Beautiful Stranger
Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me
Author's note: I'm so busy these days, I don't know if I'll have time to finish this. Would it be better if I wrote 2 or 3 more chapters than end it off? Don't really want to leave it hanging…
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter 6
After the requisite pillow throwing and shirt pulling and name-calling had been accomplished, Aragorn collapsed into an over-stuffed armchair, still laughing helplessly at the antics of Elrond's sons.
Elladan swiped a nut from the low table, and threw it at his brother. Elrohir caught it and tossed it smoothly into his mouth.
"Were you ever planning to come back?" Elladan asked over the noisy crunching, "We've missed you terribly - no one seems to be able to take the blame for our mischief as convincingly as you do."
Aragorn smiled wryly, and answered, "Perhaps someday…I wasn't expecting to see either of you again so soon."
"Well, Arwen's not the only one who visits Grandmama you know," Elladan replied. He glanced over to see the man's response to his sister's name. He had a very good snide remark prepared, to be delivered when his foster brother blushed.
Aragorn only looked back blandly. "How is she?" he asked.
"Oh, as usual," Elladan said, rather disappointed, "Attractive, intelligent, all that sort of thing."
"I see," Aragorn said noncommittally.
"What about you?" he asked, "What dastardly deeds have you been up to?"
"Not much," the man replied, "wondered around with the Rohirrim for a bit, got mixed up in a conspiracy, and suddenly I'm on the run with an elf who won't tell me his name…" He trailed off meaningfully, and his companions shifted uncomfortably where they sat.
Elladan cleared his throat; the sound was unnaturally harsh in the otherwise silent room. "Well," he said loudly, "that's all very nice." He continued in a clumsy attempt to change the topic, "I've recently acquired a very nice brooch…"
The man ignored him and threw a conveniently located cushion at Elrohir, who had so far been content to listen to the companionable bickering. "So…" he drawled, trying to make his next remark sound offhand, "who is he?"
"Huh?" Elrohir replied intelligently.
Elladan rolled his eyes at his brother and turned to answer Aragorn. "We can't say," he said apologetically, "custom and all. He's seeking refuge from himself in a sense, and being nameless is part of that. Though I must admit, no one's invoked that particular custom for the longest time. I'm not asking, but I wish I knew what happened to him."
Aragorn shrugged. The stranger elf had not exactly been talkative during their short acquaintance. "So would I," he said.
~
During the long hours of supper, Aragorn waited impatiently for a chance to speak to the Lady. Just to be sure he's healing. he told himself, so firmly that he almost believed it.
Galadriel mingled with the guests in the long dining room, seeming to converse with everyone but him. Aragorn was just about to give up and search for his elf on his own when she somehow appeared before him.
"My Lady," he murmured, sweeping a bow.
She nodded in acknowledgment. "Lord Aragorn."
He hesitated for a moment, before plunging into the heart of the matter. "Lady," he said, "How is he?"
Galadriel surveyed him coolly, her eyes gone suddenly expressionless although her manner remained courteous. "Well enough," she replied.
A tension ran out of his shoulders and he drained the cup of wine he held in his hand. "I was wondering…if perhaps…" he tentatively began.
"Not yet," the Lady said, shaking her head, "It's not time."
"But…" Aragorn protested.
Galadriel raised a slender white hand to halt his arguments. "I have to see to my people. Perhaps we could talk some other time." With that statement, she melted back into the crowd, leaving the irate man to watch her leave in consternation.
He would have gone after her, but Elladan and Elrohir had come up to either side of him, and placed a firm hand on each of his shoulders. For all that their hold was gentle, theirs was an elven strength, and even a king of Men could not escape it.
"What are you doing?" he hissed angrily, struggling against them anyway.
"The night is young, Estel, and the entertainment in need of an audience." Elladan forcibly led him towards a group of elves clustered before the fireplace. "Mirith," he called to one of them, "my brother has come."
A slender elf maiden detached herself from the crowd and walked over towards them. At the sight of the man held between the twins, she smiled and extended her hand to Aragorn.
Unwilling to make a scene, he brushed his lips across it. "Mirith," he greeted her curtly. She was an old friend - a dear friend who not so long ago had recognized his youthful frustrations and taken him to her bed to teach him of women and of men. But that night, she was not the one for whom his soul burned.
"If you will excuse me for a moment." Turning to his brothers, he dragged them out of earshot.
"Just get to the point," he demanded, crossing his hands over his chest.
Several seconds passed before Elladan gave up and tried to explain. "It's for your own good," he insisted, "You'll thank her for it in the future."
"Firstly," Aragorn cut him off, "I haven't a clue what you're talking about. And secondly, I think I can decide 'my own good' for myself."
"Estel…" Elladan said. His twin held a finger to his lips to silence him.
"You've already done your duty; it ended today, when you brought him to Lorien," Elrohir told the man, "And we - that is, Grandma and ourselves - don't think it beneficial to anyone for you to see him anymore."
"But why?" Aragorn asked, almost pleadingly, "What does it matter if I do?"
The twins turned chillingly similar gazes on him. "Because it matters to you if you don't," Elladan told him.
Aragorn felt as though he'd just been hit over the head, and hadn't yet had time to realise it. But before half-formed notions could condense into anything solid, Elladan tugged him gently by the arm back to where Mirith stood, and thrust him into her arms.
Somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, the man was aware that they danced to the music of a lute, and that the elf maiden had inched ever closer, finally resting her head upon his shoulder. And when she whispered into his ear and led him into her own chamber, he knew his body tried to match her ardor with his own. Thus, it was not from lack of effort that he could not lose himself in her embrace, and though he tried to conceal it, she knew it anyway.
"Aragorn," she said breathlessly against him, "Let me call for Mirandon." Mirandon was her brother, and a teacher in his own right.
The man froze and held her away from him. "What do you mean?" he asked harshly.
Mirith lay her palm against his cheek and said, "Perhaps he could succeed where I have failed; he may be the one you need to help you forget."
"No." Aragorn turned from her caress. "It is a woman's touch I crave."
"Estel…" Mirith clucked her tongue in disapproval, "Woman or man, when will you learn that it does not matter? Let him try."
"No!" he repeated vehemently. She didn't understand; not gender nor age nor status had ever been a barrier to love. But large thick curls hung to her waist, and it was soft brown eyes that watched him, so reminiscent of the dark beauty he had left behind in Rivendell. He could justify being with her - after all, he loved Arwen, and missed her. Didn't he? He reached for Mirith.
The flash of an emerald earring distracted him, summoning the memory of green eyes filled with pride and pain and sorrow and something else…Aragorn gasped as a surge of pure longing coursed through his veins, and only sheer will kept him on his feet.
"I can't…I'm sorry." Spinning on his heel, the man nearly ran out of the room, denial ringing with each step.
Mirith watched him go in silence and shook her head at the foolishness of men…and of elves.
© ai 2003
hmm…I'd like to know what you think.
