lowered herself to the ground before him. Unable to keep up the distance any longer, Aragorn pulled her to him and held her in his arms and breathed in the scent of her hair.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
"For what?" She asked. "I am in the wrong."
"It matters not that you were wrong. What matters is how I address it and I did so poorly by rising to my anger and demanding a trust I have yet to earn," he said. "I insulted you, further making the gaining of that trust difficult."
She didn't respond. Instead, she moved herself closer to him and allowed his arms to fully encircle her waist. Ara curled against him and rested her forehead against his chest. Her arms secured themselves underneath his cloak. Aragorn didn't know how long it was they remained in silent companionship, but when he glanced at the sky he noted the moon was high and night was well underway.
"I should trust you, Aragorn," she said after a while.
Her slim body relaxed in his lap fully accepting the safety of his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and teal eyes closed. He pressed a light kiss to her temple, smiling sadly.
"I already trust you," Ara continued. "Just… I'm afraid of what they'll… If I close my eyes, I see the different ways I'm made to kill you and I'm sorely afraid that fate - or something similar - will come to pass. Your death will break me."
Aragorn closed his eyes. The truth of elves dying after experiencing great sorrow varied from age to age. Lord Elrond confirmed the circumstances were solely dependent on the elf in question and that the myth of elves dying of a broken heart wasn't entirely correct. Some elves did die after experiencing the loss of a lover, but those instances usually included the loss of a destined one.
"I'd thought the deaths of my past loved ones had broken me, but now that I've come to you I know I don't understand what it truly means to be broken," she continued.
"I can't promise I'll survive our quest," he said. "Don't give up living on my account. I'm not worth such sorrow."
She sighed and looked at him, "You are to me."
As he stared into her eyes, Aragorn understood the truth of it. A further understanding settled within. As she couldn't linger on without him, he couldn't remain without her. Such was the fate of destined ones who allowed their bond to grow. He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to her brow.
"We will endure these dark days," he said. "But you must learn to trust I will survive."
"Even if you don't?"
"Yes, even that."
He kissed her lips, long and sweet, but didn't take any further physical action. When he pulled away, he beheld her genuine smile.
"Sleep, my love," he said. "I will join you once my watch is ended."
Aracasse nodded and slipped from his embrace to reclaim her rightful place in his bedroll. Aragorn watched her for a while until he was certain she'd drifted off to sleep. Then he rose from his seat and woke Frodo from his slumber to check for the presence of orcs. At the sign of the faint blue blade, Aragorn looked back to his sleeping wife once more - frowning. Even if they were friends again, he suspected there was much still to reconcile between them. With the orcs so near, he feared they wouldn't have the time; especially if she left with Boromir to Minas Tirith.