Chapter 47:
The Smallest Spark
Author's Note: Well, that was interesting. Half of the time I was writing I kept re-working how the next few chapters will go and, lo and behold, another chapter was added. Anyway, this will likely be the last time I update for the year. I will continue working on this story for the rest of December (slowly), but I've been experiencing some moments in my personal life that necessitate me getting more sleep. With the small, almost six month old, child taking the minimum amount of naps during the day and going through the trauma of growing at night, I've found that my mood and energy has been very low these past few days. This is because I use a lot of the early evening hours as writing time. This is fine, when he's sleeping normally, but given how things currently are, I need to have a bit of freedom in my days right now. Since I'm re-working what I had originally planned anyway (this is what happens when you actually re-read the material your work is based on instead of following the timeline provided at the end of the series), and since we're less than a week out from Christmas, I'm treating this as my winter break.
Some things to note about the chapter: I'm not particularly happy with it. I wanted the characters to go in this direction, but upon re-reading what I wrote during NaNoWriMo I've observed some inconsistencies in the narrative that will only be fixed upon edits. Editing chapters on this site is a pain in the ass, so I'm debating on whether or not I want to do so here or on AO3. That being said, if y'all discover some things that need some work (other than typos, assume I know about them because I've found quite a bit *after* I've posted the chapter *of course*) feel free to leave a review and tell me about them. Every bit helps :).
A final note about this story as a whole: I initially began this story as a re-write of the earlier incarnation of this story, Consequences of a Huntress. There were some things I'd realized needed expanding in the previous story and several moments where both Aragorn and Brianna/Aracasse are out of character for the narrative just to fit my silly fantasies. Because of this, the Rewrite was born and it morphed into this monstrosity. Some people like the original better than this and I get why. The original is more focused on both Brianna/Aracasse and Aragorn and some people prefer a less expansive story; especially since that one is a little less of a mess in some respects than this one is. And while I don't think the Rewrite is hard to follow (I try to be as clear as possible), there are more characters I follow. Why did I do this? Because Lord of the Rings isn't only about Aragorn and, well, neither is my own work from which Brianna/Aracasse is taken from only about her. Initially, the Rewrite only meant to incorporate a few extra scenes between the characters from Earth so I can lead up to them coming to Arda and joining the fight. Then it turned into a much bigger thing that I'd first anticipated. Don't get me wrong, Aragorn and Brianna/Aracasse are the main characters of this story. The plot is driven primarily by them, but a lot of what happens is dependent on Frodo's success and a few other things that will become apparent later on.
Basically, if you come here from the original expecting more of the same, you'll be disappointed. And, while I'm glad some people like where I was going with the original draft of this fanfic, I do personally like this story better. Maybe one day I will add to the other thing for fun out of sheer boredom, but that likely won't happen until I finish this behemoth.
Anyway, enjoy this update all the same! Let me know where you all think work is needed. Hope you enjoyed this pre-chapter essay! XD
Edoras was how he remembered it though many long years passed since he last beheld the city of horse lords. Aragorn rode beside Legolas and Gimli while Gandalf rode before them on Shadowfax - the great white horse of Rohan. While the horse was a curiosity, its riddle paled in comparison to the great relief he felt in his heart at Gandalf's survival and resurrection as White Wizard. The old man was cloaked in grey once more, but his white robes glittered like diamonds beneath grey folds where one could see if they looked close enough.
Most people wouldn't care to, he knew, and it didn't diminish the wonder of the moment. Aragorn felt lighter than he had in days despite the fear that currently plagued his heart. Boromir was two nights gone from their company in search of Aracasse with the wizard, Mafortion. There had been no word of whether his mission was successful and Gandalf offered very little insight to the matter.
"All will be made known in Edoras, I should think," Gandalf said at the conclusion of their conversation on the matter.
Such an answer from his old friend frustrated Aragorn, but he could do little about it. Whatever Gandalf knew, he withheld for a reason. This response did little to please Legolas. The elf kept his own careful council on the matter, but Aragorn knew his heart was just as troubled.
Merry and Pippin, he assured them, were safe for the time being, though Aragorn knew not what to make of their current situation. Ents? It had been long years since the tree-kind made themselves known to anyone let alone two hobbits newly escaped from the slaughter of an orc pack. Still, their hobbit-friends were safe which allowed for him to ride to Edoras and make good on his promise to Eomer. Even if his heart longed to seek out Boromir and Mafortion and join their hunt, instead.
Aragorn quietly led Hasufel by his harness while Legolas merely beckoned Arod with a mere wave of his hand. The townsfolk who saw them looked on with astonished expressions adorning their tired faces. Few had seen elves before and the sight of one leading a horse bred by the Rohirrim had to be a sight to see. He repressed a smile at the thought. Gandalf, too, walked ahead as Shadowfax dutifully followed behind, but he didn't attempt to overtake their guide - one of the guards at Edoras' gates - who led them to the Golden Hall. At length they came to the crown of the hill. There stood a high platform above a green terrace, at the foot of which a bright spring gushed from a stone carved in the likeness of a horse's head; beneath was a wide basin from which the water spilled and fed the falling stream. Up the green terrace went a stair of stone, high and broad, and on either side of the topmost step were stone-hewn seats. There sat other guards on sturdy stone benches with naked blades drawn across their knees. As Aragorn's company were led up the great steps, the guards stood and would have towered over most mortal men.
Aragorn was not a mortal man. Even without the blessing to choose between mortality and immortality, he was of the blood of Numenor - the Blood of Elves - and his height matched their own. Legolas, being an elf, stood just as tall with Gandalf being only slightly shorter than Aragorn and Gimli being the smallest of the group as a dwarf.
"There are the doors before you," said their guide. "I must return now to my duty at the gate. Farewell! And may the Lord of the Mark be gracious to you!"
Aragorn didn't observe his departure. Instead, his attention focused on Gandalf who stepped forward and greeted the guards with a raised hand. In return, the guards turned the hilts of their swords towards them as a salute of peace. One of the guards stepped forward and inclined his head to them - a sign of respect. The man was tall, adorned in gilded armor, with hair much like Aracasse' bronze though a little bit duller spilling about his shoulders in windswept waves.
"I am the Doorward of Theoden. Hama is my name," he said. "Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter."
Almost as if he needed no prompting, Legolas stepped forward and relinquished his knife, bow and sword. Aragorn watched the exchange, frowning as his hand caressed the hilt of his sword and then traced the silver of his wife bracelet as it hung innocently from his belt. He was loth to rid himself of any weapon - most of wall the bracelet Aracasse had gifted him shortly after she left Imladris.
"It is not my will to put aside my sword or deliver Anduril to the hands of any other man," Aragorn said.
If he had to relinquish Anduril, he would. The bracelet of hidden weapons would remain exactly as it seemed - a token of affection from his lady wife. Even so, the idea of giving up the sword of his forefathers unsettled him. Hama raised an eyebrow and frowned at him.
"It is the will of Theoden," he said, stoutly.
Aragorn narrowed his eyes and replied, "It is not clear to me that the will of Théoden son of Thengel, even though he be lord of the Mark, should prevail over the will of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elendil's heir of Gondor."
"This is the House of Theoden and would be so even if the King of Gondor sat in the seat of Denethor," Hama replied, steel edging his tone.
Gandalf stepped easily between them and fixed Aragorn with a look before he turned to Hama and held up his hand, "This is idle talk and needless is Theoden's demand, but it is useless to refuse. A king will have his way in his own home be it folly or wisdom."
"And if it were any sword but Anduril, I would agree," Aragorn said.
"Whatever its name may be, here you shall lay it," Hama said, turning his sword point at the company and stepping in front of the hall's entrance as he did so.
Gimli moved to raise the head of his axe, but Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword and pressed his lips together into a thin line. Truly, he didn't want to relinquish the blade, but they had business in Edoras that Gandalf believed he specifically needed to tend to. He wouldn't be completely defenseless, though he hoped to not reveal the true purpose of the bracelet and its contents.
Gandalf rolled his eyes and unclasped Glamdring from his belt. A flash of his white robes revealed themselves briefly as he did so.
"Come, come, we are all friends here, or should be! Here is my sword made by the elves of long ago. Glamdring is its name! Now, Aragorn! Hurry for my matter here is quite pressing!" snapped the wizard.
Reluctantly, Aragorn acquiesced to their demand and unbuckled the belt his sword was attached to and leaned it against the wall himself. He removed the bracelet from that belt and tied it to the strap his bow and quiver of arrows was attached to. After this, he drew out his bow, a few small knives, and a dirk he hid in his boots and set them beside Anduril.
"Here I set it," he said; "but I command you not to touch it, nor to permit any other to lay hand on it. In this Elvish sheath dwells the Blade that was Broken and has been made again. Telchar first wrought it in the deeps of time. Death shall come to any man that draws Elendil's sword save Elendil's heir."
Hama looked at him, mouth agape, and he stepped back from the hall's entrance as if in a trance and muttered, "It seems you have come on the wings of a song from forgotten days. It shall be as you command."
Aragorn inclined his head as Gimli reluctantly set his axe beside his sword. The guard attempted - half-heartedly, Aragorn noted - to have Gandalf relinquish his staff, but the wizard offered a simple explanation of being too old not to have it. Aragorn smiled at his friend's cunning as Hama relented and opened the doors. A great fire surrounded by many tapestries - some gleaming new and some dim with age - in the entrance. As they stepped around the great blaze they beheld a dais that rose above them all at the far end of the hall. At the foot of the dais stood a dark haired woman with yellow eyes gleaming at them hungrily. Upon the dais sat an old man in a great gilded chair. Behind him, a woman with long blond tresses that hung down her back like rivets of gold. At the feet of who Aragorn assumed to be the king sat a wizened creature of a man with dark hair and pale skin.
"Hail Theoden, King!" Called Gandalf. "I have come and here a storm gathers."
The old man rose slowly to his feet, leaning heavily on a white and black staff, and regarded Gandalf with his shrewd gaze. Aragorn's eyes flicked from the king, to the wizened advisor, to the dark haired woman and back to the king.
"I greet you," he said, "and maybe you look for welcome. But truth to tell your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf. You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. I will not deceive you: when I heard that Shadowfax had come back riderless, I rejoiced at the return of the horse, but still more at the lack of the rider; and when Éomer brought the tidings that you had gone at last to your long home, I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom sooth. Here you come again! And with you come evils worse than before, as might be expected. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow? Tell me that."
"You speak justly, lord," said the pale man sitting upon the steps of the dais. "It is not yet five days since the bitter tidings came that Théodred your son was slain upon the West Marches: your right-hand, Second Marshal of the Mark. In Éomer there is little trust. Few men would be left to guard your walls, if he had been allowed to rule. And even now we learn from Gondor that the Dark Lord is stirring in the East. Such is the hour in which this wanderer chooses to return. Why indeed should we welcome you, Master Stormcrow? Láthspell I name you, Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest they say."
Aragorn bristled at the mention of Eomer and Gandalf looked as if he wished to respond, but the woman smiled at them and said, "Do not blame the Third Marshal for his foolishness, my friend Wormtongue. He keeps the council of the Grey Healer close to his heart. I say, if we must blame the ill happenings of late, we would do well to place all of it on Mafortion's shoulders. Though, maybe our new friends can share some of it as well?"
"Indeed!" Grima replied enthusiastically. "Here in this hall stand four men who are like carrion and pick upon the sorrows of other men and grow fat on war! What aid have you ever brought us and what aid do you bring now? You sought aid from us in your last visit and took from the king that horse which was most precious to him when he offered your choice of any horse in his stables! I guess we can expect the same! Do you bring aid now? All I see are four men clad in grey and you the most beggar-looking of the lot!"
Aragorn raised a dark brow, but before he or Gandalf could say anything his eyes were drawn to the blond woman who's expression turned thunderous. She made as if to speak, but the king - as if expecting her to interject - turned and fixed her with a pointed stare. She deflated a little and remained silent, but the storm remained in her grey eyes.
"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Theoden son of Thengel," Gandalf remarked dryly.
"What courtesy should he extend to one such as you?" The woman asked.
"Forgive me, my lady, my mind escapes me. I fear I know not your name and would have it, if I may?" Gandalf asked.
She smiled, "What is in a name, wizard?"
Aragorn's eyes narrowed, but he maintained his silence. He didn't know the names of all their enemies from earth, but her reluctance to give hers told him enough.
"A chance to clear a misunderstanding, I would hope," replied the wizard. "For instance, the three companions of mine are clad in grey because they were clothed by the grace of the Lady of Lothlorien. Seldom has the Golden Hall received such magnificent guests and the weapons they laid at your guards feet are worth more than the greatest of men in this age."
"Then Eomer's report is true," Grima said, "you are in league with the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? It is not to be wondered at: webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene."
Gimli strode a few paces forward, face red in righteous anger on behalf of Lorien's Lady, but Gandalf stopped his ascent and gently pushed him back. Softly, as if caressing a harp with a bright tenor voice that didn't reflect his aged face, the wizard sang:
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
Seldom have walked the feet of Men,
Few mortal eyes have seen the light
That lies there ever, long and bright.
Galadriel! Galadriel!
Clear is the water of your well;
White is the star in your white hand;
Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.
Then, as the tune faded into the high afternoon, Gandalf threw off his cloak and straightened himself from his hunched form - no longer leaning on his white staff. He raised his staff and spread out his hand. Thunder rolled in the distance.
"Do not speak of what you do not know, Grima son of Galmod! A witless worm you have become; therefore, be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!"
Gandalf's voice was like the distant thunder and Grima cringed away from the light of his raiment and authority of his voice. At the foot of the dais, the dark-haired woman hissed at them, yellow eyes flashing with rage.
"Did I not counsel you to take the wizard's staff!" Grima hissed.
Before more could be said, Gandalf raised his staff a little higher. A flash of lightening filled the room and left Grima sprawled on his face when it faded. The woman hissed a series of fell words and darkness pooled in the palm of her hand. Aragorn charged forward and grabbed her hands and shoved her away from the throne. Legolas and Gimli followed as Aragorn bore down on her - intending to restrain her. Yellow eyes flared and she snarled a single, guttural word. It was as if something hit the entire front of his body as he was flung from his feet and cracked his head against the marble floor.
Aragorn saw stars and struggled to blink them away as he attempted to force his body to rise. When his vision cleared, the woman stood over him with a cruel smirk adorning her pale pink lips. She seemed as if she would say something when a commotion echoed behind one of the wooden doors that led from the adjacent wings into the halls. All eyes turned to the door as it burst open and a figure clad in red charged into the room.
He didn't dare breathe.
Bronze hair flowed about her freely in the free air flowing into the hall from the open windows. Teal eyes blazed and settled on the woman with a dangerous glint. They flickered to him a moment later and the pace of his heart quickened. A moment later, they returned to the dark haired woman and Aracasse's lips curled back into a snarl. She released a primal shriek and surged forward - fire engulfing her hand - and grabbed the sorceress before she could move. The woman's hand reached out and attempted to cast another curse, but Ara wasn't having any of it.
The fire burned. The fire engulfed the woman. When she lowered her hands, only ashes remained. Boromir hastened into the room a moment later and stopped to look around at its inhabitants before settling his eyes on Ara once more.
"Your grace?" Boromir asked hesitantly.
Aragorn's brow raised at the tone the gondorian took with her. Why did he seem, afraid? Upon further inspection of his wife, Aragorn observed the tremors of her body and a glassy, half-mad expression in her teal eyes. He made as if to approach her, but was stopped by Boromir's hand.
"Steady, Aragorn, her mind is not her own in this moment," he warned.
He watched her lips move, half-mad eyes staring at her hands, but not seeing. Her tremors wracked her - violently shaking her until her teeth rattled.
"What do you mean?" He asked, pained.
"Where is he? Where is he? Aries?" He heard her whisper.
No.
Dread filled him then and he looked to Boromir as the man gazed at Ara - expressing both pain and fear. It was Legolas who kept his head in this instance and turned to Gandalf and the king with a nod.
"Continue your business, Gandalf, we will handle the rest," said the elf.
Aragorn noted the tremor in his friend's voice, but didn't outwardly acknowledge it. He continued to gaze at the pitiful form of his wife as she crumbled to the floor shaking a muttering and grasping at her chest as if to tear out her very heart. The woman in white moved towards her, but Boromir shook his head.
"Help your uncle, Eowyn. There is little you can do here," he said, gravely.
Eowyn - as Aragorn now knew her name to be - stopped, hesitated for a moment, before returning back to her uncle's side. She helped him out of his chair and down the steep steps of the dais. Aragorn looked on for a second to be sure Gandalf had everything in hand before he returned his attention to Aracasse once more. He stepped forward.
"Aragorn -," Boromir began, but stopped at his upheld arm.
Wordlessly, he continued his approach. Her muttering became audible.
"I want him, take me to him, let me feel him. Aries! Where is Aries! Why do they not take me to Aries?"
He stopped in front of her and felt the brunt of each word as she begged for the arms of another - a man she'd never met before - and knew the truth of it. Silently, he knelt before her, reached out, and grasped her hands in his.
"Aracasse," he said softly.
The muttering stopped and she looked up at him. Teal eyes spoke mistrust and there was barely recognition in their light. Only a small spark of it remained. A lump formed in his throat and breathing became labored.
"Aracasse," he croaked, softer still.
That single spark turned from kindling into a tiny flame. He latched onto it as tightly as he gripped her small hands.
"Aracasse."
Her magic felt as if it were burning her from the inside.
Aracasse hadn't meant to use the elements that day. She hadn't meant to leave the rooms provided to her by Maf and Eowyn. The songs she managed to sing helped gain a semblance of her mind back, but her strength continued to ebb and flow as was the nature of the curse. Then the singing of a man's tenor about the Lady of Lothlorien met her elven ears and she'd risen from where she'd spent the past few days unsuccessfully meditating on song to seek it out. Even far away she felt the calm fire of Mithrandir as he revealed himself as Gandalf the White.
She also felt the dark power of Nyx and the budding flame of the King of Gondor, the Arnor, and the Elves as they clashed. In particular, she'd felt the danger to him keenly through their bond as destined ones enhanced by the bond of marriage. Instinct - the only part of her that was left, it seemed - took over and she changed into the Golden Hall to find Lady Nyx standing over her husband and readying an attack that would have rendered him in a coma or dead. That instinct led her to burn the bitch into ashes to protect him.
No one would kill him. No one would harm him. He was hers.
Shortly after that moment, Aracasse felt the curse attempt to aggressively take control of her mind. She couldn't shake if off. It was as if the fight it waged intensified at the close proximity of her destined one and didn't want him to positively influence her. She wasn't sure how he could do that when it was clear to her that he didn't want her. He didn't come for her. No, he'd sent his vassal to find her along with Maf. Maf always found her. Maf was the father she'd never known.
Where was Aries? She wanted Aries!
Ara chanted the desire softly under her breath and hurried the part of her that knew her husband was a mere few feet away from her. She would not desire to see a man who didn't want her and didn't bother to rescue her from Hades, himself.
Then - as it was in the dreams and memories she used to keep the curse at bay - his strong, calloused hands enveloped hers in their warm embrace. Aracasse knew many things about elves and the part of her that wanted the touch of the uncle she'd never met knew he wouldn't have large hands calloused from many years in the wild. The smell was next. Sweat, dirt, and the shade of dying leaves assaulted her poor nose, but it served to help clear her head. In the days she'd spent traveling with the Fellowship there was only one man whose scent grew that ripe. Not even Boromir could boast of creating such a smell.
Her name followed - sounding sweet and gentle on his lips - and Ara felt the curse's fog clear. In answer to his plea reflected in the syllables of her name, she looked into his eyes and wove the fingers of both her hands through his own. She looked at him and felt wonder instead of the resentment she'd battled with for the past several days. That resentment - something she suspected had been expanded on by the will of the curse - had made her wonder if seeing him would do more harm than good. As Aragorn stared into her eyes, Ara realized how the curse had manipulated her. She should have known he was the remedy - as she would have been if a similar curse had been cast on him - and she should have told Boromir to seek out the Fellowship the moment he'd pulled her from Hades' camp.
Just as the feeling of wonder and relief came, it was replaced with disgust and horror a moment later. She shuddered and looked away from him. Here she was doubting him when her mind was constantly filled with desire for someone else. While that desire was artificial, it didn't lessen the feeling that she was dirty, disgusting… evil.
This curse is well-crafted, she thought. It leeches all good thoughts and has made what should be a joyous reunion into a bittersweet one.
She breathed, long a deep, before her strength finally returned to her if even for a moment. Then she looked once again at her husband who patiently watched her. Concern shown in his eyes and she found herself torn between wanting his embrace and turning away from him. Instead, she rose unsteadily to her feet and he followed towering over her when he stood at full height.
"We should join Gandalf out on the steps," she said and moved away from him.
"Ara -," she shook her head.
"There's no time to explain now. It will have to wait," she said softly.
When she glanced at the open doors, Ara smiled at Eowyn as the woman hastened through the doors with an extra spring in her step and a light in her eyes that wasn't there before. Upon sighting the group, she hurried to them and looked over Ara, frowning.
"What happened?" She asked.
Ara grimmaced, "I lost control."
"Do you need anything?" Eowyn asked.
Ara shook her head, "No, there's only one thing that will help me now. This isn't something an herb or a poultice can cure."
Eowyn glanced at Aragorn and seemed to study him for a good long moment. Aracasse watched the woman's inquisitive expression and felt the brunt of it when she turned it on her. For a moment, Eowyn seemed to want to ask something, though what Ara couldn't divine, but clearly thought better of it.
"How is your uncle?" Boromir asked as he approached them.
Eowyn directed a radiant smile to him and replied, "Much better, my lord. Whatever fell sorcery Wormtongue inflicted on him is passing with each kind word Gandalf utters. It has been many years since I've last seen him so strong."
"This good news, my lady!" Boromir cried.
"It is," Aracasse said, smiling at the woman. "I'm only sorry that the king's first impression of me is that of a madwoman."
"He will not think much of it," Eowyn replied. "Lady Nyx was accepted into this house with great reluctance. Only Grima's persuasion allowed her to remain."
Aracasse scowled and muttered, "Yes, I will have words with this Grima Wormtongue."
With that, she stalked towards the open doors of the hall. Aragorn followed close behind her silent and grave. She hadn't acknowledged him much and felt bad about it, but didn't move to rectify it. He wanted to speak on what afflicted her - she knew - and something in the air stirred in her breast that had little to do with the curse. Trusting that instinct, Ara ignored the occasional desperate looks he sent her way for the time being.
She did allow him to remain close to her; however, as his nearness eased the fog constantly attempting to take over her mind. They did have much to speak on, she supposed, but as her eyes beheld King Theoden rise from his seat to full height - almost as tall as Aragorn - and look to the east at Gandalf's beckoning.
Aracasse blinked. Gandalf was alive?
She turned to Aragorn, the question silently formed on her lips. Despite his troubled expression, a small smile slipped through and he nodded. Completely of her own accord, Ara reached out a hand and took his. His demeanor softened and Aragorn leaned down and placed a small kiss on her brow.
The curse couldn't stop her answering smile nor could it quell the feeling of adoration that washed through her.
Yes, she thought. We will need to speak on this later, but let's bask in the small victory before we do.
She looked to the east as Gandalf said in a loud, clear voice, "Verily, that way lies our hope, where sits our greatest fear. Doom hangs still on a thread. Yet hope there is still, if we can but stand unconquered for a little while."
*To maintain integrity, portions of this chapter - and some past chapters - were taken from the following source: Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Two Towers: Being the Second Part of The Lord of the Rings. HMH Books. Kindle Edition. All bolded text is directly pulled from the resource and/or other sources if not specifically stated otherwise.