Disclaimer: See Chapter One
A.N. I apologise for how appallingly long it has taken me to post this chapter. I was working on something else and didn't realise how long it was taking. *looks sheepish*
I also apologise for the lack of Legolas in this chapter. I think my Leggy muse is on holiday. Don't worry, he'll be back in Chapter Seven. This chapter is very important although not very much action takes place, it's more exposition and plot-furthering. Bear with me; it'll all become clear in the next few chapters I hope.
I missed saying thank you to two other reviewers in the last chapter who emailed me rather than reviewing: Eirual and Student Liz who are wonderful. I love feedback as much as anyone else and it's always nice to get emails from people who like what you do.
Finally, thank god for the Appendices in Return of the King. Elvish translations in this chapter will be provided at the end.
Enjoy!
Cloudy
Chapter Six - Harsh Words
Rhachsell tiptoed through the silent Citadel, marble floor cool under her bare feet. One hand held the skirt of her blue gown up so she wouldn't trip; from the other dangled pale blue dancing slippers, adorned with tiny jewels. Strands of blonde hair escaped from under the silver tiara on her head which shone in the flickering torchlight. Aragorn had seen her looking longingly at it earlier where it sat on the brow of a marble statue of Luthién. With a smile he had lifted it down and asked her to wear it to the banquet that evening. Speechless, Rhachsell had taken the delicate thing with a nod of acquiesce. Now she pushed it back slightly with the back of the hand that held her slippers to stop it falling over her eyes.
She slipped past some guards as they talked, melting back into the shadows between the lamps, waiting until the Men had passed her hiding place. Silently she crossed the corridor, went through a small door and was outside under the stars, the white paving stones cold despite the balmy night air. Lightly she ran across the yard, past a tinkling fountain and a glimmering white tree to where Faroth' lay, tail curled around his talons so he would fit between the walls.
/"Tired of dancing"/ the dragon asked in amusement as his rider climbed onto his left foreleg so she could lean back against his chest.
/"No,"/ Rhachsell answered contentedly. /"But my slippers started to pinch and I had run out of people to dance with. And all the people there were too loud."/
/"I know,"/ the dragon said ruefully. /"I could hear them. It's much nicer out here."/
/"That it is,"/ Rhachsell agreed, glancing over at the white tree which shone faintly in the starlight. It was laden with blossoms that perfumed the air sweetly, soft petals as white as snow. One fell from it's flower and the night breeze caught it, sweeping it towards Rhachsell. She reached out to catch it, closing her hand gently around the white folds. As she ran careful fingers over it the perfume of flowers grew stronger.
/"This is the sapling Father was telling us about,"/ Rhachsell tried to remember the conversation that had taken place months ago. /"He called it something.."/
/"He said it was of the line of Nimloth,"/ Faroth supplied helpfully.
/"That was it."/ Rhachsell slipped the petal into a pocket of her gown. /"I should keep this."/
/"I agree."/ Faroth breathed hotly down the back of her neck. /"The line of Nimloth is far older than you or I."/
They sat in silence for some minutes, Rhachsell listening to her dragon's quiet breathing and the sweet sound of the fountain. They had hardly had the chance to be alone together since their arrival in Minas Tirith ten days ago. Those days had passed for Rhachsell in a whirl of people, places and names.
Tonight was the third banquet since they'd arrived, complete with dancing, musicians and exotic food. The visitors were the centre of attention, especially Legolas with Anira. Rhachsell had thankfully faded into the background somewhat since Faroth was too big to fit inside the Citadel. Most people tended not to associate the quiet, ugly elf with the looming black dragon who had quelled a riot.
Yet underneath all the fun, the parties and the exuberance, Rhachsell was perceptive enough to notice the extra security. She had been forbidden to leave the Citadel without a large escort; even inside she had 'shadows', two guards who tracked her every move. She looked for them now and found them waiting discreetly by the doors. The white tree emblem on their black uniforms glimmered in the starlight as did their mithril helms. Rhachsell felt a twinge of irritation at their presence; she had thought herself alone with her dragon.
/"It is for you own protection,"/ Faroth chided her gently for her annoyance. /"They don't trust me to protect you although I am more than capable. King Elessar was nearly killed by that assassin less than a fortnight ago. You cannot blame him for his caution."/
Rhachsell stifled a sigh because she had to agree with her dragon's words. She often watched Aragorn when she had the chance, noting how differently he acted here in his palace to how he did outside Gondor. Here he was king; stately, noble, aloof, treating his subjects with stern kindness. There was no trace of the wise ranger who could make Rhachsell laugh with his sly jokes. In fact the half-orc had been rather intimidated by the change until the night of the first banquet. She had been sitting quietly in her chair, sipping some water because she hated the taste of wine. Aragorn was across the room talking to some nobles, appearing happy and relaxed in his home. Rhachsell watched him surreptitiously, noting the way he absently trailed a finger around the rim of his wine glass as he talked. Then, as the nobles turned away to dance, the king's mask of calm slipped for the briefest of moments and the former ranger's face sank into tired lines, infinite weariness in his eyes. Then Arwen touched his shoulder to catch his attention and from her seat across the room, Rhachsell watched the mask snap back into place. She had mulled over the moment for the rest of the night and had come to the conclusion that, as king, Aragorn was forced to hide his anxiety from others, but that didn't make him any less able to cope with it.
Aware of his rider's thoughts, Faroth rumbled pensively. /"Maybe he just needs to relax."/
/"We should do something for him,"/ Rhachsell said impulsively, then hesitated. /"But what could we do that he hasn't already done?"/
/"Something that doesn't involve the icy one?"/ Faroth's voice was as close to begging as he could get. /"She makes me uncomfortable."/
/"Arwen makes me uncomfortable too sweetheart."/ Rhachsell ran a hand over her dragon's shining scales. /"I don't think she likes us being here, no matter what Aragorn says. She reminds me of the Elven ladies back home who refused to talk to me because I'm only half elf."/
/"Their loss,"/ Faroth snorted. /"You are the only dragon rider in Middle-earth. On Pern those elves who snub you wouldn't last ten minutes."/
An image of the elves who were vying for her father's hand, running screaming away from the huge bronze Mnementh brought a smile to Rhachsell's face. /"I like that idea Faroth. We should look into it sometime."/
A draconic chuckle echoed her words as Rhachsell turned back to the problem of Aragorn. She couldn't afford to buy him a gift and there was nothing he didn't have anyway.
/"Wait."/ Faroth said suddenly. Rhachsell glanced up.
/"What?"/
/"Why not offer him a dragon ride? He's love to see his city from the skies."/
"Brilliant Faroth!" Rhachsell exclaimed. She slid off her perch, wincing at the cold stone - Faroth's hide had warmed her feet. She hurriedly pulled on the slippers, wriggling her toes to make them pinch less. Patting Faroth's shoulder, she grinned at him, loving the way his eyes sparkled blue in the dusky night. /"I'll be right back."/
/"Hurry. I haven't stretched my wings properly for days."/
Rhachsell ran towards the door, trailing a hand through the fountain as she passed. Faroth watched the silvery drops scatter behind her as she disappeared into the Citadel, then shifted his weight, standing up. Unfolding his wings, careful not to knock the White Tree, he waited patiently for Rhachsell to return.
*
As she ran through the corridors, Rhachsell was only half aware of her shadows still tailing her, but some, pedantic part of herself was annoyed. She didn't want them hearing her surprise for Aragorn because it would be all over the city by tomorrow. She toyed with the idea of losing them but they knew the Citadel better than she did and no doubt she only end up getting lost herself. Then she remembered a trick of Faroth's and grinned.
/"Faroth,"/ she called to her dragon. /"Could you lift me to here?"/ She gave him a mental picture of the hallway outside Aragorn's rooms.
/"Of course."/ Rhachsell felt the familiar disorientation of being 'ported' by her dragon, then the hallway blurred and refocused. She stumbled on landing, almost falling to the thick carpet.
/"Sorry"/ Faroth apologised. /"I misjudged the height."/
/"I don't mind Faroth."/ Rhachsell caught her balance and stood up, casting only a cursory glance around at the richly decorated hallway. It wasn't until her hand was poised to knock on the elegant doors that she remembered the banquet.
/"Oh no Faroth, Aragorn won't be here. He'll still be in the hall dancing-"/
She didn't have time to finish before she heard the voices. Orc- instinct took over and she dived for the nearest hiding place - through the doors into Aragorn's rooms.
Heart beating, she looked hurriedly around. There was little chance of the speakers entering the rooms but in case they did she should hide. If she was found here it would lead to no end of awkward questions.
Still panicked, she ran towards the large four poster bed and dived under it. The thick covers hung almost to the floor, hiding her but still leaving her a tiny gap to see through, although if anyone entered she would only be able to see their feet.
A minute passed and she began to relax. Perhaps the speakers had gone by. Perhaps they hadn't even turned down this corridor. She inched towards the edge of the bed.
There was a click as the door handle turned and Rhachsell barely had time to scramble back under cover before it opened. She crouched, trembling at the close escape and aware she could still be discovered. Trying to calm her beating heart and breathe as lightly as she could, Rhachsell waited.
"Arwen, I simply don't understand your animosity towards her," one of the speakers was saying as he entered. Rhachsell's heart plummeted and she had to stuff her fist into her mouth to stop an exclamation of dismay. It was Aragorn, and even worse, Arwen was with him. If she was discovered now the recriminations would be unbelievable, not to mention the embarrassment.
"I would have thought you of all people would understand Estel*," Arwen's voice said coldly. Rhachsell watched two pairs of feet enter, one in smart black boots, the other in jewelled white dancing shoes. The latter paused to shut the door while Aragorn paced across the room.
/"I can lift you out"/ Faroth offered and Rhachsell almost wept with relief. Of course her dragon could lift her out. She could be back in the courtyard in seconds.
"She isn't what you think Arwen," said Aragorn's voice, a hint of irritation in his tone. "You cannot judge someone by their lineage. Did not you yourself tell me I was not Isildur? Rhachsell is not her ancestors."
Under the bed, the half-orc stiffened. They were talking about her! Torn between leaving and staying, she closed her eyes in agony over the decision.
"You are Man, not Orc or Elf," Arwen replied angrily. "I don't expect you to understand. I am amazed Legolas doesn't though."
"Legolas had the same attitude as you when he first met his daughter," Aragorn answered calmly. "Then he realised what I've been trying to tell you, Rhachsell is different. She is half-elf, as much elf as she is Orc, if not more. You don't object to elves who are half Men."
"That is entirely different and you know it!" Arwen snapped. "Men are not twisted or defiled - although sometimes I wonder."
Rhachsell flinched, as much as the insult to Aragorn as the one to her. But the king was not deterred.
"There is no need for that," he said quietly. "I am king here and it is my right to decide who guests in my house. Rhachsell will stay Arwen, and what's more, you will stop this foolish snubbing of her. She is a guest and a friend, not an enemy."
"But she belongs to the enemy!" Arwen hissed. "How many Orcs have you killed Aragorn? How many has Legolas killed? And yet you willing accept one of them into our midst! She does not belong with us!"
"And where do you belong Arwen Undómiel?" Aragorn was losing patience, an edge appearing in his voice. "With your people, in the Undying Lands. Yet you stayed, for me and your people do not ostracise you for that. You could say Rhachsell does not belong with us, yet we accept it for we are glad of her presence! Like I usually am of yours"
Even Rhachsell winced at the comment and she actually heard Arwen gasp. Aragorn's pacing hesitated, almost as if he himself couldn't believe what he had said.
"Look." His tone was quiet now, apologetic. "I know why the elves hate the Orcs, I know why you in particular hate them. But that's in the past and much has changed. Do not let history cloud your judgement love. The past cannot rule our lives."
There was a brief silence. Rhachsell was beginning to relax, on the verge of asking Faroth to lift her to safety when Arwen spat out a sentence in Elvish.
"Onen i-Estel Edain, û-chebin est el anim."*
Rhachsell's elf hearing caught the hitch in Aragorn's breath. "Why do you speak those words Arwen?" he asked sharply. The Elf Queen wandered across the room before replying, Rhachsell eye's tracking her feet as they passed by the bed.
"The last words your mother spoke to you." Arwen's voice was light, lilting, as if she spoke of something inconsequential. Yet venom lingered underneath. "You were devastated by her death, were you not?"
"Arwen, I don't see what-" Aragorn started, voice unsteady. Arwen cut him off.
"Do you know how it feels to have your mother stolen from you without even a chance to say goodbye Estel? Do you? How it feels to sit and wonder if she lives or dies, if you will ever see her again and if you do, what her face will look like when the Orcs are through with her? If it was your mother Estel, who had been beaten and defiled by /Rhachsell's/ ancestors, could you accept her so easily?"
"I don't- it doesn't -" Aragorn broke off and sat down heavily on the bed, springs creaking. Rhachsell didn't notice; she was riveted on what Arwen was saying, horrified curiosity keeping her frozen in place.
"Well could you?" Arwen demanded, sensing she had the upper hand. "My mother's body was rescued but her spirit was not and it was Orcs who did that too her. She looked at me and her eyes were empty. Empty of light, empty of life. If your mother, Gilraen who you loved with all your heart looked at you that way, would you forgive the creatures that had done it to her?"
The silence that followed was unbearably heavy with tension. Rhachsell, tears soaking her cheeks, waited in agony, straining to hear the king's response.
"No," Aragorn finally, softly, admitted, his tone pained. "I could not forgive them."
A sob rose dangerously in Rhachsell's throat. /"Get me out of here Faroth."/
Her dragon 'lifted' her so swiftly it made her dizzy. She lost the silver tiara along the way, the force of her travel knocking it from her hair. Then she was stumbling against her dragon, smooth scales beneath her hands as she scrambled up his side.
The moment she was seated the black dragon took off, strong wing beats scattering petals from the White Tree. Like an arrow he shot skywards and only when they were high above Gondor did he tentatively venture a query.
/"Where are we going?"/
/"Anywhere,"/ Rhachsell answered bitterly. /"As long as it's so far away I never have to come back."/
~
Estel - Hope (what the elves call Aragorn)
"Onen i-Estel Edain, û-chebin est el anim."* - I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have left no hope for myself
A.N. I apologise for how appallingly long it has taken me to post this chapter. I was working on something else and didn't realise how long it was taking. *looks sheepish*
I also apologise for the lack of Legolas in this chapter. I think my Leggy muse is on holiday. Don't worry, he'll be back in Chapter Seven. This chapter is very important although not very much action takes place, it's more exposition and plot-furthering. Bear with me; it'll all become clear in the next few chapters I hope.
I missed saying thank you to two other reviewers in the last chapter who emailed me rather than reviewing: Eirual and Student Liz who are wonderful. I love feedback as much as anyone else and it's always nice to get emails from people who like what you do.
Finally, thank god for the Appendices in Return of the King. Elvish translations in this chapter will be provided at the end.
Enjoy!
Cloudy
Chapter Six - Harsh Words
Rhachsell tiptoed through the silent Citadel, marble floor cool under her bare feet. One hand held the skirt of her blue gown up so she wouldn't trip; from the other dangled pale blue dancing slippers, adorned with tiny jewels. Strands of blonde hair escaped from under the silver tiara on her head which shone in the flickering torchlight. Aragorn had seen her looking longingly at it earlier where it sat on the brow of a marble statue of Luthién. With a smile he had lifted it down and asked her to wear it to the banquet that evening. Speechless, Rhachsell had taken the delicate thing with a nod of acquiesce. Now she pushed it back slightly with the back of the hand that held her slippers to stop it falling over her eyes.
She slipped past some guards as they talked, melting back into the shadows between the lamps, waiting until the Men had passed her hiding place. Silently she crossed the corridor, went through a small door and was outside under the stars, the white paving stones cold despite the balmy night air. Lightly she ran across the yard, past a tinkling fountain and a glimmering white tree to where Faroth' lay, tail curled around his talons so he would fit between the walls.
/"Tired of dancing"/ the dragon asked in amusement as his rider climbed onto his left foreleg so she could lean back against his chest.
/"No,"/ Rhachsell answered contentedly. /"But my slippers started to pinch and I had run out of people to dance with. And all the people there were too loud."/
/"I know,"/ the dragon said ruefully. /"I could hear them. It's much nicer out here."/
/"That it is,"/ Rhachsell agreed, glancing over at the white tree which shone faintly in the starlight. It was laden with blossoms that perfumed the air sweetly, soft petals as white as snow. One fell from it's flower and the night breeze caught it, sweeping it towards Rhachsell. She reached out to catch it, closing her hand gently around the white folds. As she ran careful fingers over it the perfume of flowers grew stronger.
/"This is the sapling Father was telling us about,"/ Rhachsell tried to remember the conversation that had taken place months ago. /"He called it something.."/
/"He said it was of the line of Nimloth,"/ Faroth supplied helpfully.
/"That was it."/ Rhachsell slipped the petal into a pocket of her gown. /"I should keep this."/
/"I agree."/ Faroth breathed hotly down the back of her neck. /"The line of Nimloth is far older than you or I."/
They sat in silence for some minutes, Rhachsell listening to her dragon's quiet breathing and the sweet sound of the fountain. They had hardly had the chance to be alone together since their arrival in Minas Tirith ten days ago. Those days had passed for Rhachsell in a whirl of people, places and names.
Tonight was the third banquet since they'd arrived, complete with dancing, musicians and exotic food. The visitors were the centre of attention, especially Legolas with Anira. Rhachsell had thankfully faded into the background somewhat since Faroth was too big to fit inside the Citadel. Most people tended not to associate the quiet, ugly elf with the looming black dragon who had quelled a riot.
Yet underneath all the fun, the parties and the exuberance, Rhachsell was perceptive enough to notice the extra security. She had been forbidden to leave the Citadel without a large escort; even inside she had 'shadows', two guards who tracked her every move. She looked for them now and found them waiting discreetly by the doors. The white tree emblem on their black uniforms glimmered in the starlight as did their mithril helms. Rhachsell felt a twinge of irritation at their presence; she had thought herself alone with her dragon.
/"It is for you own protection,"/ Faroth chided her gently for her annoyance. /"They don't trust me to protect you although I am more than capable. King Elessar was nearly killed by that assassin less than a fortnight ago. You cannot blame him for his caution."/
Rhachsell stifled a sigh because she had to agree with her dragon's words. She often watched Aragorn when she had the chance, noting how differently he acted here in his palace to how he did outside Gondor. Here he was king; stately, noble, aloof, treating his subjects with stern kindness. There was no trace of the wise ranger who could make Rhachsell laugh with his sly jokes. In fact the half-orc had been rather intimidated by the change until the night of the first banquet. She had been sitting quietly in her chair, sipping some water because she hated the taste of wine. Aragorn was across the room talking to some nobles, appearing happy and relaxed in his home. Rhachsell watched him surreptitiously, noting the way he absently trailed a finger around the rim of his wine glass as he talked. Then, as the nobles turned away to dance, the king's mask of calm slipped for the briefest of moments and the former ranger's face sank into tired lines, infinite weariness in his eyes. Then Arwen touched his shoulder to catch his attention and from her seat across the room, Rhachsell watched the mask snap back into place. She had mulled over the moment for the rest of the night and had come to the conclusion that, as king, Aragorn was forced to hide his anxiety from others, but that didn't make him any less able to cope with it.
Aware of his rider's thoughts, Faroth rumbled pensively. /"Maybe he just needs to relax."/
/"We should do something for him,"/ Rhachsell said impulsively, then hesitated. /"But what could we do that he hasn't already done?"/
/"Something that doesn't involve the icy one?"/ Faroth's voice was as close to begging as he could get. /"She makes me uncomfortable."/
/"Arwen makes me uncomfortable too sweetheart."/ Rhachsell ran a hand over her dragon's shining scales. /"I don't think she likes us being here, no matter what Aragorn says. She reminds me of the Elven ladies back home who refused to talk to me because I'm only half elf."/
/"Their loss,"/ Faroth snorted. /"You are the only dragon rider in Middle-earth. On Pern those elves who snub you wouldn't last ten minutes."/
An image of the elves who were vying for her father's hand, running screaming away from the huge bronze Mnementh brought a smile to Rhachsell's face. /"I like that idea Faroth. We should look into it sometime."/
A draconic chuckle echoed her words as Rhachsell turned back to the problem of Aragorn. She couldn't afford to buy him a gift and there was nothing he didn't have anyway.
/"Wait."/ Faroth said suddenly. Rhachsell glanced up.
/"What?"/
/"Why not offer him a dragon ride? He's love to see his city from the skies."/
"Brilliant Faroth!" Rhachsell exclaimed. She slid off her perch, wincing at the cold stone - Faroth's hide had warmed her feet. She hurriedly pulled on the slippers, wriggling her toes to make them pinch less. Patting Faroth's shoulder, she grinned at him, loving the way his eyes sparkled blue in the dusky night. /"I'll be right back."/
/"Hurry. I haven't stretched my wings properly for days."/
Rhachsell ran towards the door, trailing a hand through the fountain as she passed. Faroth watched the silvery drops scatter behind her as she disappeared into the Citadel, then shifted his weight, standing up. Unfolding his wings, careful not to knock the White Tree, he waited patiently for Rhachsell to return.
*
As she ran through the corridors, Rhachsell was only half aware of her shadows still tailing her, but some, pedantic part of herself was annoyed. She didn't want them hearing her surprise for Aragorn because it would be all over the city by tomorrow. She toyed with the idea of losing them but they knew the Citadel better than she did and no doubt she only end up getting lost herself. Then she remembered a trick of Faroth's and grinned.
/"Faroth,"/ she called to her dragon. /"Could you lift me to here?"/ She gave him a mental picture of the hallway outside Aragorn's rooms.
/"Of course."/ Rhachsell felt the familiar disorientation of being 'ported' by her dragon, then the hallway blurred and refocused. She stumbled on landing, almost falling to the thick carpet.
/"Sorry"/ Faroth apologised. /"I misjudged the height."/
/"I don't mind Faroth."/ Rhachsell caught her balance and stood up, casting only a cursory glance around at the richly decorated hallway. It wasn't until her hand was poised to knock on the elegant doors that she remembered the banquet.
/"Oh no Faroth, Aragorn won't be here. He'll still be in the hall dancing-"/
She didn't have time to finish before she heard the voices. Orc- instinct took over and she dived for the nearest hiding place - through the doors into Aragorn's rooms.
Heart beating, she looked hurriedly around. There was little chance of the speakers entering the rooms but in case they did she should hide. If she was found here it would lead to no end of awkward questions.
Still panicked, she ran towards the large four poster bed and dived under it. The thick covers hung almost to the floor, hiding her but still leaving her a tiny gap to see through, although if anyone entered she would only be able to see their feet.
A minute passed and she began to relax. Perhaps the speakers had gone by. Perhaps they hadn't even turned down this corridor. She inched towards the edge of the bed.
There was a click as the door handle turned and Rhachsell barely had time to scramble back under cover before it opened. She crouched, trembling at the close escape and aware she could still be discovered. Trying to calm her beating heart and breathe as lightly as she could, Rhachsell waited.
"Arwen, I simply don't understand your animosity towards her," one of the speakers was saying as he entered. Rhachsell's heart plummeted and she had to stuff her fist into her mouth to stop an exclamation of dismay. It was Aragorn, and even worse, Arwen was with him. If she was discovered now the recriminations would be unbelievable, not to mention the embarrassment.
"I would have thought you of all people would understand Estel*," Arwen's voice said coldly. Rhachsell watched two pairs of feet enter, one in smart black boots, the other in jewelled white dancing shoes. The latter paused to shut the door while Aragorn paced across the room.
/"I can lift you out"/ Faroth offered and Rhachsell almost wept with relief. Of course her dragon could lift her out. She could be back in the courtyard in seconds.
"She isn't what you think Arwen," said Aragorn's voice, a hint of irritation in his tone. "You cannot judge someone by their lineage. Did not you yourself tell me I was not Isildur? Rhachsell is not her ancestors."
Under the bed, the half-orc stiffened. They were talking about her! Torn between leaving and staying, she closed her eyes in agony over the decision.
"You are Man, not Orc or Elf," Arwen replied angrily. "I don't expect you to understand. I am amazed Legolas doesn't though."
"Legolas had the same attitude as you when he first met his daughter," Aragorn answered calmly. "Then he realised what I've been trying to tell you, Rhachsell is different. She is half-elf, as much elf as she is Orc, if not more. You don't object to elves who are half Men."
"That is entirely different and you know it!" Arwen snapped. "Men are not twisted or defiled - although sometimes I wonder."
Rhachsell flinched, as much as the insult to Aragorn as the one to her. But the king was not deterred.
"There is no need for that," he said quietly. "I am king here and it is my right to decide who guests in my house. Rhachsell will stay Arwen, and what's more, you will stop this foolish snubbing of her. She is a guest and a friend, not an enemy."
"But she belongs to the enemy!" Arwen hissed. "How many Orcs have you killed Aragorn? How many has Legolas killed? And yet you willing accept one of them into our midst! She does not belong with us!"
"And where do you belong Arwen Undómiel?" Aragorn was losing patience, an edge appearing in his voice. "With your people, in the Undying Lands. Yet you stayed, for me and your people do not ostracise you for that. You could say Rhachsell does not belong with us, yet we accept it for we are glad of her presence! Like I usually am of yours"
Even Rhachsell winced at the comment and she actually heard Arwen gasp. Aragorn's pacing hesitated, almost as if he himself couldn't believe what he had said.
"Look." His tone was quiet now, apologetic. "I know why the elves hate the Orcs, I know why you in particular hate them. But that's in the past and much has changed. Do not let history cloud your judgement love. The past cannot rule our lives."
There was a brief silence. Rhachsell was beginning to relax, on the verge of asking Faroth to lift her to safety when Arwen spat out a sentence in Elvish.
"Onen i-Estel Edain, û-chebin est el anim."*
Rhachsell's elf hearing caught the hitch in Aragorn's breath. "Why do you speak those words Arwen?" he asked sharply. The Elf Queen wandered across the room before replying, Rhachsell eye's tracking her feet as they passed by the bed.
"The last words your mother spoke to you." Arwen's voice was light, lilting, as if she spoke of something inconsequential. Yet venom lingered underneath. "You were devastated by her death, were you not?"
"Arwen, I don't see what-" Aragorn started, voice unsteady. Arwen cut him off.
"Do you know how it feels to have your mother stolen from you without even a chance to say goodbye Estel? Do you? How it feels to sit and wonder if she lives or dies, if you will ever see her again and if you do, what her face will look like when the Orcs are through with her? If it was your mother Estel, who had been beaten and defiled by /Rhachsell's/ ancestors, could you accept her so easily?"
"I don't- it doesn't -" Aragorn broke off and sat down heavily on the bed, springs creaking. Rhachsell didn't notice; she was riveted on what Arwen was saying, horrified curiosity keeping her frozen in place.
"Well could you?" Arwen demanded, sensing she had the upper hand. "My mother's body was rescued but her spirit was not and it was Orcs who did that too her. She looked at me and her eyes were empty. Empty of light, empty of life. If your mother, Gilraen who you loved with all your heart looked at you that way, would you forgive the creatures that had done it to her?"
The silence that followed was unbearably heavy with tension. Rhachsell, tears soaking her cheeks, waited in agony, straining to hear the king's response.
"No," Aragorn finally, softly, admitted, his tone pained. "I could not forgive them."
A sob rose dangerously in Rhachsell's throat. /"Get me out of here Faroth."/
Her dragon 'lifted' her so swiftly it made her dizzy. She lost the silver tiara along the way, the force of her travel knocking it from her hair. Then she was stumbling against her dragon, smooth scales beneath her hands as she scrambled up his side.
The moment she was seated the black dragon took off, strong wing beats scattering petals from the White Tree. Like an arrow he shot skywards and only when they were high above Gondor did he tentatively venture a query.
/"Where are we going?"/
/"Anywhere,"/ Rhachsell answered bitterly. /"As long as it's so far away I never have to come back."/
~
Estel - Hope (what the elves call Aragorn)
"Onen i-Estel Edain, û-chebin est el anim."* - I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have left no hope for myself
